But Vera couldn’t unsee what she saw. She knew what existed, and now she was more committed than ever to becoming a psychiatrist. She wanted to know that someday, if a poor afflicted soul was ever admitted into a hospital, there would be someone there to consider all options.

That was her purpose in life. She knew that now more than ever.

“My mom wants to have dinner with you,” Vera said as she ripped a tail off a stuffed shrimp.

“They want to come here?” Max gestured around.

“You eat here all the time. She wants you to come over to our house. Don’t worry, Aunt Tilda will cook.” Vera nudged him.

“Well, how can I say no to that?” He pecked her lips, and as he did a loud pack of teenagers stumbled through the door.

Vera turned to see their classmates, Max’s friends, though he hadn’t seen them much lately. He said that wasn’t Vera’s fault, and she shouldn’t feel guilty, but she did. She didn’t want to take him away from who he was or those who were important to him.

“Max!” Leo yelled, his hand raised high to show an August sweat stain on his blue T-shirt. Jackson tumbled behind him, tripping in his flip-flops.

Delilah stood at their sides.

“When are you off work?” Jackson asked, his hand on Delilah’s shoulder. She clasped her palm with his, aiming a smile directly at Max. It was an intentional gesture. They were together, and she wanted Max to know it.

“Um, guys.” Max stood. “I’m hanging out with Vera tonight. Family dinner.” He nodded to the crowded picnic table that included Vera’s aunt, a priest, Max’s grandparents, his little sister, and his mom.

Delilah’s mouth set in a hard line. “Oh, that’s…great.”

“Yeah, maybe tomorrow.” Max placed a palm on Vera’s shoulder and squeezed.

They were together too. There was no point in pretending anymore.

The darkness was behind them now. The steely clouds had lifted from their small coastal town, and all it had taken was a lonely girl dressed in black beating a monster.

THE TRUTH

Santa Muerte

The shrine at the center of this novel, the Angel of Tears, is fictional. Its basis draws inspiration from the folk religion of Santa Muerte (literally translated as “Saint Death”), which is most commonly practiced in Mexico, along with the United States. Death figures have existed in Catholicism since at least medieval times, rising in popularity and number during the Black Plague. Some scholars tie Santa Muerte to Spanish colonizers who brought images of La Parca, the Grim Reaper, into the lands they invaded. Others say the religion is born from Mictlantecuhtli, the Aztec god of the dead. Worshippers pray to a female skeleton wrapped in a colorful robe or wedding gown, often wearing jewelry, decorated with flowers, and holding a scythe or a crystal globe. Devotees create altars and leave offerings. These rituals are derived from indigenous practices, Spiritualism, Santería, Catholicism, and New Age philosophies. While some devotees remain active in the Catholic church, in 2013, the Vatican declared Santa Muerte a “degeneration of religion.”