Certain Dark Things(94)

She kicked the backpack in his direction and straightened her jacket. Her face was impassive.

“I love you,” he whispered. Like the fool he was, the fool he’d been from the get-go, madly dashing after this girl.

A long silence stretched between them. She cupped his face with one hand and kissed him, so briefly Domingo hardly felt her lips upon his, the ghost of a kiss. He leaned down, pressed his forehead against hers.

Atl stepped back. He desperately wanted to follow her, yet managed to remain rooted to his spot as she walked in the direction of the car, hands in her pockets.

“Atl, do—”

She turned her head a fraction of an inch, her eyes very dark, pools of ink, silencing him. She did not say a word. In her eyes he read the answer to the question she had not allowed him to ask.

No one had ever looked at him like that. Like he was every star shining down on them that night and the ground beneath her feet, and every other ridiculous phrase found in books that he’d never believed could possibly be true. And he knew she hated herself in that moment and he knew she loved him precisely because she did not speak a single word.

The car sped away and her gaze stayed with him as he slowly walked back through the landfill.

When he passed by the shed he heard a soft whine. Domingo paused at the doorway of the building and went inside.

The dog was alive. It lay behind a bunch of plastic bags. Domingo kicked the bags away and Cualli stared at him. Domingo walked back toward the entrance, pulled at one of the shopping carts until it came free from the others, and rolled it back next to the dog. He placed the dog inside the cart.

It looked confused. Domingo patted its head.

“It’s all right,” he said gently. “You’re in luck today.”

His player still worked, so he switched it on and dug out his headphones.

He began rolling his cart away.





EPILOGUE

Domingo dreamt of her a few days later, in the long, long hours before the dawn. He dreamt she’d stepped out of a car, at the end of a dusty road. She took out a compass from her pocket and held a machete in her other hand. Her hand. It was fine and whole. She was fine.

Atl stepped forward, into the jungle, the trees rising very high above her head. There were many noises: the faint chirping of birds, the roars of howling monkeys, the buzzing of insects, the patter of rain as it slid down the leaves and trunks of the trees. The rain reverberated, resembling the steady sound of drums.

“Atl,” he said.

She hacked through the jungle, her machete swinging back and forth, opening a path. She paused for a moment, raising her head, as if someone had called her name. She smiled. Almost immediately she pressed forward, sinking into the endless greenery of the jungle.

The chatter of birds spread, as if they were welcoming the girl.

In dreams, he smiled too.