When You See Me (Detective D.D. Warren #11)(86)

“We still don’t know who’s in charge.”

“Meaning, we still don’t know who to trust.”

We stare at each other for a long time in the glow of the bedside lamp.

“I’m really glad I brought my knife,” I say.

“And I’m really glad I travel with you by my side,” Keith answers.





CHAPTER 33





MY MAMI IS COOKING AT the stove. I watch her raise lids, stir pots. I listen to her hum happily. I am not here. Even in my dream, I know that. She is not here either. But I’m so grateful to see her, I don’t care.

My mamita.

As if she heard, she turns and smiles at me. “Chiquita,” she whispers, and the love in her eyes fills my chest with such bittersweet pain, I think it might burst.

Her face is softer. Her cheeks no longer gaunt, the shadows gone from beneath her eyes. She is radiant in her white blouse and red peasant skirt, topped by her favorite apron. I see bits of crumbled cheese smudged near her pocket.

Then I look down and realize I am sitting at the kitchen table, a block of queso blanco in my hand.

A shadow drifts across the kitchen. I know then what will happen next.

“No,” I try to tell her.

“It’s all right, my love.”

The shadow, growing darker . . .

“She calls me Bonita. Did you name me Bonita?” My voice is urgent, frantic. Any moment the door will explode open. Any second, the Bad Man will appear again.

“You have always been bonita to me. Muy bonita.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“I’m still with you. I’m always with you. But you know that, chiquita. For everything that is lost, something is gained. Your words are gone, but you have other gifts in their place.”

She smiles. Wipes her hands on her apron. Before I can get up. Before I can fly across the room and wrap my arms around her waist.

The door slams open.

The Bad Man appears.

Now we are outside, my mother kneeling on the red earth. She does not cower or beg. There is no pleading this time as the Bad Man looms before her. Her voice is simple and composed as she tells me, “Run.”

But once again, I can’t do it.

“Chiquita. It’s okay. For everything that’s lost, something is gained.”

The Bad Man levels his weapon.

Now, I’m the one who begs. “Let her go. Take me. I’ll be your servant forever. Just take me.”

“She must pay,” the Bad Man snarls.

My mother merely smiles at him. She appears serene as she says, “I do not repent. I would do it all again. They deserved the chance I gave them. And you will never get them back. I am but one. They are many. So do what you must. We both know, in the end, I won.”

A howl, like the coyotes in the distance, except worse.

“Chiquita, run.”

“No!”

“Remember, for everything that is lost, something is gained.”

The Bad Man’s finger squeezing the trigger. My mamita, staring right at him, daring him to take her life.

“I love you,” I cry out frantically.

“I know, my chiquita. I know.”

Then the trigger is pulled. The bullet explodes. I’m too far away to protect her. I can only watch as the bullet rips through my mamita’s pale white throat.

Except suddenly she is no longer my mamita.

It is the blond lady detective, pitching forward into the red, red earth. It is Hélène, it is Stacey, it is girl after girl after girl.

And the Bad Man is not snarling anymore; he is laughing darkly.

“It will be your turn next,” he tells me. “There’s no one to save you anymore.”

“I will save myself,” I tell him.

Which only makes him laugh harder.

“I am Bonita and I have my mother’s love and my sisters’ pain and we will burn you to the ground!” I try to sound fierce.

He doubles over with mirth. “You know what outruns even fire, Stupid Girl?” he says as he straightens.

I shake my head.

“A bullet.”

Then he reloads the gun and very calmly aims it at my head.

“Chiquita, run,” my mother whispers in my ear. And I feel her again, wrapped around me like a warm embrace. Chiquita and mamita, our pack of two. She is mine and I am hers, always.

Which makes it all the more agonizing when the bullet slams into my temple and tears me away from her again.



* * *



—

I WAKE UP SHARPLY. THE clock reads six A.M. Dawn still an hour away. I’m surprised I slept that long, especially on a bed that feels so soft and foreign. I take a moment to get my bearings. The strange room with a sharp chemical smell. A sound of gentle snoring across the way. The lady detective, who has appointed herself my new protector.

I listen for the sound of footsteps in the hall. The Bad Man coming. Then I close my eyes and simply feel for him. My mother is right: For everything lost, something is gained.

This motel is not like the house. It does not sigh with pain, shift restlessly in discontent. It is just a building. Maybe it’s too young to know any better. Maybe it hasn’t encountered enough human horror to know how to mourn.

I do not feel the Bad Man. I don’t feel anything at all.