Nevertheless, I squeezed off two shots. The rounds blew two new holes through the wall.

The reports were earsplitting and toneless. Blue smoked trailed up from the end of the barrel. Cordite filled my nostrils.

Jesus and Pita emerged from the bedroom, demanding to know what was going on.

“Solano’s outside!” I said, shoving the table aside and throwing open the door. I expected an ambush, a blade to arc through the air.

Nothing.

I swung the pistol to the left, to the right.

Nobody on the porch.

I scanned the dark forest.

Nobody fleeing.

Nobody anywhere.

From behind me Jesus swore softly.

4

He was looking at Nitro’s body. It was exactly where we’d left it. I was about to ask him what was wrong when I noticed Nitro’s eyes—or lack of eyes.

Like Miguel’s, they were missing.

1957

She sank below the surface of the canal in a cloud of red until she came to rest on the rock-covered bottom. Unconscious, she wasn’t holding her breath. Instead water gushed down her airway, filling her lungs, preventing the transfer of oxygen to her blood. There would be a feeling of tearing and burning inside her chest, though she wasn’t aware of this. She was blissfully ignorant of any physical sensation.

Then her breathing stopped altogether, and she was in respiratory arrest.

Somewhere deep inside of her, however, in the womb of her mind where all thoughts were born and most dwelled without being spoken out loud or acted upon, she was wondering why this was happening to her, and this bewilderment was mixed with surprise that she was drowning, that she was dying.

And then the strangest thing happened. She experienced a kind of hiccup, and the part of her responsible for these thoughts was outside of her body. It was floating back up through the water, through the surface, and she could see her little body lying at the bottom of the canal, convulsing violently now, in the final stages of death, and she could see her father and mother already in the gondola, moving quickly away, her father’s face a steely mask as he pushed the boat with the pole, her mother sobbing into her hands.

And as she watched them leaving her for a second time, abandoning her to her cruel fate, a hatred of frustration and despair roared through her, consuming her entirely, a banshee-like madness driven by a single purpose.

Revenge.

Elizaveta

1

Jesus blundered into the cabin, his face manic with fear, shouting in Spanish that Nitro’s eyes were missing. Pita moaned miserably. Elizaveta felt sick. Whoever was out there—Solano, it was only Solano, an old man—took Nitro’s eyes too? But why?

She clutched Rosa against her, covering her ears with her hands.

Jack returned next, pistol in hand. He seemed agitated.

“Did you hit him, Jack?” Elizaveta asked.

He shook his head. “He got away.”