Chapter 5 - The Ghost in the Shadows
By Thursday afternoon, the tension inside the Alcázar estate was thick enough to choke on.
Mauricio spent hours locked in his study, shouting into his phone about international wire clearances and closing dates. Valeria was manic, fluttering around the house, measuring spaces for new furniture she planned to buy once they shipped me off to Europe.
"Get rid of that hideous rug," Valeria ordered Martha in the main living room, gesturing toward a Persian silk rug that had belonged to my mother. "It smells like an old woman. We'll replace it with Italian marble on Monday."
I sat on the sofa, holding a cup of lukewarm chamomile tea, staring straight ahead into the blank expanse of the room.
Suddenly, Valeria stopped pacing. Her heels clicked sharply against the floorboards as she walked over and stood directly in front of me.
"Sofía," she said, her voice dripping with artificial sympathy. "You’ve hardly eaten in two days. You look so pale. Are you nervous about the doctor's appointment tomorrow?"
"What doctor's appointment?" I asked, my voice small, fragile, and hesitant.
Valeria smiled a cruel, cat-like smile. "Mauricio didn't tell you? A specialist from Zurich is flying in tomorrow afternoon to evaluate your neurological state. He thinks you might benefit from an extended stay at a recovery retreat in the Alps. Clean air, mountain views... well, mountain sounds, in your case."
"A retreat?" I let my hands tremble around the teacup. "Will Mauricio and Mateo come with me?"
Valeria laughed, a short, sharp bark of ridicule. "Of course not, dear. A six-year-old child cannot live in an asylum. Mauricio has businesses to run. You will be very well taken care of. You won't have to worry about being a burden to anyone ever again."
"I see," I murmured, staring at the floor.
Valeria’s eyes narrowed. My lack of hysterical tears seemed to unsettle her. For seven years, any mention of being separated from Mauricio would send me into weeping fits.
"You're very calm today, Sofía," Valeria said, her tone suddenly dropping into cold suspicion. "Usually, you cry when Mauricio talks about business trips."
"I am tired, Valeria," I replied softly. "I am tired of falling down stairs. I am tired of my son hating me. Maybe... maybe the mountains are where I belong."
Valeria stared at me for three long, silent seconds. The air between us turned arctic.
Suddenly, without warning, she reached out and tipped the scalding hot teapot resting on the silver tray on the coffee table straight toward my bare legs.
The boiling water cascaded down in a searing torrent.
Every biological impulse in my body screamed at me to jump, to scream, to pull my legs back from the burning liquid. But I knew this was her ultimate test. If I reacted before the water touched my skin, she would know I could see it falling.
I sat perfectly still.
The boiling water soaked through my linen trousers, searing the flesh of my shins with agonizing heat.
Only *after* the liquid burned my skin did I shriek, dropping my teacup to shatter on the floor, thrashing backward on the sofa like a terrified, helpless blind woman.
"Oh! Oh, goodness!" Valeria gasped, stepping back with theatrical clumsiness. "I am so clumsy! The handle slipped! Martha! Bring ice immediately!"
I curled my knees to my chest, sobbing uncontrollably—half from the genuine, blistering pain on my legs, and half from the cold, burning satisfaction that I had fooled her.
Valeria looked down at my reddened, blistering shins, her chest heaving slightly. The suspicion in her eyes evaporated, replaced once again by the smug, arrogant superiority she wore like cheap perfume.
"Poor thing," Valeria cooed, patting my arm with a hand that felt like ice. "You really can't see a single thing, can you?"
"It burns..." I wept, burying my face in the sofa cushions. "It burns so much..."
"Martha will clean it up," Valeria said dismissively, turning on her heel and strutting toward the stairs. "Rest up, Sofía. Tomorrow is going to be a very big day for all of us."
Ten minutes later, Martha rushed into the room carrying a bowl of cold water, burn ointment, and clean linen wraps. She fell to her knees before me, tears streaming down her wrinkled cheeks.
"Niña Sofía," Martha whispered, using the childhood nickname she hadn't spoken in eight years. "I saw what she did. She did it on purpose. That evil woman did it on purpose!"
I looked down at Martha. This time, I didn't hide my eyes. I looked directly into her face, my green eyes blazing with clear, lucid intelligence.
Martha gasped, dropping the linen wrap into the bowl of water. "Your eyes... you can see me!"
"Yes, Martha," I whispered, reaching down and taking her trembling hands in mine. "I can see everything. Did you send the hair to my father?"
Martha nodded frantically. "Yes! The young man at the delivery gate took it yesterday. Niña Sofía, what are they going to do to you tomorrow? Mauricio signed papers this morning to have an ambulance take you directly from the notary office to the airport!"
"They aren't taking me anywhere, Martha," I said, wincing slightly as she gently applied the cooling salve to my blistered skin. "Tomorrow, Mauricio is holding an elite private reception in the grand ballroom of the Four Seasons to celebrate his 'merger.' He invited fifty of Mexico’s top business executives and journalists to witness the historic signing of the Salgado trust transfer."
"How can you stop him if he has the lawyers?" Martha cried softly.
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"Because he thinks he is dealing with a ghost," I smiled, a cold, predatory smile that made Martha catch her breath. "And tomorrow, the ghost is going to speak."
***
