His voice is pained, appearing to echo from all sides. “I need you to call an ambulance,” he says over the rushed sounds of his movements. “Do you hear me? I need you to go to your neighbor’s house and call an ambulance.”
He doesn’t want me upstairs. He’s trying to get me to leave. Tears leak from my eyes. This is bad. This is really bad.
I turn to where Tía and a few of the neighbors are huddled at the front door. Mr. and Mrs. Turner are holding Tía up as she sobs. A few of the women are already crying. The men . . . they aren’t much better.
“Sol?” Mr. Toleman extends his hand from where he’s standing beneath the threshold, his face distraught. “Come on out here, baby,” he says. “Come and wait with us outside. The ambulance is already on its way, sweetheart.”
I stare at his hand and the lifeline he’s offering. He wants to spare me from what’s upstairs, from what I might find. I’m already crying. I know I should step outside. But I can’t. That’s my mother up there.
“Sol, no vayas, ni?a,” Tía wails. “Por favor no vayas, mija.”
Don’t go, girl, she says. Please don’t go. But I do. Forcing myself up the battered wood steps until I’m all but running. I slide down the hall, landing on my side, unsure what I slipped on until I see my hands soaked with blood.
For a second, all I can do is stare at the bright red fluid coating my palms. Somehow, I push up on my wobbly legs and stumble forward, halting in place when I reach my parents’ room.
Finn is kneeling on the floor beside my mother, both are covered in blood. His jacket is draped over her body and he’s pressing towels against her arms. “Sol, get downstairs,” he bites out. “Get downstairs now.”
My body checks out, slumping against the door frame as my mind takes in the room. Obscenities written in Spanish with my mother’s blood splatter the walls, while she lies on the floor smiling and repeating the words.
“Mami,” I sob. “What did you do? What did you do?”
I fall beside her, my screams, my demands that she tell me how she could do this to herself―to my father―to me, drowning out Finn’s words and his urges for me to leave.
My mother smiles despite her pallor, staring at the ceiling. I don’t hear the police arrive. All I see is her. But they’re suddenly there, storming in and surrounding us.
“Curran, get her out of here!” Finn hollers at his brother. “I don’t want her to see this!”
My body is lurched backward. I fight to get back as medics speed past me.
“Sol, Sol,” Curran says in my ear. “Don’t fight me. I need you outside, you hear me? Come outside with me so my boys can help her.”
I continue to writhe, trying to fight my way back. But Curran is a big guy and I can’t break free from his hold. He carries me down the stairs, away from the horror, and away from my mother. The cluster of neighbors gathered outside part, covering their mouths when they see me.
“Teo, Teo,” Curran calls when he steps forward. “Take Sol and keep her with you.”
Teo has me, but I don’t see him. I’m crying so hard all I make out is Curran racing back into the house and the police ordering the growing crowd of neighbors back. Teo is talking to me, and Sofia, too. I think Killian is there, but I’m not sure. I’m crying so hard I’m sick down to my gut, wanting to vomit.
I look up when the crowd gasps. Finn, his light blue shirt soaked through with my mother’s blood, robotically walks down the steps; his face ashen. Teo in his shock loosens his hold, allowing me to wriggle free and run to Finn.
Finn gathers me to him, shielding me with his body. “I’m sorry, baby,” he says. “Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry . . .”
My hands quiver as I lift the paper cup to my lips. It’s tea. Killian was nice enough to buy it for me, but I can’t bring myself to sip it and lower it back down to my lap. I’m shaking so badly it can’t be normal. That chill, that same one that’s claimed me since first seeing my mother, continues to rack my bones despite Finn’s strong arms around me.
In the corner, Teo is on the phone with Evie. This is the second time she’s called. But like the time before, Teo doesn’t have anything new to share.
The cuts to her arms weren’t fatal, nor did she sever any major arteries, but she’d lost so much blood. My head pounds as I recall the smears of red splattered all over the walls, the floors, and on our clothes.
Sofia crouches in front of me. “Do you want me to hold it for you?” she asks, motioning to my cup.
I nod because I’m done talking. Thank God the questions from the police were few, and thank God Curran assured me they’d stay that way. Tía called Teo instead of the police. It’s just like her not to phone the police directly. Thankfully, Teo reached out to Curran and he took charge, assembling everyone my mother needed.
My mother . . . my mother is a sick woman.