CHAPTER 2:

CARMEN

“Who are you?! What are you doing?!” I screamed, making my way towards the man as I pushed him away from my father.

“Geez,” the man cursed, stumbling out of the way.

“Dad! Dad!” I called out to my father, tears rolling down my cheeks as I looked at the man who had his arms up in surrender. 

“I’m calling the police!”

By the time I fished for my phone, my father had stopped struggling for air. I felt his frail arms brush against my hand as he called, “Carmen.”

“Dad!” I grabbed his hand in mine, keeping an eye out for the man in the corner. “What did he do to you? What happened?”

“He saved me, Carmen. That’s Dr. Adrian. He’s a very good friend of mine,” Dad assured, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze.

I looked at Dr. Adrian, an apologetic look on my face as he started to make his way forward now that he was sure I wouldn’t attack him.

“I’m really sorry,” I stated.

“It’s no problem, honestly. I understand. You did well, trying to defend your father.” 

Dr Adrian gave me an encouraging nod.

“I could have died,” Dad spoke up. 

“I was starting to lose my breath. I tried to call you and your mother, but there was no response. 

You know, I had no idea just how lucky I was until now. I found Adrian on social media just days ago. 

We knew each other in high school, so I decided to reach out. Tonight, I reached out to him and now, look at me.”

With a sigh, I sat beside Dad on the bed with a tired smile.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t respond in time. I had an asthma attack.” I left out the part where I was attacked by the man from the bar. 

The last thing I wanted was my father worrying about something like that in his condition. 

I especially did not want to tell him about Mom being at the hospital over an accident.

“I’m fine now,” I assured before he could ask me.

Dr. Adrian explained to me that he wanted to be of help to my father for old times’ sake. 

I escorted him down the stairs as he took his leave, telling me that he would do anything within his power to keep my father from dying too early. 

I thanked him as he instructed me to get his phone number from my dad in case of an emergency, and then he left.

I fell asleep on the couch in the living room for the night, only waking up when the door opened and Mom walked in the next morning. 

Her wounds had been cleaned, and she had a bandage tied around her head.

“How are you feeling?” I questioned, standing up and following her into the kitchen.

“I’m fine,” she replied coldly.

“What happened to you, Mom?” I questioned.

“I was attacked,” she simply said, causing me to frown.

“Attacked how? What—”

“What are you going to do about it, Carmen? Are you going to find my attackers and beat them up? 

What difference does it make? Don’t pester me. Busy yourself.” She dismissed me with a wave of her hand as she started to make some coffee.

I sighed, not surprised at her attitude towards me. Mom had slowly lost herself after Dad’s business crashed and his sickness set in. 

She had lost the zeal to care after the series of unfortunate events that struck our family.

I walked up the stairs and sat on my bed, dialling the one number I never thought I would.

“Carmen,” Dave’s sleepy voice came through the other side of the phone, giving me a small sense of relief that there was someone out there that I could talk to, even just a little bit.

“I called to say thank you. You could have chosen to ignore what was happening, but you didn’t, and you saved me. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. It was the proper thing to do.”

“Okay.” I nodded as if he could see me. Before the call could turn awkward, I hung up and lay in bed for most of the day.

**********

“Max?” I frowned as I walked into the kitchen that evening. “Is something wrong?”

Max, the family chef, had his back turned to me as he seemed to be breathing heavily. I could hear him seething, even.

Max was one of the very few people who stood with us through thick and thin. He was our chef when Dad’s business was doing great, but he never left after the disaster. 

He agreed to come over to our house three times a week to make us meals, and we only had to pay for the groceries.

“Max, look at me. What’s going on?” I took careful steps towards him.

He finally turned around. His face was covered in sweat, and he stalked towards me with a cautious look on his face. “Carmen…”

The closer he got, the more alarmed I became. His breaths were loud and fast as if he was struggling for air. I didn’t like the way he looked at me.

“What are… what are you doing?” I stuttered, stepping back until I was trapped between his body and a counter.

“Carmen,” he said my name again, taking my hand and placing it against his crotch.

In frozen shock, I looked down at his pants to find a bulge underneath. He was rock-hard, and he wanted me to do something about it.

“Oh, my God!” I tried to pull my hand out of his grip, but his grip was firm.

“Carmen, please. I’m not going to hurt you. I just… I’ve never felt like this before. Just help me out here,” he pleaded. 

All of a sudden, I felt the same way I did just last night with the man from the bar; trapped with nowhere else to go.

“Mom! Dad!” I yelled out, but there was no response.

Max’s hand went over my mouth, causing me to thrash around in an attempt to push him off.

This time, I had an opening to bite his hand and I did. He yelled out, stepping back and giving me the opportunity to open one of the drawers, took out a knife and held it up in my defence.

“I want you to get away from me. It’s not too late. We can always laugh this off, and you can get off the hook,” I offered.

He raised his hands in the air, still approaching me with pleading eyes.

“Carmen, I promise I’m not going to hurt you.”

“What are you even talking about? Come on, Max!” As I spoke, he lunged at me as he tried to take the knife out of my hands.

“No! Get away from me!” I screamed, kicking him in the shin. As he grunted in pain, I raised the knife in my hand and dug it right into his neck.

“Carmen!” I heard someone scream from the doorway.

Everything happened at once, it was hard to keep track of what happened and what didn’t. Blood spurted out of Max’s neck as he collapsed on his knees and finally crumpled to the floor.

My mother had seen it happen, and she was now staring at the scene in absolute shock. Where was she when I had called out for her?

I could feel the spots of blood that had sprayed on my face. I was hyperventilating, and Max’s blood was spreading across the floor.

I turned to my mother, tears filling up my eyes as I said just two words, “Help me.”

**********

“Do you think the coast is clear?” I asked, my voice raspy from crying the whole evening.

“There’s nobody around, as far as I can see. It’s past 2am, I’m sure people are asleep around here,” Mom assured.

We were sitting in her rundown car, right by an alley, Max’s body in the trunk.

“Mom, I’m scared,” I admitted as hot tears started to escape my eyes again.

“You should have thought about that before stabbing him,” she scoffed, getting out of the car.

“What?” I followed her to the back of the car, towards the trunk. “I told you what he was trying to do to me. I stabbed him in self-defence.”

“So you say, Carmen, and I believe you. But if we’re looking at this in a logical sense, you stabbed a man. 

There was no witness but your mother, and you claim that he tried to assault you. It’s your word against a dead man’s, so you better not get arrested.” 

She handed me a pair of gloves to wear, and I almost choked on my tears as I put them on.

“You have to be quiet and act natural. You don’t want your father asking you questions,” she warned, opening the trunk to reveal Max’s pale body. 

We had spent our night cleaning up the kitchen, and Mom had suggested we wash him in the bathtub to avoid his blood staining the trunk.

“On my count, we lift him up,” she ordered.

We hoisted him out of the trunk, tossing his corpse in the dark alley. 

Mom made the scene look like a robbery gone wrong, and my stomach churned at how sure she was that it would work and how she had knowledge of that.

We made a beeline for the car when we were done, Mom closing the trunk and zooming off.

“If you keep crying like that, you’ll get caught before the sun even rises. Pull yourself together!” she commanded me.

That night, I didn’t get a wink of sleep. Each time I closed my eyes, an image of Max begging me would pop up in my head. 

This time, blood was squirting out of his neck and soaking his white shirt as he kept saying, over and again, “Carmen, please.”

At about 5 a.m., I received a text from Dave asking me where my home address was.

Why? I texted back.

If you ever need help, I could easily find you, he replied.

Without giving it much thought, and because I wanted to act naturally as Mom had asked me to, I texted him my address.

Hours later, I heard Mom calling out for me from the living room. She sounded panicked, so I rushed down the stairs and met her by the door where she stood.

“Mom, why…?” My question remained stuck in my throat as I looked out the door to find Dave standing on our front porch with two police officers.

They all had grim looks on their faces, and that was when I knew it: My mother and I had been caught.