PART 3
The room went completely silent.
I felt something cold move through my chest.
Omar stepped forward.
“Give me that.”
Emiliano immediately backed away.
“No.”
“Emiliano.”
“My mom said not to.”
Omar’s expression hardened.
“She was sick, buddy. She wasn’t thinking clearly.”
That sentence changed something in me.
I looked at him.
“What do you mean she wasn’t thinking clearly?”
He stopped.
For the first time that night, Omar seemed to realize he had said too much.
“She was under stress,” he answered quickly. “After everything that happened, she was confused.”
“What happened?”
“Alma, this isn’t the time.”
“Then when is the time?”
Several relatives looked between us.
My mother rose slowly from her chair.
“Omar,” she said, her voice trembling, “what exactly are you hiding?”
He shook his head.
“I’m not hiding anything.”
Then the little device in Emiliano’s hand vibrated again.
Everyone jumped.
The red light blinked twice.
Three times.
Then a tiny electronic voice came from it.
Rebecca’s voice.
“Alma… if you’re hearing this, please don’t let Omar take Emiliano out of the house.”
My mother covered her mouth.
Aunt Clara screamed.
I could not move.
My sister’s voice continued, faint and distorted, as though it had been recorded in a hurry.
“I don’t have much time. I don’t know who I can trust anymore. If something happens to me, the stairs were not an accident.”
Omar lunged.
“Give me that!”
I grabbed Emiliano and pulled him behind me.
Omar stopped only inches away.
His breathing was heavy.
“What did she tell you?” I demanded.
“Nothing.”
“She just said the stairs weren’t an accident.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The recording continued.
“If Omar tells everyone I fell, don’t believe him.”
A horrible silence followed.
Then Rebecca whispered:
“And whatever you do, don’t call the police from Mom’s house.”
The recording ended.
Nobody spoke.
For several seconds, the only sound was the faint crackling of the candles.
Then my mother whispered, “Why not?”
I looked at Omar.
He was staring at the device as though it had just destroyed his entire life.
I knew then that whatever had happened to Rebecca was much bigger than a fall.
But before I could ask another question, Emiliano tugged my sleeve.
“Aunt Alma.”
“What?”
“There’s another one.”
My heart stopped.
“Another what?”
He pointed toward Rebecca’s dress.
“Another sound.”
We all listened.
At first, nothing.
Then—
Click.
Click.
Click.
Three faint sounds came from somewhere beneath the lining.
I looked at Omar.
He was already moving toward the front door.
“Where are you going?” I shouted.
He didn’t answer.
He grabbed his coat.
I ran after him.
“Stop!”
He turned.
For a moment, we stood staring at each other.
Then he said something that made the entire room go cold.
“You have no idea what you’re getting involved in.”
He opened the door.
But before he could step outside, my mother blocked him.
“You killed my daughter?”
Omar’s eyes widened.
“No.”
“Then why are you running?”
“I need air.”
“You need to stay here.”
He looked past her toward Emiliano.
“Give me my son.”
Emiliano buried his face against my side.
“No.”
Omar’s jaw tightened.
“Alma, you’re making a mistake.”
I held my nephew closer.
“No. I think my sister made sure I would finally make the right one.”
Omar stared at me for several seconds.
Then he walked out.
I watched his car disappear into the darkness.
Only after his taillights vanished did I realize my hands were shaking.
My mother whispered, “Call the police.”
I reached for my phone.
Then stopped.
Rebecca’s recording echoed in my mind.
Don’t call the police from Mom’s house.
Why?
I looked around the room.
The candles.
The photographs.
The flowers.
The people.
Then my eyes landed on the casket.
“What if she knew someone was listening?”
My mother stared at me.
“What do you mean?”
“What if Rebecca didn’t trust the police?”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe it does.”
I turned to Emiliano.
“Sweetheart, when did your mom give you this?”
He hesitated.
“Tuesday.”
“Tuesday?”
He nodded.
“We were in the kitchen.”
“What did she say?”
“She said we were playing a game.”
“What kind of game?”
“The waiting game.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did you have to wait for?”
He looked at Rebecca.
“For her to make the sound.”
I glanced at the device.
“Did she tell you what this is?”
He shook his head.
“She said it was a secret key.”
“A key to what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she give you anything else?”
He thought for a moment.
Then slowly nodded.
“Yes.”
“What?”
He pointed toward the casket.
“Something inside her shoe.”
I froze.
“Her shoe?”
He nodded.
“She said you would need it.”
My mother looked horrified.
“We can’t keep opening things on her body.”
“We have to,” I whispered.
Because suddenly I understood.
Rebecca hadn’t wanted us to mourn her.
She had wanted us to find something.
I moved toward the casket.
My hands trembled as I lifted the edge of the maroon dress.
Her shoes were simple black flats.
I reached down.
Nothing.
I checked the first shoe.
Empty.
Then the second.
My fingers touched something hard beneath the insole.
I pulled it out.
A tiny folded piece of paper.
My sister’s handwriting covered the outside.
ALMA.
ONLY YOU.
I unfolded it.
There were only six words.
THE HOUSE IS NOT SAFE ANYMORE.
My mother began crying.
I stared at the words until they blurred.
Then I noticed something else.
There was an address written underneath.
Not our mother’s house.
Not Rebecca’s house.
Not Omar’s workplace.
An address I recognized immediately.
It was the address of the abandoned motel where our father had worked when we were children.
A place that had been closed for almost fifteen years.
I looked at Emiliano.
“Why would your mother send us there?”
He whispered:
“Because that’s where she hid the real one.”
“The real what?”
He looked confused.
“The book.”
“What book?”
“The book Daddy was looking for.”
My blood ran cold.
“What book?”
Emiliano lowered his voice.
“The book that made Mommy scared.”
Before I could ask anything else, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
No one spoke.
I could hear breathing.
Then a man’s voice whispered:
“Alma?”
“Yes.”
“You need to listen carefully.”
“Who is this?”
“Your sister was right about Omar.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Who are you?”
“I don’t have time.”
“Tell me your name.”
“You have until sunrise.”
“For what?”
“To find the ledger.”
I looked at the address in my hand.
“What ledger?”
The caller went silent.
Then he said:
“The one Rebecca died protecting.”
The line went dead.
I stood frozen.
My mother came toward me.
“Who was that?”
“I don’t know.”
Then I heard something outside.
A car door closing.
I looked toward the window.
A dark SUV was parked across the street.
The headlights were off.
Someone was sitting inside.
Watching the house.
My mother saw it too.
“Oh God.”
I grabbed the curtains and pulled them shut.
“Everyone stay away from the windows.”
My aunt began praying.
Someone locked the front door.
Another relative turned off the lights.
The house fell into darkness except for the candles surrounding Rebecca’s casket.
Emiliano stood beside me.
He whispered:
“Aunt Alma?”
“Yes?”
“Mom said something else.”
“What?”
“She said if the black car came…”
I swallowed.
“What did she say?”
He looked toward the window.
“Don’t stay in the house.”
A sudden knock came from the front door.
Three slow knocks.
Everyone froze.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
My mother grabbed my arm.
Nobody moved.
Then the knocking stopped.
A second later, my phone vibrated.
A message.
One sentence.
I looked at the screen.
GET EMILIANO OUT THROUGH THE BACK DOOR.
I looked at the sender.
It was Rebecca’s number.
My sister had been dead for almost two days.
And somehow, someone had just sent me a message from her phone.
PART 4
For several seconds, I could not breathe.
Rebecca’s number was still glowing on my screen.
GET EMILIANO OUT THROUGH THE BACK DOOR.
I read it again.
Then again.
My mother leaned closer.
“What does it say?”
I turned the phone toward her.
Her face drained of color.
“That’s Rebecca’s number.”
“I know.”
“But she’s—”
“I know.”
Another sound came from outside.
Not a knock this time.
Footsteps.
Slow footsteps moving along the side of the house.
Someone was walking toward the backyard.
I looked at Emiliano.
He was staring at the floor.
“Sweetheart,” I whispered, “did your mom ever tell you what to do if someone came to the house?”
He nodded.
“What?”
“Hide.”
“Where?”
He pointed toward the kitchen.
“Behind the pantry.”
I looked at my mother.
“Get everyone into the hallway. Now.”
Nobody argued.
The room suddenly came alive.
Aunt Clara grabbed her purse. My mother hurried the older relatives away from the windows. Someone blew out several candles, leaving only a few flickering around Rebecca’s casket.
I took Emiliano’s hand.
“Come with me.”
He squeezed my fingers.
“Is it time?”
“For what?”
“The last part of the game.”
I stopped.
“What last part?”
He looked up at me.
“When Mommy told me to wait for the sound, she said you would know what to do after it.”
I remembered the buzzing device.
The recording.
