Page 7 of Morena

IV.

A crash from below snapped me out of sleep. I pushed myself up carefully, taking every step slowly, and crept toward the window. If someone was in the house, I couldn’t let them see me.

The noise cut off, but my gut told me not to trust the silence. I eased myself onto the frame and lowered down onto the dumpster, trying not to rattle the metal. I could hear steady footsteps approaching.

My pulse spiked. I slid into the dumpster, burying myself among the bags. The stench clung to my throat, but I held it in.

Fuck. Just what I needed.

The footsteps drew closer. A black trash bag dropped in, landing heavy across my legs. Whoever it was didn’t linger. I waited, holding my breath.

The bag had torn on the way down, jagged edges of something sharp pushing through—porcelain, maybe glass. The shards glinted faintly in the light. My hand brushed against the plastic, and when I tugged it free, my blood went cold.

Blue Levi’s. A white blouse. Daisies stitched along the collar.

The same clothes she wore in the club that night.

I pushed myself up just enough to peer over the edge, but the street was empty. Whoever dumped it was already gone.

This couldn’t be real. Couldn’t be a coincidence.

Clutching the bag to my chest, I climbed out of the dumpster and slipped back onto the street.

I knelt at the end of the street and pulled the bag fully open.

Inside, tangled with the clothes, was something wrapped in cloth, a notebook, and the white blouse with daisies at the collar. The fabric was stiff, mottled with bloodstains that had turned dark brown.

I lowered myself onto the filthy ground and opened the notebook. Some pages had been ripped out, but scribbles stayed; half-thoughts and strange lists. On the very first page, scrawled in slanted ink, were three notes:

Blue eyes.

Left-handed.

A small scar on the back.

My first thought was Carlos. It made sense. But he had been surprised when we found the basement. At least he looked surprised. My head was fogged and heavy, as though even thinking his name twisted the air.

I wanted answers about her. But I didn’t want to be dragged into this. Not like this. If anyone saw me with these things, I would be blamed. How could I ever explain that I knew exactly what she had worn the night she disappeared? That I found her clothes stuffed in a dumpster where I worked?

I leaned against the wall; the night was still too dark. My hands unwrapped the cloth, and inside was a shard of mirror, glinting faintly in the streetlight. I let it fall to the ground with a dull clink.

The feeling came instantly. That weight of being watched. The kind that crawls in the back of your skull. I scanned the street, but no one was there.

And in the corner of my eye, something shifted. The mirror shard, something moving inside it.

My heart pounded. I scrambled back across the dirt, chest heaving, breath stuttering. My eyes burned trying to look away. Something clamped around my foot.

I whipped my head down, but nothing was there. Nothing I could see. Still, pressure dragged me, and claws scraped across my leg, sharp enough to split skin. Hot blood slicked down my calf.

I screamed.

The sound tore from my throat, so loud and raw. A neighbor’s light flicked on in the house next door, the glow spilling across the yard. The beam struck the shard of glass. And just like that, the grip on my foot released.

I lay still, frozen on the ground, chest heaving. The neighbor’s window went dark again.

When the silence returned, I moved. My hands clawed at the dirt, tearing through soil until my nails split and grit filled the cuts. I dug a shallow pit, shoved the glass and her bloodstained clothes inside, and buried them.

But I kept the notebook. I needed to know more. I needed every word, every secret.

So I waited, crouched in the shadows, until the first light of dawn.

I sat on the front porch, waiting for Carlos. The sun had already begun to rise, burning across my skin, and the white shirt clung to me, damp with sweat.

Not fifteen minutes passed before I saw him at the end of the street, walking toward me with that unhurried gait. The first thing out of his mouth was, “Uhh, you stink.”

“I…” My voice caught. I looked down at myself, then back at him.

“Someone from Paco’s crew came by last night. Patched the hole, laid down two wooden boards. You can reach the second floor now and take a shower.” He pinched his nose, unlocked the door, and handed me a key. “Once you finish, bring this back. Come by for lunch.”

I nodded, murmuring, 1 “Gracias.”

Even if Carlos was El Trece , he played the part too well. Always kind, always helpful. But aren’t they all charming first, before the switch flips, before they show the killer beneath?

I walked straight up the stairs. Whoever had been here last night knew about her clothes. They hadn’t come just to patch the floor. They wanted the basement hidden from me.

The black trash bag with my own clothes still leaned against the stairwell. I grabbed it and crossed the narrow boards to the second floor. The hallway was lined with closed doors. One by one, I tried them. Each swung open except for one that was locked tight.

The bathroom opened easily. The stench of bleach hit me at once; it was so wrong for a house that was slowly rotting. The tiles were white, and even a bar of soap, still wrapped, waited on the sink.

I stripped and climbed into the tub, turning on the water. It came out cold, but I didn’t care. The chill burned my skin, washing away sweat, dirt, and exhaustion. I worked the soap across my body, noticing bruises everywhere, scratches, cuts hidden in the folds of skin. I looked so beaten.

The water swirled down the drain, carrying the suds away. Slowly, the steam thickened, rising around me, though the water hadn’t warmed. The surface of the mirror above the sink blackened with fog. Letters carved themselves across it, one by one, as if a finger dragged through the mist:

“Mirror black and water still,

Morena waits to feel the kill.

One for sorrow, two for flame,

Say her name and play her game.”

My heart lurched. The house was silent. Too silent. Only me inside. Only her voice written in steam.

I should have been afraid. God, I wanted to be.

I shut off the water, stepped out dripping, and wrapped myself in a towel pulled from the bag. I slung the bag over my arm and reached for the door.

It did not open.

I twisted the knob again. Nothing.

“Fuck.”

The light snapped off.

Only a thin strip of sun slipped through the small window above the toilet. It cut across the bathroom and shone on the still water in the tub.

The surface rippled.

Her head rose slowly from the water, hair plastered to her face, strands clinging to her skin.

Hollow eyes stared through me. My vision blurred until it dimmed completely, and I was forced to close my eyes.

Tears ran hot down my cheeks, but the pain was unbearable, like fire burning its way out of me.

I lunged for the door. My hands fumbled on the knob, but this time it turned. I pushed it open and slammed it shut behind me, collapsing against the wood and sliding to the floor.

The pounding started again. Slams shook the door, and the knob rattled. I pressed my weight into it with everything I had, eyes clenched tight.

The sound faded. Silence pressed in.

Cautiously, I opened my eyes. My face felt wet. I wiped my cheek and froze. My hand came away red. Not tears. Blood. My eyes had bled for her.

Then came a gentle knock. Three times.

“Knock, knock, knock.” Her giggle threaded through the air.

I clamped my palm across my mouth, breath sharp and shallow.

“Wanna play a game?” Her voice dropped low, stretching the words.

I stayed still. Silent.

Cold seeped into me, crawling over my skin. I shut my eyes again, desperate not to see.

“You forget,” she whispered in my ear, although the knob still rattled behind the door, “I am a ghost, 2 ojos tristes. ”

Her touch slid along my arm, then up my neck, then across my face. My breath caught, strangled in my throat.

Her voice sang softly, her words twisting in my ear;

“Itsyyy, bitssyyy fingers creep,

While you hide, I’ll watch you sleep.”

Dust sifted down from the ceiling, sprinkling through my hair and onto my lashes. I did not dare move.

The door rattled again. Harder.

“If you open up and play,

I’ll only take your eyes away.”

Silence stretched. My chest locked tight.

“But if you don’t…” Then came three sharp taps, “…I’ll take the rest.”

I could hear her closer to me now.

Morena is here.

Her hands grabbed my ankles and pulled me to the end of the hallway, my body was pulled into a sitting position, and she turned my head to the right, where on the wall was a bigger mirror spreading from the bottom of the wall to the top, but still I didn’t dare to look.

“Open your eyes,” she whispered, “open them !” she screamed.

I tried to shut my eyes tighter, to block everything out, but the sound of footsteps dragged me back. I could hear a familiar, gentle voice from below.

“Matteo.”

Isabella.

Morena disappeared as if she’d never been there, and Isabella’s red hair caught the sunlight as she came towards me. The moment her eyes landed on mine, she hurried forward, wrapping her arms around me.

3 “ Tío told me what happened,“ she breathed, kissing my cheek. “Are you okay?”

The sun lit her skin, her freckles burning brighter, and her green eyes felt so alive, too alive. And I couldn’t answer. Not about death. Not about anything. Instead, I claimed the only truth I wanted: her.

My mouth crushed hers, my tongue forcing past her lips.

She gasped but didn’t pull away. She met me, twisting her tongue against mine, breath quickening, hungry for me.

She pushed me back, guiding us into the nearest room.

The door slammed shut, her back pressing against it, and I knew what was to come.