Blair Bathory

"'There's no one there,' she said. I looked again. Gone. I told myself I imagined it. The music, the lights, the sugar rush from the elote. Maybe it had scrambled something in my brain. But even as I laughed it off, a chill climbed up my spine, and I curled behind my ribs like a warning. And then Nico disappeared. One second, he was on there. The next, he was just gone."

We screamed his name, tore through the crowd like a fire had been lit under our feet. I checked vendor stalls, porta-potties, and the grass near the sidewalk. Maya ran toward the floats. No one had seen him, but something inside me knew. I turned to the river. The sounds of the parade rapped and melted behind me, too loud, then too distant, like they belonged to another world.

We screamed his name, tore through the crowd like a fire had been lit under our feet. I checked vendor stalls, porta-potties, and the grass near the sidewalk. Maya ran toward the floats. No one had seen him, but something inside me knew. I turned to the river. The sounds of the parade rapped and melted behind me, too loud, then too distant, like they belonged to another world.

We screamed his name, tore through the crowd like a fire had been lit under our feet. I checked vendor stalls, porta-potties, and the grass near the sidewalk. Maya ran toward the floats. No one had seen him, but something inside me knew. I turned to the river. The sounds of the parade rapped and melted behind me, too loud, then too distant, like they belonged to another world.

The grass was slick beneath my feet, the wind colder here, sharper. and she was there, waist deep in the river, her soaked dress floating around like petals peeled from a rotting flower. Her face was turned up pale, hollow, eyes black as the water. In her arms, Nico. He wasn't moving. I screamed. His name tore out of my throat like it didn't belong to me. She looked at me, opened her mouth.

The grass was slick beneath my feet, the wind colder here, sharper. and she was there, waist deep in the river, her soaked dress floating around like petals peeled from a rotting flower. Her face was turned up pale, hollow, eyes black as the water. In her arms, Nico. He wasn't moving. I screamed. His name tore out of my throat like it didn't belong to me. She looked at me, opened her mouth.

The grass was slick beneath my feet, the wind colder here, sharper. and she was there, waist deep in the river, her soaked dress floating around like petals peeled from a rotting flower. Her face was turned up pale, hollow, eyes black as the water. In her arms, Nico. He wasn't moving. I screamed. His name tore out of my throat like it didn't belong to me. She looked at me, opened her mouth.

The sound that came out wasn't a wail. It was a wound, a raw, cavernous cry that ripped through the world and bent it around her. It drowned the fireworks, the cheering, the music. Only I could hear it. I ran toward the water, but someone grabbed me from behind. Security, maybe? Or a cop? I thrashed and screamed and pointed. But when I looked back, she was gone. So was Nico.

The sound that came out wasn't a wail. It was a wound, a raw, cavernous cry that ripped through the world and bent it around her. It drowned the fireworks, the cheering, the music. Only I could hear it. I ran toward the water, but someone grabbed me from behind. Security, maybe? Or a cop? I thrashed and screamed and pointed. But when I looked back, she was gone. So was Nico.

The sound that came out wasn't a wail. It was a wound, a raw, cavernous cry that ripped through the world and bent it around her. It drowned the fireworks, the cheering, the music. Only I could hear it. I ran toward the water, but someone grabbed me from behind. Security, maybe? Or a cop? I thrashed and screamed and pointed. But when I looked back, she was gone. So was Nico.

The search lasted weeks. Helicopters, divers, dogs. His face plastered across telephone poles and bus stops. But no one found a trace. Not one shoe. Not one footprint. Just still water and silence. Except me. Three weeks later, Maya sent me a video. I didn't want to show you before, she wrote. But I looked at my stories from that day again and I saw something.

The search lasted weeks. Helicopters, divers, dogs. His face plastered across telephone poles and bus stops. But no one found a trace. Not one shoe. Not one footprint. Just still water and silence. Except me. Three weeks later, Maya sent me a video. I didn't want to show you before, she wrote. But I looked at my stories from that day again and I saw something.

The search lasted weeks. Helicopters, divers, dogs. His face plastered across telephone poles and bus stops. But no one found a trace. Not one shoe. Not one footprint. Just still water and silence. Except me. Three weeks later, Maya sent me a video. I didn't want to show you before, she wrote. But I looked at my stories from that day again and I saw something.

The clip was shaky, full of motion, music blasting, people dancing. Maya had zoomed in on a float shaped like a giant pinata. But just before the camera pans, you can see her. The woman in white. Not across the street. Not far in the background. Right behind Nico. And her hand is reaching out. I stopped sleeping.

The clip was shaky, full of motion, music blasting, people dancing. Maya had zoomed in on a float shaped like a giant pinata. But just before the camera pans, you can see her. The woman in white. Not across the street. Not far in the background. Right behind Nico. And her hand is reaching out. I stopped sleeping.

The clip was shaky, full of motion, music blasting, people dancing. Maya had zoomed in on a float shaped like a giant pinata. But just before the camera pans, you can see her. The woman in white. Not across the street. Not far in the background. Right behind Nico. And her hand is reaching out. I stopped sleeping.

I started hearing things, soft crying from the shower drain, from the hallway, from under my bed. I burned sage, covered mirrors. I even tried praying. And I don't pray. But one night, I heard her again. Not in my head. Not from a screen. Outside. Between the whoosh of traffic and the buzz of streetlights, I heard weeping. So I went to the river. I don't remember putting on shoes.

I started hearing things, soft crying from the shower drain, from the hallway, from under my bed. I burned sage, covered mirrors. I even tried praying. And I don't pray. But one night, I heard her again. Not in my head. Not from a screen. Outside. Between the whoosh of traffic and the buzz of streetlights, I heard weeping. So I went to the river. I don't remember putting on shoes.

I started hearing things, soft crying from the shower drain, from the hallway, from under my bed. I burned sage, covered mirrors. I even tried praying. And I don't pray. But one night, I heard her again. Not in my head. Not from a screen. Outside. Between the whoosh of traffic and the buzz of streetlights, I heard weeping. So I went to the river. I don't remember putting on shoes.

I just remember walking through the dark, drawn like a tide I couldn't resist. She was waiting. Floating just above the surface, her long hair suspended like smoke. Her eyes opened the moment I stepped onto the bank. You heard me, she said. Her voice was low and raw, like something torn from the earth. I whispered. I called for help, she said. No one came.