Page 44 of Cuervo's Carnival
21
Lola
Beneath the barren tent,I clasp my arms together, rubbing my flat palms against my prickled skin to regain any kind of warmth, but who am I kidding. That chill isn’t leaving me, and if this night keeps going the way it has, there is a possibility that we won’t be able to leave here alive either.
I look to Cillian, who is still trying to see if cell service has returned. He is pacing the exposed ground under the tent with his hand raised high, moving his phone side to side.
“God damn it,” he grunts, kicking his Vans into the dirt. “Fuck this place!” he shouts.
I’m about to comfort him when I see Madame Eronel slowly walking toward the back of the tent. My lips part, about to call to her when she raises her finger. A slowshhsound breaks from her lips, which radiates at my ears. I watch as she slowly walks in a circle before making her way to me.
I look to Cillian, who is still messing with his phone, frustrated. Although, something tells me that even if he weren’t on his phone, he wouldn’t see her.
For some reason, it is only me who sees her.
Now just inches from where I stand, Madame Eronel is in front of me. Extending her hand out and onto my arm, a rush of cold air comes with it. Suddenly, my eyes are closed, and I’m transported back to the day, over a year ago, whenAbuelawas diagnosed with stage four lung cancer.
“I’m so sorry, but given how fast the cancer has spread, there is nothing we can do but make sure she is comfortable until it is time,” the doctor says before leaving the room.
“Abuela,” I cry at her bedside, but she smiles at me, wiping away my tears.
“Ven aquí,” she says, patting her hand full of rings on the bed.
I join her on the bed, resting my head against her frail shoulder.
“Lola, I don’t want you to worry about me. I have lived a long life. Even now, I am fortunate—” she begins.
“But, Abuela—” I interrupt.
She raises her hand. “There is something I need to tell you. Do not fear death, because no amount of worrying will change the consequence of mortality. All fearing the inevitable will do is rob you of your peace and cloud your gift.”
“My gift?” I ask.
“Sí.” She brings her hand to above my heart. “The moment you accept that death is a part of life and fear is a part of growth, your vision will clear, and you will learn to embrace the time you have. Death will call to you, my sweet Lola. Death's cold, frigid hand will await you, but do not fear it. Use it to your advantage.”
Suddenly, the music from the Ferris wheel begins to play beneath the tent. My eyes bolt open, expecting to see Madame Eronel, but she is gone.
I look to Cillian, who is mouthing something, but my hearing becomes muffled. Instead, I follow his lead when I see him draw his gun.
Leaning over to retrieve mine, I notice in my periphery that the curtain in the back corner of the tent is moving, as if someone is behind it.
“Pax!” I call out, my hearing slowly coming back.
“Dude, you there?” Cillian echoes.
Cillian and I exchange a worried glance as we slowly inch forward, our weapons drawn and leading the way.
Working through the glacial chill encapsulating my body, I take the lead.
“Pax?” I shout.
Cillian hurries his steps so he is right next to me. I turn to him, bulging my eyes, and tilting my head in the direction of the curtain, when I see his eyes widen to a horrifying degree.
Before I can turn around, Cillian straightens his arms about to fire his gun, body moving in a winding motion, zooming past me.
Terror works its way throughout my body as I process the scene in front of me. There is Paxton with an arm around his neck and the cold, harsh steel of a gun barrel pressed against his temple.
I raise my weapon, locking eyes with Roberto, who seems to be getting sick joy from this. With my finger on the trigger, I am about to pull it, just as he releases Paxton, throwing him to the ground.
