In the woods, I felt free. I could close my eyes and envision a different life. But the moment I crossed the tree line, the truth of my situation revealed itself. The air here is stagnant, with life frozen in time since Papá’s demise. I stare at my childhood home, hoping blissful memories of days past will flash before my eyes. Isn’t that what is supposed to happen when one’s life is over? I wish for happy memories, but they never come.
The picket fence that separates the house from the forest welcomes me home. I pass through the threshold, the noose around my core tightening with each step I take. The greater the distance between the vampires and me, the harder it is to ignore my link with Mamá.
Slowly, I am sinking into a black, tarry pit. My feet are stuck, suctioned to the goo, and it hurts so much, I actually look down. Staring at my heavy legs, I see nothing but a frozen tundra, a whitewashed land.
I want to tell myself that there is no pit, no tar, no dark depths eager to swallow me whole. It is all in my mind. But I know that would be a lie, for there is no greater deceiver than the witches.
The sliding doors that lead to the kitchen are only a few feet away now, and though I walk entranced, like a sated zombie, I can feel my fear rising in my chest. I want to scream. I want to run. But I do not. I just sink further, allowing the gunk to coat my legs from foot to knee.
The moment I reach the doors, I hesitate. It is brief but enough for the witches to notice. A silence befalls the group, and I stop, waiting for their inevitable reaction.
Everything I have done today has been in preparation for this exact moment—the return. But I am terrified that walking through these doors means eternal confinement. What if I cannot escape again? What if our plan fails? What will become of me if Mamá refuses to release me?
Mamá places her hand on my shoulder. I do not have to glance back to see it is her. The immediate warmth that washes over me is all I need to confirm her identity. Even her touch guarantees compliance. If I am to survive this night, I must pull strength from the very depths of my soul. But now, after all that has happened, am I truly that strong? Can I withstand her torment and the link?
I glance at her reflection in the mirror, and I gasp at the sight. I imagine she is smiling at me, but I do not see joy at all. Her face, darkened by the night, has morphed into a hideous creature. Her skin is taut, her eyes sunken, and her teeth large and bright; she looks more like a skeleton—like death incarnate—than a loving mother.
I squeeze my eyes shut, suck in a sharp breath, and step into the house. I’m so desperate to put space between Mamá and me, I am willing to walk into my prison to escape her.
I open my eyes, cross my arms, and hold on to myself as I enter. I try to draw from my inner strength, pretending the palms of my hands are somehow capable of becoming energy portals. I envision this magic seeping through my hands, strengthening every inch of my frame. I stand taller, more defiant.
When the sliding doors slam closed behind me, a burst of cold air sends shivers down my spine. I chew on my lip, peering into the living room. Unfortunately, we are alone. Will is nowhere to be found.
“¿Tienes hambre?” Mamá asks.
“No,” I say. The thought of eating right now makes my stomach churn.
“Siéntate,” Mamá says, and it takes all I have to fight her order. My body wants to obey, but my mind is screaming at me to stop.
“I am tired,” I say, glancing at the chair Mamá is pointing to. She wants me to sit, to talk, but I cannot. Any information she gains might uncover weakness. I worry about my safety, but I also fear for the vampires. The witches used black magic against me—one of their own. There is no telling what they will do to the vampires. I simply cannot risk it.
“Come,” Mamá says. “I will walk you to your room.”
I shake my head, immediately chastising myself for being far too eager to escape her. Mamá narrows her eyes, and already I can tell her mind is spinning. She is frustrated with my disobedience—something her spell surely should have corrected. If she asks me about my intentions for so easily returning home with her, will I divulge our plan? I must keep the vampires a secret. My survival—and Will’s—depends on it.
“You have company,” I remind her. I glance at the many unfamiliar witches who have assisted Mamá in ruining my life, and I burn their faces into my memory. I hate them—all of them, even the ones I do recognize.
Mamá frowns, but ultimately, she agrees to let me go alone. I knew she would. She may be a monster, but she is still my mother. She is not the only one who can con a fool.
Before she can object and force me to stay, I turn, rushing from the room. Without being too obvious, I quickly walk down the hall and up the stairs, nearly twisting my knee when I take the top landing too quick. I stumble into my old bedroom and slam the door closed behind me. With the wood barrier between us, I can finally breathe again.
Turning, I face my empty room, sliding down the door until I plop onto the floor. I sit with my back to the barrier, knees hiked up to my chest. Closing my eyes, I listen intently to the muffled conversations downstairs, rocking back and forth until the sounds of this old, creaking house finally fall silent.
When I wake, I am lying on my side. I open my eyes and stare at the layer of dust coating the floor. I sigh, blowing a cloudy puff into the air.
I sit upright, groaning as I stretch my neck. My muscles are tight, my back stiff. Glancing around my bedroom, I take a minute to fully wake. Everything looks exactly the same—eerily so—as it did before. Just sitting in this room makes me feel uneasy, like time has stood still since that fateful day. It pains me to know Mamá has been waiting for my return, especially considering how much she has tortured me over the past several months.
When I stand, my knees crack, my joints aching. Blood rushes to my head as I rise too quickly, and I lean against the door, teetering as I maintain my balance on just one leg. The other is tingling. I groan silently as the tiny pinpricks betray a sleepy limb.
Impatient, I move away from the door before my leg has fully recovered. I limp as I tiptoe through the room and peer out my bedroom window. The sky is dark, but I do not know how much time has passed. Without the ability to sense the sunrise, I have no way of knowing the hour by just glancing at the moon.
I return to the door, and placing my ear against the wood, I listen. But I hear nothing. The house is silent, the visitors gone. I imagine Mamá is sleeping in her bedroom down the hall. With the house blanketed in darkness, now is my chance to find Will.
Slowly, I twist the knob and open my door. I peer into the hallway, which is just as dark as the night sky. I take one cautious step outside my room and glance down the hall toward Mamá’s room. Her bedroom door is closed.
I move slowly and deliberately toward her room, but by the time I finally reach the end of the hall and place my hand on her doorknob, I am shaking so violently, I cannot grasp the knob.
My palms are slick, my mouth dry. I wipe my hands on my jeans and shake out my arms. Silently, I tell myself to be strong, but internally, I am still far too weak to open her door.
I back away slowly, tiptoeing until I am back at the top of the stairs. Each time the hardwood floors creak under my weight, I freeze, choking on my breath, only daring a peek after several seconds have passed.