Outside the patisserie she hailed a taxi and gave her address. The taxi driver was in a chatty mood and offered her a long monologue, to which Alicia vaguely agreed. As the narcotic began to freeze her blood, the city lights seemed to fade into a watery mantle, like watercolor stains sliding down a canvas. The traffic sounds seemed to reach her from afar.

“Are you feeling all right?” asked the driver, stopping in front of her flat on Calle Aviñón.

She nodded and paid her fare without waiting for the change. The taxi driver, not altogether convinced, didn’t leave until he’d made sure she could fit the key in the lock.

Not wanting to bump into Jesusa or some neighbor eager for long-time-no-see conversations on landings, Alicia started up the stairs at a brisk pace. After what felt like an interminable ascent, marked by moments of darkness and vertigo, she managed to reach the door to her flat. Miraculously, she found her key and let herself in.

Once inside, she took the bottle out of her bag again. She pulled out two more pills with trembling fingers, let the bag fall to the ground by her feet, and walked over to the dining-room table. The bottle of white wine Fernandito had given her was still there. She filled a glass to the rim. Clutching the table with one hand to steady herself, she swallowed the pills in one gulp, raising the empty glass to Leandro’s health. And especially not with alcohol.

* * *

Alicia staggered down the corridor to her bedroom, dropping her clothes on the way. Without bothering to switch on the light, she slumped down on the bed and, with great difficulty, tugged the bedspread over herself. Exhausted, she closed her eyes. The cathedral bells rang in the distance.

10

In the dream, the stranger had no face. His black silhouette looked as if it had become detached from the liquid shadows that dripped from the ceiling. At first Alicia thought she had seen him watching her from the foot of her bed, but then she realized that he was sitting on the edge, pulling off the sheets that covered her. She felt cold. The stranger was slowly removing his black gloves. She felt his freezing fingers touch her bare belly, searching for the scar that spread over her right hip. The hands of the stranger explored the folds in the wound, and his lips settled on her body. The warm contact of the tongue caressing the ridge of the scar made her feel nauseous. Only when she heard footsteps walking away along the corridor did she realize she wasn’t alone in the apartment.

Fumbling about in the dark for the switch, she turned on her bedside lamp. The light blinded her, and she covered her eyes. She heard steps in the dining room, then the sound of a door closing. When she opened her eyes again, she saw that she was lying naked on her bed, the sheets piled up on the floor. She sat up slowly, holding her head, overwhelmed by vertigo. For a moment she thought she would pass out.