Because he wasn’t fighting with her, he thought; he was fighting with the house. Or with the owner of that voice.

Vicky tried to catch her too, and couldn’t. Pablo merely ran after her, panting. And then the three of them followed her down a wide hallway that had several doors to either side, an impossibly long hallway, meters and meters long, impossible for it to exist in that little house, its wooden floor a bit dirty, but not abandoned, and the walls papered with a fleur-de-lis pattern. It looks like a hotel hallway, Gaspar thought. All three of them watched as Adela opened a door that must lead to a bedroom. Before entering, she turned around and waved at them with her only hand. No one stopped her, because they planned to follow. They couldn’t have imagined that after waving, she would close the door behind her. Or that someone would close the door.

And then, when he saw her yellow hair disappear into the darkness—there was no light in the room she had entered—Gaspar knew that this was one door he wasn’t going to be able to open. It was out of his reach. He felt it in his body and his mind with a luminous clarity. First Vicky tried to open it: the doorknob turned, but that was all. None of them had heard the sound of a key turning. Then Gaspar tried, though he already knew it was useless. All three of them tried, not giving a thought to the presence, the someone else who could be in the house. They used the crowbar, they kicked, they ran at the door and tried to break it like they’d seen people do in movies. There was no opening it.

“We have to get help,” said Pablo, and in that precise second, as if he’d given an order, the light went out.

Vicky screamed and then started to cry very hard and loud and Gaspar realized her sobs were coming from below; she had sat down or fallen, it was hard to know which in that utter darkness.

“Hand me the flashlight,” he said, and Pablo fumbled with it behind Gaspar’s back until he found his hand. Gaspar took it and switched on the beam. The light was feeble, but it would have to be enough. Pablo was crying too: Gaspar recognized that contained, quiet sobbing. He didn’t feel like crying himself. He had to get them out of there, because they wouldn’t be able to do it on their own.

“Vicky,” he said. “Get up and grab my waist. Pablo, you grab her, that way we won’t get lost.”