Her sister sat on the bed in a daze. Her long hair was disheveled, and tear tracks lined her cheeks. The apparition from before still had Alondra trembling. She didn't know why, but she didn't want to be in the room. In fact, she wanted to flee, screaming.

She shook off the ridiculous notion. Of course she had to stay and comfort Camila. Now, she was the only sister she had.

They sat together on the bed for a long time. Alondra took Camila's clammy hand and held it. After a reflective silence, the same words broke through Alondra's thoughts.

I did something terrible.

She stared at her sister in horror. At such close proximity, the sentence had invaded her, like fingers in her brain. Had this been what Mama had felt? How had she withstood it?

Recovering slightly, Alondra signed best she could:

"What happened?"

Instead of signing back, Camila played with the pillow in her lap.

Alondra, used to the non-answers, tried again. "Did you sell another painting? That man from gallery left a note, but I haven't looked at it yet."

She hoped she was signing correctly. Camila's standard blank stare was never indicative of anything. Maybe that was the cost of her genius. She was weird, just like Natalia said. At the same time, she created beautiful pieces of art. Even Luto, who insisted he didn't "get" art, liked some of her work.

Camila had a fan of sorts, a rotund man who claimed to own a gallery. Alondra meant to follow up with him, see if he was legit or just a pervert. Though, time had gotten away from her of late.

A second later, she realized she was dealing with something deeper.

He was hurting me. I had to. I had to.

Each word from Camila cut deeper into Alondra.

"Who?" she signed.

I'll show you.

It was a whisper reverberating in Alondra's head.

She shivered, unsure of what to expect. The day had been wrought with changes.

Suddenly, images filmed over her vision.

Trudging into a public restroom.

The boom of a strange man's voice.

The stall door being kicked open.

Alondra wanted the images to stop. She could do nothing to control them. She was well aware that the images were culminating into an awful event.

Still, pictures bombarded her consciousness, despite her reticence.

The man was stocky. His face was a map of wrinkles, flushed crimson with anger. Alondra was confused about why he was so upset.

She understood that it wasn't really her experiencing the confusion, or experiencing anything. She was viewing the world through her sister's eyes, or what had already happened to her sister, and this man.

Because something was surely happening to him. A second before, he had been reaching out a hand as though to snatch Camila and do who-knows-what with her.

Now, his eyes widened. His ruddy face bloomed to an unhealthy shade of purple. Thud, and his body was splayed on the dirty tile floor.

Alondra stepped over his large frame. One eye was open, and the other half-lidded. His mouth yawned, filled with yellow and browning stumps.

Everyone immitted a color. Not this man, not anymore. That was how she knew he was dead. She wasn't sorry. His color had been ugly, like his actions.

In the mirror above the sink, she saw a young woman clutching a bundled blanket. Her shirt was torn open, her bottom half fully bare. The young woman was Camila, Alondra realized with shock.

He deserved it.

The voice was unfamiliar, but Camila knew it. Being in her sister's head, Alondra knew it, too.

Pedro was still awake. When he was fully awake, he was thirsty. His thirst ran the gamut beyond the standard fare, instead involving dark deeds.

He deserved it, she agreed, nodding at the mirror. A figure stood sentinel behind her. Alondra recognized it as the boy she had seen in the hallway.

He grinned. Alondra felt like he was staring past Camila, past the mirror, and into her.

Gasping, she dragged herself from the horrid image and back into the harshness of reality. Underneath her, the hard surface of the bed did little to reassure her that the nightmare was over. However, she forgot some of her anxiety when Camila began to shake with sobs.

Her sisterly instinct roared forth. Alondra enfolded Camila in her arms.

"Shhh, it's okay." She rocked Camila, like their mother had when they had needed it. "It'll be okay."

But Alondra knew that was a lie.

~*~

That night, Alondra rolled listlessly in the bed. Luto snored next to her.

He had convinced her about two months ago that it was okay for them to sleep in the same bed, even though they were not married. She had protested for weeks, and still held reservations every time he climbed in the sheets next to her. Tonight, she couldn't be happier to have him there.

"Luto!"

Alondra shook his shoulder, but he did not wake. She shook him harder, and he nearly leapt from the bed.

When he calmed, she relayed most of what Camila had imparted to her. A warning sounded within her, and she held off on divulging the parts about the shadow. She didn't think it a boy anymore.

To his credit, Ludo listened to her speak, waiting for her to finish before he offered anything. What he did have in mind was terrifying of a different sort. He suggested they call a doctor, and have Camila examined. He said if they called the police, she would be put away. She needed help, and she was dangerous, and it was not something they could fix on their own.

They argued, but in the end, Alondra agreed with her fiancé. He was the head of the household, and he always knew what to do. It was silly to question that now.

Everything he said made sense. His solution would spare her sister from being locked up, and she would get help.

Alondra wanted to help Camila, and this was the only way.

~*~