“Why would we get lost?” cried Vicky, and her voice sounded childish, so paralyzed with terror that Gaspar squeezed her arm and held on to it with his free hand while his other tried to hold the flashlight steady. He’d put the crowbar in his pocket; he knew it must be sticking out, but he couldn’t see it in the darkness. He didn’t answer Vicky. It was obvious why they could get lost: the walls of the hallway were no longer there. This wasn’t a hallway anymore. He was scared by the thought of crossing the room with the shelves again (what was on the highest shelves? Hearts, lungs, brains, maybe heads?), but he knew they couldn’t go any farther into the house. Whatever was farther in was very far from the street, from their homes, from the neighborhood, from their parents. If Pablo realized they were no longer in the hallway, he didn’t say anything. Gaspar heard him sniff in the darkness. He could hear his own heart beating too fast, skipping some beats. He raised the flashlight to neck height and shone it on what was no longer a hallway. Vicky’s breath was on his ear and he heard her say:

“Turn on the flashlight, please, please.”

He was surprised. Were her eyes closed?

“It’s on,” he said.

“Don’t lie, asshole! I can’t see anything.”

Think fast, think fast, Gaspar told himself. If she finds out the flashlight is on and she still can’t see, she’s going to think she’s gone blind. If I pretend it doesn’t have batteries or doesn’t work, she’ll get mad at Pablo. If Pablo can see, maybe he’ll understand enough to keep quiet. That was better. Vicky furious was better than Vicky terrified.

“I can’t see anything either,” said Pablo. He wasn’t crying anymore. Gaspar felt he could trust him, didn’t have to take care of him. He didn’t understand why his friends couldn’t see. The flashlight illuminated only a little space, but very well. He could tell the batteries were new. It was a detail Pablo never would have missed.

“It went out. Vicky, take it easy, I can see a little.”

Vicky never acted like a baby. That’s why it was so easy to be friends with her. But now she was hysterical. And she started to say aloud, right by Gaspar’s ear:

“I can’t stand this buzzing anymore, and now they’re talking! Can’t you guys hear someone talking?”

That’s why she’s acting like this, thought Gaspar. Vicky didn’t lose control so easily: she was hearing things, something different was happening to her than to him or to Pablo. She was locked inside her head as well as inside the house. Gaspar didn’t hear anything at all. Not the buzzing—which he’d heard when they entered but had now disappeared—and of course not any voices. He shouted in the darkness:

“Pablo, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” said Pablo, doubtfully. “I don’t hear anything either.”

“Okay. Hold on to Vicky, and walk. I’ll guide you; you guys just walk. Don’t let go.”