Blair Bathory

He ran without direction, lungs aching, rocks biting through his sneakers. He didn't stop until he saw headlights, faint and flickering like a dying candle. An old man in a dusty Ford opened the passenger door without a word. Luis got in, shaking. Neither of them spoke. The radio hissed static. The dashboard smelled like cigarettes and dried flowers.

The man dropped him off at a gas station 20 minutes later and drove away. Inside, Luis tried calling Mateo. The signal cut in and out, stretching each ring into a warped tone. When it finally connected, Mateo's voice came through tight, hoarse. Their mom had died. A stroke, out of nowhere. Just after midnight. Luz hung up and leaned against the bathroom door, chest hollow. His fingers went numb.

The man dropped him off at a gas station 20 minutes later and drove away. Inside, Luis tried calling Mateo. The signal cut in and out, stretching each ring into a warped tone. When it finally connected, Mateo's voice came through tight, hoarse. Their mom had died. A stroke, out of nowhere. Just after midnight. Luz hung up and leaned against the bathroom door, chest hollow. His fingers went numb.

The man dropped him off at a gas station 20 minutes later and drove away. Inside, Luis tried calling Mateo. The signal cut in and out, stretching each ring into a warped tone. When it finally connected, Mateo's voice came through tight, hoarse. Their mom had died. A stroke, out of nowhere. Just after midnight. Luz hung up and leaned against the bathroom door, chest hollow. His fingers went numb.

His abuela's warning came back in pieces. If you see her, someone you love will die. Don't stop. Don't look. He didn't dream for two nights. Then he started seeing her again. Not on the road, but in mirrors. Reflections. Behind bus windows. Half-seen in elevator glass. Always just behind him. Always in black. Sleep felt like drowning.

His abuela's warning came back in pieces. If you see her, someone you love will die. Don't stop. Don't look. He didn't dream for two nights. Then he started seeing her again. Not on the road, but in mirrors. Reflections. Behind bus windows. Half-seen in elevator glass. Always just behind him. Always in black. Sleep felt like drowning.

His abuela's warning came back in pieces. If you see her, someone you love will die. Don't stop. Don't look. He didn't dream for two nights. Then he started seeing her again. Not on the road, but in mirrors. Reflections. Behind bus windows. Half-seen in elevator glass. Always just behind him. Always in black. Sleep felt like drowning.

He went to a priest, even though he hadn't been in church in years. The man listened without interrupting. When Louis finished, the priest rubbed a thumb across his lips and crossed himself. He didn't offer comfort, just a warning. You don't unsee her. Lewis started avoiding roads after dark, didn't take shifts past 10, didn't even look at crosswalks too long. But it didn't matter.

He went to a priest, even though he hadn't been in church in years. The man listened without interrupting. When Louis finished, the priest rubbed a thumb across his lips and crossed himself. He didn't offer comfort, just a warning. You don't unsee her. Lewis started avoiding roads after dark, didn't take shifts past 10, didn't even look at crosswalks too long. But it didn't matter.

He went to a priest, even though he hadn't been in church in years. The man listened without interrupting. When Louis finished, the priest rubbed a thumb across his lips and crossed himself. He didn't offer comfort, just a warning. You don't unsee her. Lewis started avoiding roads after dark, didn't take shifts past 10, didn't even look at crosswalks too long. But it didn't matter.

The signs came anyway. One night, while brushing his teeth, he looked up and saw two streetlights intersecting behind him in the mirror. His own bathroom had become a fork in the road. He dropped the toothbrush, didn't pick it up. The dream returned that night. He was standing at the fork again, but someone else was there now. Mateo, still, pale, eyes like static.

The signs came anyway. One night, while brushing his teeth, he looked up and saw two streetlights intersecting behind him in the mirror. His own bathroom had become a fork in the road. He dropped the toothbrush, didn't pick it up. The dream returned that night. He was standing at the fork again, but someone else was there now. Mateo, still, pale, eyes like static.

The signs came anyway. One night, while brushing his teeth, he looked up and saw two streetlights intersecting behind him in the mirror. His own bathroom had become a fork in the road. He dropped the toothbrush, didn't pick it up. The dream returned that night. He was standing at the fork again, but someone else was there now. Mateo, still, pale, eyes like static.

She stood behind him, and for the first time, she lifted her face. It was monstrous. It was familiar. His mother's tired eyes, his abuelo's sharp cheekbones, a face built from guilt, held too long in the body. Her mouth opened, but the sound was his own name, spoken like a prayer no one meant to say out loud. He woke up choking on air, skin damp, nails clawing at his own chest.

She stood behind him, and for the first time, she lifted her face. It was monstrous. It was familiar. His mother's tired eyes, his abuelo's sharp cheekbones, a face built from guilt, held too long in the body. Her mouth opened, but the sound was his own name, spoken like a prayer no one meant to say out loud. He woke up choking on air, skin damp, nails clawing at his own chest.

She stood behind him, and for the first time, she lifted her face. It was monstrous. It was familiar. His mother's tired eyes, his abuelo's sharp cheekbones, a face built from guilt, held too long in the body. Her mouth opened, but the sound was his own name, spoken like a prayer no one meant to say out loud. He woke up choking on air, skin damp, nails clawing at his own chest.

Three days later, Luis asked Mateo to meet him for a drive. He said he'd found the app again, said it was real this time. Mateo, being Mateo, said, bet, and showed up with a monster energy and a bag of Takis. Louis drove, back out to the same stretch of road. Same cracked pavement, same dusty sky. He stopped at the fork, cut the engine, unbuckled his seatbelt. Mateo frowned. What are you doing?

Three days later, Luis asked Mateo to meet him for a drive. He said he'd found the app again, said it was real this time. Mateo, being Mateo, said, bet, and showed up with a monster energy and a bag of Takis. Louis drove, back out to the same stretch of road. Same cracked pavement, same dusty sky. He stopped at the fork, cut the engine, unbuckled his seatbelt. Mateo frowned. What are you doing?

Three days later, Luis asked Mateo to meet him for a drive. He said he'd found the app again, said it was real this time. Mateo, being Mateo, said, bet, and showed up with a monster energy and a bag of Takis. Louis drove, back out to the same stretch of road. Same cracked pavement, same dusty sky. He stopped at the fork, cut the engine, unbuckled his seatbelt. Mateo frowned. What are you doing?

Louis got out of the car. The air was dead still. Dry, heavy like heat and lightning. He walked to the center of the crossroads and stood there. Waited. She didn't appear this time, but she was there. He could feel her, like pressure behind his ribs, like grief curling a hand around her heart before it can break. Behind him, the passenger door opened. Mateo called out. Lewis didn't turn around.