Signal to Noise(84)

SEBASTIAN HELD THE receiver and leaned back, trying to find a comfortable position on the couch. He had bruised his knee, had scrapes here and there, a sprained ankle and a broken wrist.

“You are an idiot,” Romualdo said. “How come you were driving so fast? Don’t you watch where you are going?”

Sebastian pressed the plastic bag filled with ice and wrapped with an old towel against his leg, watching the bruises with a certain detachment, as though this had happened to someone else. It felt like it had happened to someone else. Like he was a character in a video game, controlled by another player.

Meche.

The phone rang and rang.

Answer, he thought, gritting his teeth. Answer me. Tell me it was an accident, a game; you didn’t mean it. Tell me now.

“You know what’s going to happen, right? Mom is going to take away the bike. Not only that, she’s going to blame it on me for giving it to you in the first place. She’s going to say I did this. That’s bullshit.”

The phone seemed to pulsate between his hands, like a heart. Sebastian squeezed it, tried to find purchase on its surface, slick with his sweat.

Meche...

He needed her now. There. If she answered now, this might be forgiven. But she wasn’t answering. She was hiding from him.

He could see her in his mind, savouring her victory, her eyes indifferent to his pain. Indifferent to him.

He hung up and hung his head while Romualdo brought him another cushion and yelled and ranted.





MECHE WOKE UP feeling very cold, her eyes fluttering open. She had a vague, unpleasant sensation, like the one you might get when you crush an insect and rub your palm against your trousers, trying to wipe it away.

She thought of the hex she had cast with Daniela and for the first time that night seriously wondered if Sebastian was alright. The hospital’s clock read one a.m. and she considered, for a few seconds, daring to phone Sebastian.

Then she feared what he would say if she did phone and woke him up. His anger would still be so raw.

Even worse, she feared if he did not answer. What if she had really hurt him? What if he did not lift the phone and speak? What would she do then?

Meche took off her jacket and rolled it into a makeshift pillow, laying down on the plastic hospital chairs, staring at the white walls of the hallway.

She knew herself—wicked and cruel, the way true witches are, as in the stories grandmother told her. She knew herself and curled up into a tight ball, flipping on the Walkman and listening to Starship sing We Built This City, which was corny and sappy. But she needed corny and sappy.

“I’m going to make it all better,” she promised herself. “I can fix this.”





DANIELA HEARD IT from Catalina Coronado, who was faster than a telex: Sebastian Soto had an accident, ended up at the hospital and was sent home with a cast. She asked her sister to drive her to his apartment, a box of chocolates on her lap. Romualdo opened the door and let her in. Daniela shuffled her feet and bent her head as she walked inside.

“Hi, Sebastian.”

“Hi,” he said.

He was sitting in the living room, wrapped in a blanket, watching television. She noticed the cast on his left hand and the bruises on his face, blooming an ugly purple.

Daniela handed him the chocolates.

“Thanks,” he said, placing them at his side.

“How are you feeling?”

“Eh. Between this and the beating I’m developing a higher threshold for pain.”

“You know we did it, right?”

“I figured as much.”

Daniela placed her hands behind her back and stared at the scratched wooden floor.

“I’m sorry,” Daniela said.

Sebastian pressed the mute button on the TV remote. He sighed.

“Where is Meche?”

“I’m not sure.”

Sebastian drummed his fingers against the couch’s arm and shook his head. He did not look good and Daniela could tell it was not just as a result of the accident.

“Well, she has talent,” he muttered. “I could feel her hands over mine as the motorcycle swerved left and right.”

“Yeah, she has loads of talent. That’s probably not a good thing.”

Sebastian did not say anything. He was looking at the numbers on the remote control, rubbing a thumb across the buttons.

“She scared me. When we cast that spell on you... my God, there is something dark inside her. Magic only makes that darkness stronger.”

“What are you saying?”

“You know.”

Sebastian put the remote on top of the box of chocolates and knitted his long fingers together, flexing them slowly.

“She’s the real witch among us,” he said. “Meche doesn’t need a circle. At least, not for long. Whatever it is you’re supposed to have, she has it.”

Daniela had known it for a while. They were backup singers to the real star. Hearing Sebastian say it, however, made it tangible.

“That’s it. That’s what frightens me.”

“You shouldn’t be frightened. Meche is not mad at you.”

“But you? What if—”

“I have her object of power. Besides, I don’t think she would hurt me once more.”