The sun woke me around 8 A.M. I rubbed my face, climbed from the car, and rang the doorbell.
Jasmin answered. I introduced myself again, reminding her that I’d visited the day before, but she buzzed me in before I could finish.
It wasn’t Violet who answered the door; it was her mother. “Raymundo,” she said, squinting at me from behind her drugstore glasses. “Vi isn’t here. But come in! Come in! Have a cup of tea.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Johnson. I’d love some.”
I followed her into the kitchen, where Jasmin was sloppily spooning cereal into her mouth. Mrs. Johnson put the kettle on the burner. “Please,” she said. “Call me Maria. You are a grown man now. You can talk to me like one. I don’t mind.”
“Thank you, Maria.” I was careful to keep my tone respectful.
She leaned against the cutting board and looked me over like an unexpected second chance. “So how have you been? Where are you working?”
“Things have been difficult,” I told her. That was true, but the next thing I said was a white lie: “I got laid off from one job and haven’t been able to find another.” She looked disappointed at that, and I suddenly remembered that she could talk about jobs and the finding of them endlessly. I changed the subject. “How have you been? How is Mr. Johnson?”
“Oh,” she said, and waved my question away. “I’m the same as always, but older. Mr. Johnson, he is off in Florida now, fighting for the unions. I tell him, ‘Why go there? They hate unions!’ but he don’t listen. So, Ray, can you tell me what happened to my Tommy?”
That startled me. “Vi said he left town, although the way she said it made me think there was more to the story. I’m sorry, Maria. I haven’t heard a thing about him.”
“Can you ask around for me? I tried, but nobody does anything for an old Mexican lady. You’re the only one who ever showed me any real respect. And Tommy … He don’t call me or his father. Mr. Johnson, he blames me. He thinks I drove Tommy away from the family. You went to jail for Tommy, yes? You’ll do this for me?”
“If I can, I will,” I said. “But I’ll need to talk to Violet again. Where—”
From the other room, Jasmin shouted: “Abuela, the ghost is still here!”
I hadn’t realized she’d left. I rushed into the other room, Maria close behind me. Jasmin was kneeling on the couch, looking down into the space behind it.
“Jazzy! You come away from there and finish your breakfast. Then we can go to the park. And stop this foolishness about ghosts.”
I went close to her. There was nothing behind the couch except dust bunnies. “What kind of ghost is it?” I asked. The window was right beside us; I glanced through it and saw a man in a red shirt with long camo pants standing on the sidewalk, looking up at the building.
“It’s a fire ghost,” Jasmin said. “It burns you if you touch it.”
I knelt on the cushion beside her and reached into the space between the couch and the wall. I touched something wet and sticky that I couldn’t see. Almost immediately, my fingertips began to burn. I yanked my hand back and pulled the little girl off the couch. “Hold her,” I said to Maria, and the tone of my voice surprised her. She took the little girl in hand.
I rushed to the kitchen and ran my fingers under the tap. The pain washed away quickly, leaving my skin a little red. I filled a tall glass with water and went back into the living room.
Maria had pulled the couch away from the wall. “Go to your room, Jazzy,” she said, but she didn’t object when the girl ignored her by jumping onto the couch and peering over the back.
Maria reached into the space in front of the wall. “Ah! Holy Maria!” She held up her fingers, trying to see what had hurt them.
“Don’t wipe it on your clothes,” I told her. “Dip your fingers in here, quickly. That will help.” I gave her the glass and she wet her hand, cleaning it off.
“And I didn’t believe Jazzy when she said she saw a ghost. What is it, Raymundo? What’s in my daughter’s home?”
“I don’t know yet.” But that wasn’t true. I knew damn well it was one of the predators that had attacked me at Caramella’s house, but why was it lying inert behind Violet’s couch?
I knelt and poured the water behind the couch. It struck something, then flowed over it onto the carpet. Water could wash off the burning effect but not the invisibility.
“What is it?” Maria asked.
I didn’t know how to answer. It was an irregular shape, and rounded. Was it lying in wait? “You have to get Jasmin out of here. Right away.”
“But what is it?” Maria asked again. “You didn’t tell me.”
“Because I’m not sure, but you’re not safe here. Please.”
“You brought this, didn’t you?” She looked at me with narrowed eyes. “Is this some fancy plastic you put here?”
Jasmin hopped off the couch and ran into the back of the apartment. I turned to Maria, incredulous. “How could I have put something behind the couch? And why?”
“You should know already we don’t have nothing to take,” she said. “I know that’s what all of you boys do. You and Arne and the rest—I know you got Tommy into it, too, before he vanished.”
There was nothing I could say to that. I was good enough to search for her son but couldn’t otherwise be trusted. Maybe she would have liked me more if I’d lied about having a job.
Jasmin ran back into the room with a roll of toilet paper, the loose end trailing behind her like a streamer. She leaped back up onto the couch and offered the roll to me.
The end of the paper fell onto the invisible whatever-it-was and stuck there. Damn. Smart kid. I took the roll and laid the paper over the invisible shape, doubling it back when it reached the end closest to me.
The paper stuck into place, showing the contours of the object. All at once, I realized what I was looking at. It was a human face, its eyes closed, its mouth open in a soundless scream.
Maria gasped. “Oh, my Melly!”
I jumped back, nearly knocking Maria over. Christ, she was right. It was Caramella. I stared at her, stunned. What had happened to her?
“You brought this here,” Maria said. The way she said it made me think she was trying to convince herself rather than accuse me. “This is because of you!”
I felt a sudden flash of anger. “You don’t know what you’re saying!” Her eyes went wide, and she stepped away from me. I took a deep breath, pulling back my anger. Of course Maria wasn’t accusing me of feeding Melly to a predator. Of course not.
I swallowed my anger and panic, trying to get a rational thought out of my brain. “Do you really think I brought invisible acid plastic here? Sculpted to look like Melly?”
“I—”
“Take your granddaughter out of here. Something dangerous is going on.”
“That’s really … her, isn’t it?” Maria looked back over at Caramella. Jasmin was still kneeling on the back of the couch, but she was now laying toilet paper along the invisible form on the floor, outlining Caramella’s breasts, belly, and arms. I didn’t even realize I’d dropped the roll.
“Hey!” Jasmin said. “Her lips are moving.”
My guts turned into a tight knot. I knelt close to Melly’s face. It was true; her lips were quivering as though she was in tremendous pain.
She was still alive.
“Why is she doing that?” Jasmin asked.
I lunged at her, caught her by the arms, and lifted her off the couch. I felt like I was violating a taboo—never touch someone else’s child—but I wanted to startle Maria. I wanted her to get the hell out.
As I pivoted to hand the little girl to her, she was already moving to take her. I pressed Jasmin into her arms, then forcibly steered her toward the door. She let me. “I can’t tell you what’s going on because I’m not sure myself. I only know that, whatever it is, it’s not safe for little girls.”