“You still hope they’ll change. I don’t. You’re good. I know how to fight monsters. I always have.”
The bell signaling the end of visiting hours rang in the hallway.
We looked at each other. Twins. Two halves of the same face. But only one of us was made to walk into a house infested with violence and not tremble.
We changed quickly. She put on my gray hospital sweater. I took her clothes, her worn shoes, her ID. When the nurse opened the door, she smiled at me, unsuspecting.
“Are you leaving already, Mrs. Reyes?”
I looked down and mimicked Lidia’s timid voice.
“Yes.”
When the metal door closed behind me and the sun hit my face, my lungs burned. Ten years. Ten years breathing borrowed air. I walked to the sidewalk without looking back.
“Your time’s up, Damian Reyes,” I muttered.
Part 2…
The house was in Ecatepec, at the end of a damp, dreary street where scrawny dogs slept beside the tires of broken-down cars. The facade was peeling.
The gate was rusty. The smell hit me before I even entered: dampness, rancid grease, and something sour, like spoiled food.
