"Woman, what are you doing?"

The women approached her when they saw her kneeling on the ground, clawing at the earth with her own nails. But Margarita did not respond. She was utterly absorbed in her task.

The neighbors offered her some linden tea, but she refused, even though she was dying of thirst.

"Woman, your lips are cracked. Drink some tea."
"No. Thank you."

Leonora disappeared and returned with a plastic pitcher filled with hibiscus water and a few glass cups. Like a vampire smelling blood, Margarita froze and turned to them, making the women flinch at the eerie glow in her eyes. She grabbed one of the cups, poured herself some agua de jamaica, and drank greedily, nearly choking. Then she poured more and gulped it down with no regard for manners or decorum. Stunned, Leonora and Remedios stepped back as Margarita resumed her digging.

At some point during the night, with the tips of her fingers, she scraped against something beneath the earth—something warm and still pulsing. She dug around it, freeing it from the clutches of the soil, from the tangled roots and writhing worms, pulling it out.

It was the cat.
The damn cat.

The creature, as if reanimated by some unknown force, began to stir. With a series of sickening retches, it hacked up a ball of mud and fur.

Margarita watched, exhausted.
<<Now what?>>

The feline, still struggling to steady its breath and movements, gazed at her with tenderness and approached, rubbing its damp, foul-smelling fur against her skin. A shudder of repulsion ran through her, and as if sensing her rejection, the cat growled, hissed, and sank its fangs into her arm.

Margarita screamed, and the cat bolted.

Staggering, as if intoxicated by the bite, as if a venomous beast had struck her, she stumbled inside, slamming the door shut behind her. Leaning against it for support, her strength faded, and slowly, she collapsed onto herself, curling up into a ball at the threshold of her own home.

<<Meow.>>

That infernal sound—the call of that cursed little beast—pulled her from unconsciousness.

She straightened up, convinced she had heard it again. She peeked through the window and, just before dawn, caught a glimpse of the cat vanishing into the distance. At the foot of the window lay its gruesome offering: the dismembered body of a rooster.

<<Meow.>> She heard it in the distance.

She stumbled toward her bedroom, but just as she was about to collapse onto her bed, she thought she heard three sets of footsteps behind her—one heavy and clumsy, the other two swift and nimble.

<<Luisito.>> She thought.

She turned, and just as she expected, saw nothing. But it didn't matter. She remembered the words of her Master.
Her Master.

Frenzied, she rushed to the kitchen, rummaged through the dishes, staring at her dirt-stained hands, no longer certain if the grime was real or imagined. She stood up, grabbed a glass from the pantry, and clasped it with both hands, clinging to it with unshakable faith. Pressing her forehead against the cool surface of the glass, she knew this was her only hope.

She pulled a folded note from her pocket and read:

"God, please let what I seek appear, for I cannot see it."