The Shadow was still lurking when Erik awoke. It always stayed at a distance, staring at him as if it wanted him to notice it, to pay attention to it, to come to it and acknowledge it, but Erik pretended not to see it. His whole life he had known of its existence and ignored it. He also knew that it was separate from his body, that he was a man without a shadow, just as vampires have no reflection. In old photographs, Erik always seemed to have been inserted by an artist who forgot that he was a three-dimensional object and therefore should have a shadow. However, no one but himself had noticed this.

At his feet, on the bed, Pluto stretched, but didn't get up. Erik came very close to the dog and stroked its head. The gray fur hid the fact that the animal had once been completely black.

"Hey, good morning, buddy," he whispered. "Congratulations, my friend. May you have great health and many years of life."

Pluto sighed and rolled onto its back. Erik rubbed it.

"Now that you're of legal age and can drive, drink, and get arrested, what do you plan to do?"

Pluto turned to the other side and curled up to sleep again. Erik smiled.

"Thank you, my friend," he whispered. "Thank you so much for saving me all these 18 years... If it weren't for you and her, I would have jumped already."

He got up and made the bed so as not to disturb Pluto's sleep. He opened the curtain and the window, and gazed at the world rushing 10 floors below him.

By his mother's choice, the room was entirely painted dark blue, which gave the impression that the room was much smaller than it actually was. He always wanted white or pale yellow walls, but his mother ignored him. For 35 years, Erik lived confined in that blue that strangled him and robbed him of all will to live. Whenever he suggested that white, or any other color, would look better, she'd say that dark blue was the color of elegant and powerful men. It never worked for him, for the only feeling Erik carried like a cross was impotence.

He took off his blue shirt and underwear, grabbed his towel, and headed for the bathroom before his mother locked herself in there for hours and made him late for work.

Every morning, while enveloped by the tinted glass of the shower stall and immersed in the sound of the water, a profound despair emerged from within him. It was the same feeling that his life was passing him by and that he wasn't living. A deep pain of futility, waste, and pity. So many things he could do, but his life was reduced to working, returning home, and putting up with his mother. Taking care of Pluto was a small distraction in this sterile and unchanging routine, like blowing on a burn.

He opened his eyes, and the warm tears quickly mingled with the icy water, disappearing down the drain forever. The Shadow stared at him again, its large, bright, bulging eyes clamoring for attention, but Erik ignored it as he always did. On the wall, the only shadows were those of the glass and the falling water. Erik noticed, as he always liked to do, that he didn't fit into that environment. Like a cartoon character in the real world, out of place, lacking volume and depth. That wasn't his world or his life. He was filling a space where he didn't belong. But that had always been obvious to him. The mystery was figuring out how to get out of there and return to his world. A world in which his mother and the dark blue didn't exist.

He stepped out of the shower and dried himself. He wished, as he did every day, that something greater than himself would absorb him from his life like that towel absorbed the moisture. That he could evaporate, travel the world and rain in other lands. Run through other rivers and flow into the sea. That it would swallow him with its dark blue.

Erik sighed. Not even in analogies could he escape the damned dark blue.

In his room, he put on his supermarket uniform and took a deep breath, trying to inhale any remaining energy and patience to face the morning's ordeal.

He crossed the hallway and sat down at his place at the living room table. At the head of the table, a photograph of his deceased grandfather stood upright. At the other end, invisible to everyone, sat the Shadow.

His mother emerged from the kitchen carrying a candle, a plate, and an old enameled metal mug, and arranged everything in front of the photograph of his grandfather. She made a few more trips from the kitchen to the living room, setting the table. Her face was wrinkled, not from age, but from a deep distaste for existence that made her appear 30 years older. Her hair, tied in a low bun, and her clothes from a century ago, with a thick belt that didn't match the outfit, also contributed to her outdated look from a distant era. Erik didn't know how old his mother was, but he knew she wasn't old, as she had had him when she was very young. He also didn't care about her tastes. In fact, he found everything she did unbearable. He hated the smell of cheap soap she had, the clothes that smelled of forgotten fabric at the bottom of the wardrobe, the nauseating laundry detergent, the old furniture, the dark walls, her voice, her mannerisms, her bad temper, and especially the food.

***

As a teenager, Erik was walking home from school and decided to take a shortcut through a local farmers' market. The smells of cheese, milk, boiled corn, fruit, polished wood, new fabrics, and a range of other unfamiliar scents filled the air. He carefully dodged the produce and passersby. The journey ended up taking longer than if he had followed his usual route.

Near the last tents was a plastic basin full of crabs. The animals were scrambling over each other, trying to save their lives. A woman had just left with a half-empty bucket. When Erik approached, the animals stopped fleeing to face him in a final plea for their lives. He took a few steps forward, trying to go home, but a weight in his heart made him stop and slowly turn back.

Erik felt a pang in his chest seeing all those dark eyes staring at him. He wanted to save them from their fate. To return them to the swamp from which they were taken, and to their families. Or he could raise them in a specially adapted aquarium. They would bring some life to his dark blue room. And they would keep him company in his otherwise desolate existence.

"How much is it, sir?"

"A bargain, young man, the whole basin for one real."

Driven by a stronger impulse than the fear of his mother, Erik took the money meant for his snacks at school for the whole week and gave it to the vendor. The man transferred it all to a bucket and gave it to him. Erik went home with his heart racing, planning dozens of ways to hide the animals from his mother. He even considered throwing them into a sewer near his house, because he had learned in school that sewage flows into the sea, so the crabs would only need to follow the current of thousands of toilet flushes until they reached a beach, where they would be free.

When he got home, he tiptoed to his room and left the bucket, which already smelled bad, behind the door. He changed his clothes and peeked through the keyhole to see if his mother was nearby. Finding no sign of her, he went to the bathroom and took the animals with him. He washed them to get rid of the strong smell and took his shower as usual. When it was time to leave, he was careful again when returning to his room. He decided that the next day he would get a handful of soil from the school garden and put it in the bucket to make the animals' lives less hateful. He would add more water, trying to imitate the mud where they once lived.

Matilda shouted that lunch was ready. Erik slipped out and closed the door. They ate lunch in silence, and it seemed his mother knew nothing. Erik did his homework in his room, had dinner, and went to bed. At midnight, he rummaged through the trash, picked up some leftover food, and threw it in the bucket for the animals. Some dared to eat, but others were already showing signs of dying.

In the morning, Erik gathered the runaways from his room, put them back in the bucket, stored it under his bed, and returned to his routine as usual. He went to school, grabbed a plastic bag, and, at recess time, collected a handful of dirt with the help of his friend.

When he got home, his mother was in the kitchen. He ran to his room and closed the door. He looked under the bed and the bucket was gone. He froze for a second, trying to remember if he had put it somewhere else.

Matilda opened the door with a smile and said it was lunchtime. Erik's face contorted in a sob that he swallowed.

"I haven't showered yet," he whispered.

"Do it later. Come now."

He sat down at the table. Matilda brought in a huge pot and placed it on the table. She removed the lid. The dismembered bodies of the crabs floated to the top. Erik put his hand over his mouth to avoid vomiting and to stop the tears from escaping. Matilda placed a deep plate in front of him and filled it with the crab stew. She handed him a spoon and ordered:

"Eat it. Everything."

Erik took a few deep breaths, coughed, looked around thinking about how to escape, what to say to her, but his mother stayed by his side watching.

"Come on, Erik."

"My stomach... I'm gonna feel sick."

She leaned down beside him and whispered in his ear:

"Do you really think I'm an idiot? What did you think you were going to do with those animals?"

Erik's eyes filled with tears, and he rubbed them before tthey could run down his face.

"Mom, may I skip lunch?"

"No. You're not leaving until this pot is clean. Didn't you want crabs? Well, now you're going to eat them all."

Erik took some of the broth and brought it to his mouth, but the smell made him gag. Matilda lost her patience, grabbed a piece of crab and shoved it into his mouth. Erik spat it out. She took the same piece, shoved it into his mouth again and covered it.

"YOU'RE GOING TO EAT IT ALL! ALL OF IT, DO YOU HEAR ME?" she shouted. "I WANT TO SEE THAT PLATE CLEAN AND SHINING!"

She moved his jaw, simulating chewing.

"SWALLOW IT!"

The two struggled. Erik tried to break free from his mother. Matilda forced more pieces into his mouth and choked him until he swallowed, and he immediately vomited onto the plate. Matilda threw the plate away and pulled the stewpot closer.

"IF YOU VOMIT IN THE POT, YOU'RE GOING TO EAT IT WITH THE VOMIT AND ALL, YOU HEAR ME?"

Unable to control his body, Erik vomited again when forced to swallow. Matilda reached into the pot, grabbed the vomited pieces along with the cooked ones, and forced them down his throat again. To get him to drink the broth, she scooped it up with a cup and poured it down his throat. He nearly choked, coughed several times, and vomited, but she continued anyway.

The torture session only stopped when the entire table and half the room were covered in vomit, and Matilda herself was tired of fighting with a teenager. Erik cried like a defeated child. His eyes were red; his face, neck, and wrists were covered in bruises that were already turning purple.

"Don't you ever try to hide anything from me again, you hear me?" she whispered, close to his face.

Erik simply nodded like a traumatized dog.

***

Matilda returned from the kitchen with a plate of carrots, chayote, and zucchini cooked with a pinch of salt and a glass of water, and placed it in front of him. She made one last trip, bringing coffee and two slices of bread with margarine. She placed one of the slices on the plate in front of the photograph and served coffee to herself and her father. She lit the candle with a lighter she took from inside her bra and said a prayer. She sat down, and the two living beings began their meals.

Since his grandfather's death 27 years ago, this ritual has been repeated at every meal. Erik's gastritis also started around the same time and has never left him.

He took a spoonful without blowing on it enough and reflexively spat it back onto the plate.

"You're such an idiot!" complained Matilda. "Don't you know it's hot? You eat this every day and don't know you have to wait for it to cool down?!"

Erik didn't react, he just took another spoonful and blew on it several more times. His mother continued.

"Now I'm going to have to remind you every day to blow on the food, huh? And the day I'm no longer here, when I join my dear father in the home of our Lord, God willing, what will happen then? Who's going to tell you when it's hot? Who's going to cook for you?"

Erik remained silent.

"I'm talking to you, boy! Look at me! Don't you have any sense?"

Erik stared at her with his most robotic expression, knowing that any facial muscle out of place could earn him a beating.

"So, what are you going to do when I'm gone?"

"I don't know."

She huffed in annoyance.

"See, father? This boy depends on me for everything. He can't even eat by himself. What do I do? What do I do with him, father?" And looking back at Erik: "You have to pray to God to give me many years of life, because without me you won't last long!"

Annoyed, she tore off pieces of bread and put them in her mouth. Without swallowing the food, she continued:

"Back in my day, we had to learn things when we were little. There was no such thing as depending on your mother for everything. We had to do things at home, be responsible, have common sense. I gave you a very easy life. I was too lenient, I forgave too much. If I had been stricter, more severe, you wouldn't be the useless person you are today. My God, forgive me, but I raised this boy very badly. He has no limits, no common sense, no responsibility, no duties. He has an easy life. He spends all day away from home—"

"Working," Erik whispered, interrupting his mother.

"Working," she said, smiling. "Did you hear that, God? Did you hear that, father? Working. He thinks I don't know he spends the day with the whore from the gas station." And she adjusted her belt.

In a fit of rage, which sometimes overcame him, breaking through all the barriers he had created within himself to prevent anything from seeping into reality like a leaky egg that smells rotten, Erik became irritated.

"I hardly ever see her. It's just to work and back home again. If I spent all day with her, I'd be fired and wouldn't have any salary left to give you," he said softly and calmly, breathing between words.

The belt flew faster than a flash and struck him on the side of his skull, leaving his ear and cheek red.

"Are you calling me a liar?" she shouted.

No, I'm calling you stupid, Erik thought, managing to keep the thought to himself because he didn't want to arrive at work completely purple. The sofa, the tablecloth, and the chair upholstery were already purple enough.

"Answer me!"

"No."

"Don't try to be funny at me, boy! I know you're always rubbing up against her! Don't you show up here with a son of a whore to raise!"

Erik was a virgin and had never had sex with Faustine or any other woman. Their love was platonic because he knew that, as long as he lived that life, Faustine could never be with him.

"Are you listening?!"

"Yes," he whispered.

Matilda continued grumbling to God and to her deceased father about an entire lost generation and how everything was better in her time, and how people were kind, hardworking, and successful.

Erik finished his vegetables in silence, excused himself from the table, placed his plate in the sink, brushed his teeth, and went to his room. He gently woke Pluto and put the leash on it.

The dog got out of bed with difficulty, letting out a long sigh as if being alive weighed a ton. It looked at Erik, who smiled at it, and wagged its tail without much enthusiasm.

"Shall we go for a walk?"

Pluto took a few steps toward the door and stopped, waiting. Erik grabbed some bags from the dresser and the two left the room. They walked down the hallway to the front door. Matilda had already cleared away the breakfast dishes and the living room was clean. They left the apartment and went down in the elevator.

Pluto approached its favorite bush and relieved itself in the building's garden. Erik picked up the waste and threw it in the nearby trash can. They went for a walk around the block. It was early, the street was empty, only the garbage truck was approaching, turning the corner.

The two walked slowly because Pluto could no longer carry itself as before. Every time the dog looked at him seeking approval, Erik smiled and patted its head.

When they returned, the garbage collectors had already picked up all the bags that were currently being shredded by the truck. A strong odor spread through the street. Pluto sneezed and Erik covered his nose. They entered the building and went upstairs.

Upon entering the apartment, Pluto waited, as usual, while Erik cleaned its paws. Then, he let the dog go back to his bed to sleep. Erik filled the bowls with water and food and left for work.

***

Matilda finished her torturous daily constipation session with her inflamed hemorrhoids, flushed the misery that had come out of her, washed herself, went to her room and locked herself in. The walls were half dark pink on top and brown on the bottom, imitating wood. The bed linen and curtains were such a dark brown that it looked black. Not even the sunlight could illuminate all that decorative darkness. The mahogany wardrobe was old, with large, elegant locks and keys in tarnished bronze, the result of years that had worn away the gold. From a door in the upper corner, she took a metal box with a painting of shortbread cookies on the lid that was also worn by time. She took a face towel from the drawer, put everything on the bed and knelt on the floor.

She took out several random objects that only had value to her and arranged them on the bed. A resin crucifix, a rosary of wooden beads, an envelope with Erik's baby teeth, tarnished jewelry, many photographs, some yellowed letters from her son's father, a knitted rabbit given by her deceased aunt, a trinket of an angel with broken wings which she also kept, and a small transparent ziplock bag that carried a small paper note with the simple phrase: "I'm tired."

She stared at the note and laughed scornfully several times until she had gathered enough saliva to spit it out. The liquid trickled down and fell onto the towel.

"Tired..." she commented mockingly. "You've never known what tiredness is. I... I! I know very well what tiredness is!"

She shook her head negatively several times while gathering saliva and spitting again.

"What a shame... Good thing there's no one left to remember you. Weak, slow, stupid, worthless." And she spat again. "Shameful... Bitch."

One last spit flew, hitting the note squarely. Matilda wiped it with the towel, put everything back in the box, and locked it in the wardrobe. She threw the towel in the laundry basket and took a deep breath, chin held high, as if she had avenged her family's tarnished honor.

***

Erik greeted his colleagues and went to the warehouse to get the boxes to restock his section. He returned with a cart full of meats, offal, and other frozen animal parts packaged in styrofoam trays. He arranged everything in the freezer and went back to get the frozen french fries. He carried out his work calmly, as his section was one of the quietest in the market.

Around the middle of his shift, there was nothing left to restock in his section, so the manager would order him to help in the butcher shop. He would spend the rest of his day there, nauseated by the smell of death, by the texture and appearance of the entrails, and by the carcasses that still resembled the original animal.

However, Erik recognized his hypocrisy when his mouth watered at the smell of roast meat, which he couldn't even dream of eating because of his gastritis. No meat, no french fries, nothing that was difficult to digest or too fatty. A lifetime of eating boiled vegetables and a few fruits had taken its toll. Erik's thinness was frightening to those who saw him for the first time. Faustine teased him, calling him a "stick figure" and saying she'd put a leash on him so he wouldn't fly away in the wind. He really wanted her to put a leash on him and take him far away, against his will, so he wouldn't have to face the consequences of abandoning his mother, because he knew she'd go to hell after him and skin him alive for such audacity. If Faustine kidnapped him, he'd be innocent, but not entirely, because his mother would still blame him for having spoken to her in the first place.

Erik wondered if his life would be better if he had been born a woman and entered a convent. He wouldn't have met Faustine and wouldn't have rescued Pluto, but at least he'd be free of his mother. His life would be dull without his friend and the dog, but he honestly didn't know if putting up with his mother was a price he could and wanted to pay. Sometimes, in the alternate reality he created in his mind, he resigned himself to not having met Faustine and accepted the guilt of never having rescued Pluto. It didn't alleviate his resentment and weariness at all, on the contrary, when he returned home and saw Pluto happily fanning itself, his conscience weighed so heavily that he hugged the dog and apologized for not being able to take it anymore and wanting to give up on everything, even if only in his head.

He had worked there for years, but never made friends with any of his colleagues. His perpetually lifeless, corpse-like expression kept ordinary people away. The deep, dark circles under his eyes, the pale skin, the unkempt hair, and the hunched posture of a 100-year-old man didn't inspire confidence in others. He looked like a drug addict.

At first, his colleagues whispered about him behind his back, but after months in which he never said more than good morning, good afternoon, and good night, and never complained or caused problems, his colleagues learned to ignore him. They acted as if he were a decorative plant that inconveniently occupied space in a corner where there could've been a sofa or a bar.

The manager only spoke to him to ask him to help in the butcher shop or when they needed to move sections of the store. Erik only went beyond his duties if ordered to, otherwise, he'd find a spot out of the way and lean against it or sit there until he had to go back to restock something. If they let him, he'd spend hours living in his head, in a world where only he, Faustine, and Pluto lived. It was a land made entirely of sweets, where chicken croquettes, risoles, and kibbeh grew on trees made of onion-topped sticks; chocolate truffles, coconut truffles, peanut truffles, and strawberry truffles grew on bushes made of wafer rolls; the grass was made of french fries; the houses and buildings were cakes; the street was made of cookies nested inside each other; lakes, rivers, and seas were made of soda; the clouds were made of cotton candy; the objects were made of icing; the sun and moon were a mozzarella pizza; the snow was ice cream; the rain was condensed milk; and the insects were candies.

The three of them feasted without ever feeling full or indigestion. It was an eternal feast where there were no problems. Every now and then, he and Faustine would touch each other intimately inside one of the cake-houses, but then it'd start to rain and the two would go out to indulge and get covered in condensed milk. Pluto spent most of its time rolling in french fries, swimming in soda, and chasing after candies. One day, feeling a little guilty, Erik created a mangrove of dog pâté with snacks as frogs.

Sometimes he didn't know how he had accomplished all his duties because he was completely absorbed in that world. The day disappeared quickly, and soon it was time to go home again.

At the end of the workday, he washed his hands, said goodnight to the colleagues he passed on the way out, and walked home. During the walk, he stopped at an ATM, checked that his pay had already been deposited, and withdrew almost all of it, leaving only about 10 reais that he always hid from his mother. It was always a frustrating day.

He took the opportunity to buy a chicken croquette at a snack bar along the way with some change he had saved from the previous month. As soon as he finished eating, he went to the restroom and locked himself in one of the stalls with a toilet. He bent over and waited. It wasn't long before his stomach returned the croquette. Erik washed his hands, rinsed his mouth, and spat a few times to disguise the smell of vomit that his mother would surely notice if she got too close to him, and resumed his journey home.

When he arrived, before changing or eating, he gently woke Pluto again for a walk. The dog didn't want to get out of bed anymore, but Erik didn't want it to have to hold it until the next morning or risk having an accident inside the house, as his mother certainly wouldn't give him a moment of peace. So Erik put the leash on Pluto and insisted that the dog followed him. Pluto got out of bed and looked pleadingly at its owner. Erik picked it up and simply put it down in the building's garden near the bush it liked.

Pluto didn't even lift its paw, it let the urine come out standing up, as if it was leaking. When it finished, Erik insisted it pooped, but the dog remained still with a look of someone suffering some kind of punishment. Erik picked it up again and went back to the apartment.

"Go take a shower before dinner," said Matilda.

Erik fed Pluto, changed the dog's water and noticed that the food was untouched. He took a shower and sat at the table where his mother had already served his porridge. A meal that looked more like dirty water tea than porridge, as it had no consistency, taste, or color. At the head of the table the dinner has been served for his grandfather's photograph, the same chicken with okra dish that his mother ate.

"Has your salary already been deposited?"

"Yes," he replied in a whisper. "I'll need some money to take Pluto to the vet."

Matilda stopped with the spoon halfway to her mouth and stared at him as if she had been offended.

"Is it dying?"

"He doesn't look good."

"Nonsense. You spoil that animal too much. You treat it better than you treat me."

Erik took a deep breath and repeated:

"I'm gonna take some money to take Pluto to the vet."

"I heard you! Do you think I'm deaf? How much are you going to take?"

"About 30 reais."

"Out of a salary of 200 reais..." she commented disdainfully. "And then there's the 15 reais you take every month for his food and frills." She smiled irritably. "I'll have to work miracles with this money, huh? Just the electricity bill is about 25 reais, not to mention the gas, water, condo fees, and everything else. Shouldn't your boss have given you a raise already? You've worked there for years. You should've become a manager by now."

At the end of the table, the Shadow trembled as if it had chuckled. Erik received raises and handed them over to his mother, but he never revealed the actual amount of those raises. Of the 10 reais he kept for himself, he used some to buy junk food on the street — which he would then vomit up — and to save up, because he believed that one day he could leave and start over somewhere else. He didn't know when or how he'd escape his mother, but he dreamed of being able to do so someday in the future.

Sometimes he imagined his mother would meet a man who wanted a traditional woman like her and who would share the domestic hell with him. Maybe then he could leave without her chasing after him to the ends of the earth. Sometimes he even wished that this man would be as bitter as his mother and throw him out of the house under the pretext that a 35-year-old man shouldn't live with his mother anymore. That way he'd be free and wouldn't have to deal with the consequences of abandoning her. With his salary, he'd find a small apartment, invite Faustine, and the three of them would live together. They'd be a family. A good family. He'd never again have to eat meals looking at his grandfather, whom he hated so much.

"If you were smart and intelligent, you'd have already become a manager and we wouldn't have to go through all this trouble. But God gave me a stupid and useless son. It's karma, it has to be."

Erik continued his dinner in silence. After he finished, he brushed his teeth, took a shower, and handed his mother the salary he had withdrawn earlier, minus the amount they had agreed upon. Matilda snorted disdainfully.

"All this time and you still haven't sorted things out. What will happen when I get older and can't do things anymore? How will you support us? How will you take care of me? Answer me!"

"I don't know."

She laughed irritably.

"God is punishing me, that's it. I gave everything for this boy... And this is how he treats me... With indifference and contempt..."

Erik maintained his natural statue-like expression and asked in a whisper:

"May I go to bed?"

"No. I've to finish the last details of a piece that Sonia is coming to pick up later today."

Erik sat on the purple sofa in the living room where he always had to sit when he was going to hold the ball of yarn for his mother to knit. Matilda put the dishes in the sink, went to the bedroom and returned carrying a tray with the piece and the materials. Erik raised both hands parallel to each other and she wrapped a handful of yarn around them. She sat on the other sofa next to him, turned on the TV and began knitting on parts of the piece.

Erik stared blankly at the dark green wall in front of him while his mother occasionally made indignant comments about what was happening on TV.

The intercom rang, Matilda answered and said to let them come up. She took the opportunity to tie some ribbons on the piece and put it inside a paper bag. She answered the door when the doorbell rang and told Sonia and her 7-year-old daughter to come in.

"We only stopped by quickly," the woman said. "Sorry to bother you at this hour, but I've been feeling unwell all day and I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow morning."

"Oh, come on, girl. Don't worry. Is it very serious?"

"I don't know, it comes and goes. I'm very tired, I can barely do the housework. Then Valter gets upset, you know, he doesn't complain though. But we know they don't like it, right?"

Matilda made a noise of agreement and nodded her head.

"I know how it is. They want us to take care of them all the time, but they don't lift a finger to help. But it's a good thing you had a daughter, to take care of you in your old age."

Sonia smiled somewhat awkwardly.

"I hope so, but it's difficult, isn't it? She'll have her family, her obligations... I don't want to be one of those elderly women who are a burden on their family."

"Come on, girl! It's her obligation to take care of you!" And to the child: "You'll take care of your mommy when she gets old, won't you?"

The child, in her eternal innocence and sincerity, let out a resounding:

"No! I want to travel!"

Matilda straightened up as if it were an insult directed at her:

"How selfish of you! Ungrateful!" she said, almost in the same tone she used with her son. "It's your obligation to take care of your mother! It's the children's obligation! I can't believe that! Not wanting to take care of your mother? You'll take care of her! You irresponsible! Selfish! Don't you think about others? About the sacrifice your mother makes for you? God is watching this and He doesn't think it's nice!"

The girl started crying and hid behind her mother. Sonia didn't know whether to laugh because it was a strange joke or run away because it was a fit of madness.

"We're leaving now," she said, walking towards the door without the item.

"These kids nowadays... Wait a minute, girl. Your purse."

She handed the paper bag to Sonia, who left thanking her awkwardly and hurriedly. Matilda locked the door, grumbling irritably. Erik remained seated with his hands raised, supporting the handful of yarn.

"You're still here? You're such a slowpoke! All you had to do was put the yarn away, boy! Am I the one who has to do everything for you? You can't even take the thread out of your hand! What will become of you when I die?"

Erik stood motionless, his face and body like a mannequin. Any movement could earn him a blow to the face.

"Answer me!"

"I don't know," he whispered.

"You don't know! And is there anything you do know? So retarded! You know nothing, you do nothing! You've got nothing but crap for brains!"

Matilda took the thread from his hands and put it in the tray along with the other materials.

"You have to get down on your knees every day and thank God that I take care of you! That I'm a real mother and I haven't abandoned you or given up on you, even though you're as useless as you are!"

"May I go to bed?"

"Go quickly, before I lose my patience!"

He waited for her to enter the room, as he didn't want to be too close to her in the hallway. Then, with long strides, he went to his room and closed the door. He put on his pajamas and snuggled into bed with Pluto.

***

The Shadow was sitting on Erik's chest when he woke up. It stared at him with liquid eyes, like two glass globes filled with water. He chose to ignore it, as he did every year on that date. He passed through it when he sat up in bed.

Pluto was lying on his side. A strong smell of excrement caused Erik to fully wake up.

"Hey, buddy, couldn't you hold it last night?"

He placed his hand on the dog and felt its coldness.

"Pluto?"

He gently nudged the dog and noticed that its flesh was stiff, as if it were made of wax.

"MOM!" he shouted.

He had never screamed, so his mother appeared in the room right away.

"What's going on, boy?"

"Pluto is acting strange," he whispered.

Matilda examined the animal and made a face of disgust and irritation.

"And it even shat itself..."

"I'll clean it."

"No way! You can't do anything right, everything's going to get filthy! Go take a shower!"

Slightly disoriented, Erik took off his clothes in front of his mother, something he hadn't done since childhood, and grabbed his towel.

"I'm taking him to the vet tomorrow."

Matilda let out a scornful sigh.

"God has already taken it away, boy."

Erik locked the bathroom door and stepped into the shower. The Shadow stared back at him liquid as if it were the dark water of a swamp. As soon as the shower water touched him, he plunged into a river of old memories.

***

The day before his 19th birthday, while returning from work, he came across a black dog that had been run over a few hours earlier. The street was deserted and it was getting dark. He saw something moving and thought the dog might be alive. He approached and felt a deep pain in his soul. Several puppies, perhaps premature, had slipped out of the dog's belly, all dead except one. The last one struggled, trying to get out of its mother's corpse, but it was still trapped inside the placenta and didn't have the strength to free itself. With his own hands, he tore open the placenta and pulled out the puppy. He fished a plastic bag out of his pocket with his thumb and forefinger, put the puppy inside, and went home thinking about how he was going to raise a dog in secret from his mother so she wouldn't do to it what she did to the crabs.

Still in the elevator, he carefully placed the bag inside his backpack so as not to suffocate the little animal, and went inside. He headed to the bathroom, taking his clothes, a towel, a pair of old socks, and the plastic bag wrapped in his clothes. He washed the puppy in the sink, dried it with toilet paper, and placed it inside the two socks as if it were a sleeping bag. He made a makeshift enclosure with some objects on the sink counter so the puppy wouldn't fall, and took his shower as quickly as he could, but not so quickly as to attract his mother's attention. He dried himself, got dressed, and went back to the bedroom. He knew he needed to feed the puppy, but he didn't know how. He left it on the bed blankets in a soft enclosure and left to have dinner.

During dinner, he asked his mother if he could take a glass of warm milk to his room to drink before bed. She grimaced, but didn't refuse.

When he went to bed, he closed the door, placed the puppy on his lap, and tilted the cup for it to drink. The animal smelled the milk and became agitated, but it was still too young to drink normally, so Erik wet his index finger and let it drip into its mouth. After a while, knowing that the mother would open the door to find out why he hadn't turned off the light to sleep, Erik carefully opened the curtains, letting the streetlight illuminate the room, and turned off the light. He returned to bed and continued feeding the puppy. He only stopped when the animal itself refused to drink. He lay on his back and placed it on his chest. They slept in that same position all night.

During the following weeks, he improvised a playpen inside the wardrobe, where he knew his mother wouldn't look, lining the floor with pieces of toilet paper and leaving only a small opening for air. He bought the smallest baby bottle he could find, some bottles of infant formula, and always asked for a glass of warm milk to drink before bed. He mixed the formula in the cup, filled the baby bottle, and gave it to the puppy, who always left a little. Erik would then refill the bottle and leave it tilted in the playpen near the puppy. He kept the wardrobe doors open at night. In the morning, he'd find him drinking, and when it finished, he'd line the floor with fresh pieces of toilet paper and throw the soiled ones away before his mother saw. One night, while helping his mother with knitting, a news segment about a children's cartoon featuring a dog named Pluto came on television. He decided that would be the puppy's name.

One day, he returned from work, followed his normal routine, went to his room with a glass of milk, and when he opened the wardrobe, the puppy had disappeared. He searched the entire room and couldn't find it. Suddenly, his mother opened the door.

"Did you lose something?" she said triumphantly.

He shook his head, not to answer the question, but as a confirmation to himself that she had figured it out.

"What did you do with Pluto?"

She laughed.

"The remains of the abortion even has a name now!"

Erik's hands trembled.

"I should've put it out on the street for the garbage collector to take away."

"What did you do with Pluto?"

"I gave it to someone else."

"Who?" he asked, already ready to leave.

"Watch how you talk to me, boy!"

"Who did you give my dog ​​to?"

"Yours? No, it's not yours! You didn't ask my permission!"

"Who did you give it to?" he asked, heading towards the apartment door.

"If you go after him, you'll see!"

"For whom?"

"Who do you think you are to act like that? You're a boy who hasn't even stopped wearing diapers yet! You should treat me with respect because I'm the one who gave birth to you! If it weren't for me, you wouldn't be here!"

Erik left the apartment and rang the doorbell of the apartment next door. A pot-bellied man with a can of beer in his hand opened the door.

"Good evening, sorry to bother you, but did you get a puppy today?"

The man looked confused and shook his head. Erik thanked him and rang the doorbell of the next apartment. His mother came out with the belt in her hand.

"Stop bothering the neighbors, boy! Or I'll give you a beating!"

As people answered the door, he asked about Pluto, but everyone denied it. He thanked them and moved on to the next one. Matilda watched incredulous and furiously at his persistence. She gripped her belt tightly, but didn't want to hit him in public because she hated when people gossiped about her. Erik took the elevator to the top floor, and a few minutes later his mother appeared. He knocked on every apartment. When he reached the last one, a young woman answered, and from inside came the sounds of a television and children. Seeing Matilda, she said:

"Matilda, the children loved the puppy! They've already given him a name. Rex."

"Good evening, sorry to bother you. My name is Erik, this puppy is mine, I rescued him from the street, I was the one taking care of him. My mother gave him away without consulting me. Could you please return my dog?"

The atmosphere got so tense that Matilda blushed, sweated, and one eye twitched. The young woman smiled awkwardly, glanced inside the apartment a few times, and said:

"The children liked him so much, they're playing with him. They've even given him a name. They'd be devastated if I tried to take Rex away from them."

"His name is Pluto and he's mine. Can you give him back to me, please?" he said softly, but firmly.

"I'm sorry, Fernanda, I don't know what's gotten into him today," said Matilda, gripping her son's wrist so tightly that his hand turned purple. "We're leaving now. Sorry for the trouble. Come on."

Erik broke free from his mother's grip.

"Excuse me," he said, passing by the young woman and entering the apartment.

"What's this? Are you crazy?" the woman said, tugging at his shirt, but without much conviction.

Erik followed the children's noise and found them in a room throwing Pluto up in the air and then forcing it onto a toy horse. The puppy was screaming, trying to escape. Erik's blood boiled, and he took a deep breath to avoid kicking the children away. He strode into the room and picked up Pluto, who recognized his scent and desperately tried to snuggle against his neck.

"Excuse me. This dog is mine."

The children screamed, cried, and said the animal wasn't his. One tried to stop him from leaving, but Erik pushed her, she fell to the ground and started wailing. The young woman came after him, shouting:

"Are you crazy? What are you thinking? Breaking into someone's house and stealing a dog?"

"It's not theft. He's mine."

A huge man with arms as thick as thighs and a swollen and hard belly burst into the apartment, gun in hand.

"What's going on here, Fernanda?"

"That crazy guy came here to steal our dog!"

"Give the dog back and get out of here. I don't want to get upset." And he cocked the gun.

"This dog is mine. I rescued him from the street almost a month ago. My mother gave him to your wife without talking to me. She has this habit. At no point did I want to get rid of him. He's mine. I apologize for the inconvenience my mother caused, but the dog is mine and I'm only leaving here with him or in a coffin."

The man stared at Erik and, despite feeling offended by the whole mess, thought that a stray dog ​​wasn't worth all the trouble of having to call the police, give a statement, leave the children traumatized by shooting a stranger in front of them, and everything else.

"Don't you ever show your face on this floor again, you hear me?"

Erik thought he'd rather never show up at the building again, but unfortunately he was a young man who had no means of living on his own.

"I have absolutely no intention of coming back here."

The man agreed and let him pass. Erik left the apartment with Pluto in his arms, still trembling from the mistreatment it had suffered at the hands of the children, its snout hidden in the crook of Erik's arm. Matilda awaited him outside, her face red with rage. He passed by her and went to the elevator. She got in with him, her trembling hand holding the seatbelt.

As soon as they entered the apartment, she broke free. The first blow landed on Erik's back. He bent forward to protect Pluto. The next blows struck his head, arms, and legs. While he walked to the bedroom to safely place Pluto on his bed to receive the beating in peace, Matilda relentlessly struck him. He protected Pluto as best as he could.

"HAVE YOU BEEN DRINKING? SMOKING? ARE YOU GOING CRAZY?"

All that could be heard was the whistling of the belt cutting through the air and the crack when it struck Erik's flesh. A lash followed with every word.

"HOW COULD YOU HUMILIATE ME LIKE THAT IN FRONT OF EVERYBODY? WHO DO YOU THINK I AM, YOU BASTARD?"

Erik managed to safely place Pluto on the bed, taking all the blows to his back and legs. Then he turned and walked towards his mother so she'd leave the room and get away from the dog. He closed the door, walked through the hallway while being hit by the belt, and arrived at the living room.

"WEREN'T YOU EDUCATED? DIDN'T I RAISE YOU PROPERLY? ​​DON'T YOU THINK ABOUT OTHERS? HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME, YOU SCOUNDREL?"

The belt struck his head, face, chest, and stomach. Erik didn't move, didn't scream, didn't complain. He simply closed his eyes when he saw the belt coming towards his face and protected his groin with both hands. He remained standing, receiving the beating as if he were a bob dummy.

"I GAVE AWAY THE DOG WITHOUT CONSULTING YOU? WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? YOU'RE THE ONE WHO SHOULD'VE ASKED MY PERMISSION!"

In a dark corner of the room, the Shadow watched the scene with two flames of fire shooting from its eyes.

"YOU NEVER THINK ABOUT ME! YOU HAVE NO CONSIDERATION AT ALL! I CARRIED YOU IN MY WOMB FOR 9 MONTHS! I GOT HOURS WITH MY LEGS WIDE OPEN WHILE A BUNCH OF DOCTORS WATCHED UNTIL YOU TORE ME APART TO GET OUT!"

A few droplets of blood seeped through his skin and stained his clothes.

"WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE WITHOUT ME? YOU'RE AN IDIOT! EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD AND YOU STILL NEED YOUR MOTHER TO DO EVERYTHING! BACK IN MY DAY, EVERYONE YOUR AGE ALREADY HAD A HOUSE AND A FAMILY!"

"Like you?"

Matilda growled and, gripping the belt with both hands, struck Erik's face with such force that she made a huge cut on his cheek, from which blood gushed, splattering on the white knitting she was doing, on the furniture, on the carpet, on her and his clothes, and even on her hair, which at that time was loose.

From the neck down, it seemed that Erik was dressed in a bright red turtleneck sweater. Matilda stared at her work and took a step back, wiping the blood from her face. She was breathing heavily. Erik didn't cry or complain, he remained standing still, glaring at her.

Then, having offered his blood on the altar of sacrifice, he asked softly and in the calmest tone he could manage:

"Now, do I have your permission to keep my dog?"

She snorted angrily, incredulous and weary.

"You can keep that damn dog," she said breathlessly, but in a lower tone. "But I'm not going to lift a finger for it. You're going to feed it, give it water, bathe it, take it to the vet, and clean up everything that useless thing shits on. I don't want to have a single bit of work with that miserable animal, you hear me? You want a damn dog? Then the responsibility is yours! If it chokes and you're not home, it's going to die because I'm not going to touch it!"

"I'll have to take some money out of my salary to take care of him," he said, almost in a whisper.

She laughed with hatred.

"Take it. But then don't complain that things aren't right at home!"

Erik had never complained, and that wasn't going to change.

***

Once again, the warm tears were washed away by the cold water. Even after 18 years, Erik still remembered the sensation of breaking through the dead mother's placenta and feeling the warm, small, slimy pup in his hands.

Despite all the problems, the Erik of the past was resilient and courageous. He stood up to his mother to get what he wanted and succeeded as much as possible. He pondered when he had lost that part of himself. He concluded that it wasn't overnight, but over a whole dull life where nothing happened, where all his efforts were directed towards surviving one day at a time without ever achieving his dreams. At 36, he felt his hopes and his time running out, and that he wouldn't even be able to get rid of his mother and survive on his own. This despair and desolation, which increased every day, undermined his energy and will to live, making him think about jumping out the window frequently. The only things that stopped him were Pluto and Faustine. Now half of what kept him alive had been taken from him.

As soon as he finished getting ready, the photo of his grandfather had already been served with coffee, bread, and a lit candle.

"Go sit down," Matilda said from the kitchen.

The Shadow decided to sit in front of Erik on the table. Matilda came from the kitchen carrying a plate with a birthday candle stuck inside a whole boiled potato and placed it in front of him. The plate remained hidden in the Shadow's bowels. She lit the candle with the lighter she took from her bra and began to sing at a pace far too slow for his patience, with spaced-out, thunderous clapping as if she wanted to attract the neighbors' attention.

"Happy birthday to you... Happy birthday to you... Happy birthday, dear Erik... Happy birthday to you! Erik! Erik! Erik!" And a round of applause began that almost made his blood boil. "Make a wish out loud and blow."

There wasn't much to ask for that day. Pluto couldn't be brought back, and the only other thing he desired couldn't be asked for aloud in front of his mother. He thought for a moment and came up with something that would be nice if it happened and wouldn't earn him a beating.

"I wish my stomach would heal up," he whispered, blowing out the candle.

Matilda made a face of disapproval and grumbled as she went to the kitchen to get the silverware and set the rest of the table.

"You should've asked for us to win the lottery! Or for you to get a promotion, find a better job... Anything!" She sat down and prepared her bread. "And I'll say this, that stomach of yours is just a fuss. Back in the day, there was none of this. People were strong and ate everything. Your generation is a bunch of wimps! They get hurt by anything!" She bit into her bread and finished chewing: "I raised you very badly, you were very spoiled. I always gave in to your every whim. Now look at you, a spoiled brat."

Erik didn't say anything. That day, the market was closing early for inventory, leaving him free to visit Faustine, whom he hadn't seen in months, but that single drop of happiness the day could offer was overshadowed by the loss.

"What did you do with Pluto?"

"I threw it in the trash."

He stared at her with a mixture of pain and indignation.

"What do you mean, in the trash?"

"Well, do we have a backyard to bury it in? Did you want me to butcher the dog and put the meat in the flowerpots? It's in the building's trash can waiting to be taken away!"

Erik stood up with such a sudden movement that he almost knocked over his grandfather's candle.

"Hey, boy! What are you going to do? Where are you going to bury it?"

He grabbed his backpack from his room and rushed downstairs. Before he could reach the building's gate, the garbage truck had already collected the trash and was heading towards the end of the block. The stench of decay had spread through the street. Erik ran without thinking, not knowing what he'd do if he reached Pluto's corpse. The truck stopped to collect another trash can, and then he saw it. Pluto's body was being crushed inside the truck bed along with everyone else's garbage. Its ribs and skull were bursting open, spraying its entrails everywhere.

The punch that came from deep within his soul was so strong that he bent forward and vomited. Eighteen years that ended unrecognizable in a garbage truck, without him ever being able to put flowers on its grave and knowing that what came from nature would return to it. His best friend would rot in a landfill. Erik felt ungrateful, as if Pluto's fate was his fault. He thought he shouldn't have called his mother, but just wrapped Pluto's body in a sheet, put it in his backpack, and gone to bury it somewhere. Even if he was late for work, it would've been the right choice. But his inaction and cowardice ended up condemning the dog's rest to an undeserved fate.

***

Seven months into her pregnancy, Nadia waited for her husband to leave for work and take their daughter to school so she could be alone at home. She took a small butter container she used to store leftover food in the refrigerator and filled it with sleeping pills, painkillers, and a few small rat poison pellets. She grabbed a glass of water and went to the bedroom.

On the bedside table there was a lamp, a Catholic rosary, a notepad, and a pen. She placed the glass and the butter container on the table and wrote in the notepad: "I'm tired." Two at a time, she took all the pills and pellets. She lay down on the bed, closed her eyes, and soon died.

It was her 8-year-old daughter who found her. Actually, the girl first found her brother, who had slipped out of the corpse and was hanging outside the bed by his umbilical cord. It was an almost fully developed little body that was gray, slimy, and smelled of decay. Matilda brushed away the flies that were cleaning their legs to make a meal. She called for her mother, touched her, and realized that she too was gray and had a strange smell. She saw the note, tore the sheet from the notepad, and put it in her backpack. As she was about to leave the apartment to ask a neighbor for help, her father opened the door.

"How was class today?" he asked with a smile and kissed her on the head.

"My brother is a boy."

"Come again?"

"Mom is sick," she said, pointing to the bedroom.

Alcibiades ran into the room and froze at the scene. When the hormones began to take effect, he picked up his son, who was hanging there, and laid him down next to his mother. He strode out of the apartment and called one of the neighbors. The man was a retired policeman and went into the apartment with him. He examined the scene and said it did indeed look like suicide. Since no one had a telephone back then, the man said he would get a car or a doctor and left.

Alcibiades left Matilda with the retired policeman's wife. She only returned home the next day when everything was clean and tidy.

At first, she kept her mother's note in a notebook. Many years later, she started keeping it in a plastic bag, and then in a ziplock bag. Her father never knew why his wife had done that, Matilda had never told him about the note. He hadn't remarried even though he was still young. In the early years, he paid housemaids and cooks to take care of everything, but when Matilda became a teenager, he left the girl in charge of the household chores.

He had never argued with her and was always very affectionate. Almost every night she'd ask to sleep with him in bed, and her father never refused. He worked during the day, and in the afternoon he'd sit facing the window listening to the radio, sometimes reading the newspaper, but always with a pipe or cigar in his mouth. When Matilda finished preparing dinner, they'd sit at the table, have supper, he'd thank her and compliment the food, then he'd go to take care of his personal hygiene and retire for the night.

One day, while still in high school, she met a young man on her way to school who said he was going to marry her. He was 18 years old and had a job. Matilda said they'd only marry if her father approved, and the young man agreed. She took him to meet Alcibiades. The two talked, and he liked the young man. Her father agreed to the courtship, but always at home and in full view of everyone. At her own insistence, Raul took her to meet his parents. They arranged to have lunch together with Alcibiades some weekend. The meetings took place once a month, and everything seemed to go according to plan: Raul would spend one or two hours with Matilda in the living room watching soap operas or listening to the radio and talking about trivial matters.

After Alcibiades relaxed in the presence of his future son-in-law, he agreed to let Matilda go to her future in-laws' house and stay under their supervision. From then on, she witnessed arguments, disagreements, and even some aggression between family members. The mother-in-law would apologize to her and push her husband and son into another room. As time went by, sometimes only the father-in-law was home to watch over them, or only the mother-in-law. Finally, the two were left alone.

At first, Raul kissed her timidly. Then, he began to caress her in forbidden ways. She pushed him away and said that she wasn't that type of girl. Raul apologized and said he was eager for them to finally get married. She felt flattered and began to allow some caresses, but without going overboard.

One day, Raul said he was upset with her because he had seen her talking to a man outside the school. Matilda explained that it was a teacher who had asked her to help another student with her homework. Raul insisted saying she was thinking of cheating on him. Matilda denied it, stating that she'd never do such a thing, that she loved him and would marry him. Then Raul asked her to prove how much she loved him and lowered his pants. She froze, not knowing what to do. He lay on top of her and made his way through her clothes and legs until he consummated the act. He told her that finally they belonged to each other and that no one would ever separate them.

At first, she felt violated, but as time went on and Raul continued to visit her house and converse amicably with her father, she relaxed and began to accept what happened at her in-laws' house when they were alone. After two months of her period not coming, she became worried, but was afraid to talk to anyone, so she kept the information to herself. In the third month, noticing an increase in her belly size, she decided to tell Raul. He smiled and reassured her, saying he'd inform his parents and that the wedding would take place before she no longer fit into her dress, but strangely asked her to wait one week before telling Alcibiades. Matilda agreed and waited.

When she told her father, he remained silent for a moment, smoking his pipe, and then said:

"Call him here. I want to talk to his parents."

Matilda agreed and went to her boyfriend's house, but found everything locked and the yard empty. She looked through the cracks in the window, the furniture was gone, the whole house was empty.

She told her father. He and the man who was a retired police officer searched the place, asked questions, but no one knew what had happened to the family.

Matilda had been expecting to hear that she was widowed before she could even get married, but her father told her the truth right away:

"He fucked you and ran away."

She broke down in tears in her father's arms, who comforted her and said that, unlike her mother and fiancé, he'd never abandon her. That the two of them would take care of this child and that she'd never be left helpless.

Alcibiades died 8 years later, in a hospital bed, screaming in pain from bone cancer.

Matilda jumped from job to job for years, until Erik, at age 18, started working at a supermarket and she decided to dedicate herself to embroidery and knitting so that the two of them could have an extra income.

***

Matilda finished her intestinal ordeal in the bathroom, washed herself, and locked herself in her room. She picked up the old can, placed it on the bed with the towel underneath, spread the contents out, and stared at the note from her mother that she kept inside a ziplock bag.

"Coward," and she spat. "You were never a real mother. A mother never abandons her children!" Another spit. "A real mother never gets tired of her children, never gives up. She's always there through thick and thin!" Third spit. "I'm a real mother, I still take care of my son even after he's an adult. I'll never abandon him! He'll always have me close by until the day God takes me!" Fourth spit. "How pathetic you were. Always whining and grumbling in the corners. Everything was hard work for you, everything hurt, everything was too much. You seemed made of paper, anything happened and you'd fall apart. How useless you were. So useless that anyone else could do what you did, and they did! Dad paid, then I took over. Was it hard work? Of course it was, but I never complained. I thanked God for having Dad to provide for us. You were always ungrateful." Fifth spit. "You abandoned your children... You killed one of your children! All because you were tired! I wish you never have peace and spend eternity burning in Hell to pay for what you did!"

And she spat one last time. She cleaned up and put everything away. She threw the wet towel in the laundry basket and went on with her routine as if nothing had happened.

***

At noon, the market closed for inventory and Erik was dismissed. As planned, he went to Faustine's workplace. As soon as he arrived at the gas station, his friend was leaving for lunch. When she saw him, she smiled broadly and waited for him to approach her.

"Happy birthday, helium balloon!"

Erik smiled shyly.

"Thank you," he whispered.

She took a step towards him and hugged him gently.

"You left early," she commented.

"I got lucky."

"I want to show you something."

She took him by the hand and led him to the back of the station. In a storage room, amidst several shelves and closed crates, there was a cardboard box in a corner. A tabby cat purred as she nursed a tiny, all-black kitten.

"This is Samara. She loves lying in that well back there," said Faustine, stroking the mother cat's head. "And this precious one here is Persephone. We managed to find people to adopt the other kittens who were tabby like their mother, but it's very difficult to find someone who wants to adopt black cats, and then we discovered that she's paralyzed in both hind legs. Doubly rejected. We're taking care of them. They'll probably stay here at the gas station and become mascots. If I could, I'd adopt them, but I can't. Wesley complained just from me mentioning it..."

Erik smiled sadly. The image of the cat mingled with the memory of when he rescued Pluto.

"What happened?"

"Pluto died."

Faustine swallowed a groan and covered her mouth with her hand.

"When? How?"

"This morning. He simply died. He turned 18 yesterday."

"Oh... Poor thing. But he lived a long and good life thanks to you."

"I'm the one who got to have a life thanks to him."

Before Faustine could hug him, a woman with an enormous belly approached.

"Erik, long time no see. How are you?"

"Hi, Lucia. I'm fine, and you?"

"I'm tired. This weighs a lot," she said, pointing to her belly.

"How many months into your pregnancy are you?"

"Eight. I'll have to ask for permission to leave soon."

"Congratulations in advance."

Lucia laughed.

"Thank you, son. Oh, have you met Samara and Persephone yet?"

"Yes, Faustine showed me. I'm sure you'll find someone to adopt the cats soon."

"Look, if it weren't for the baby, I'd take them both home, but I really can't. I'll see if my sister-in-law agrees to take them both to her farm."

"It'll be better for them," Erik commented.

"Yes, there's plenty of space, plenty of nature. But anyway, go have lunch, girl."

"I'm going," said Faustine. "I just came to show the two of them to Erik."

"And I came here to get a new thermal roll."

"Let me get it," said Faustine, rummaging through one of the boxes.

She handed the roll to Lucia, who thanked her, said goodbye to Erik, and walked away like a penguin.

"I'm going to lunch, want to come with me?" said Faustine.

He nodded. The two stopped at a diner next to the gas station. She ordered a hamburger with fries and a large soda. After checking that there was nothing there to eat, he bought only a bottle of water. They went to a nearby square that was empty and sat on one of the concrete benches.

The aroma of the potatoes was so good that Erik ended up stealing two from Faustine. She smiled as she chewed a piece of the hamburger and offered it to him, but he refused.

After swallowing with the help of the soda, she asked:

"Is your stomach feeling better now?"

Erik denied it. As she went to take her second bite of the hamburger, the lapel of her coat fell from her shoulder, revealing a dark purple bruise.

"How are things going with Wesley?" Erik asked.

Seeing that he was looking at her shoulder, Faustine moved her arm to adjust her coat.

"Same," she replied with a sidelong mutter as she chewed.

Erik's stomach began to churn and ache.

"I'll be right back," he said, and ran to the diner's bathroom.

He vomited up what had been two French fries, washed his face, gargled, and went back to the square. Faustine had already finished eating and was throwing the wrappers in the trash.

"Have you been to the doctor yet?"

He denied it.

"It's no use."

"Do you know what that is? Nervous gastritis. And do you know why?"

Erik sat on the bench and stared at nothing. She moved closer to him and said:

"I'm going to run away from Wesley."

He stared at her, startled but not surprised. She continued:

"I'm afraid... of what else might happen."

She opened her coat and lifted her shirt up to her ribcage, revealing all the bruises and cuts. One of them was recent and stitched up with thick black thread. Erik didn't count, but there were probably more than 10 stitches.

He looked her in the eyes, and the feeling of helplessness he carried like his cross weighed even more heavily on him. He bent forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and stared back into the void. Faustine adjusted her blouse, zipped up her coat, and leaned back in the seat.

"I told some people at work that I was going to quit and everything's already settled. I'm leaving next week."

"He won't let you leave."

"That's why I didn't tell him. When the day comes, I'll leave as if I were going to work and I won't come back."

"If I hadn't come here today, would I never have heard from you again?"

Faustine denied it.

"Lucia knows, I asked her to let you know if we didn't see each other before. It's not like I'd abandon you like that."

She put her arm around his neck. Erik snuggled closer to her, but didn't rest his head on her shoulder so as not to hurt her. She kissed him lingeringly on the cheek and then on the lips.

"Run away with me."

He sighed as if he were feeling unwell.

"I can't."

"Why not? Pluto is gone, you have your money, you can simply go out to work and never come back."

Erik felt a pang somewhere in his body. It wasn't guilt, it was like an invisible cord tightening around his soul, and he didn't know how to cut it.

"She'll follow me to hell and back and never leave us in peace."

"Only if she knows where we went. And she won't know."

"She'll find out."

"So what? If she makes a scene at our door, we can just ignore her."

"I don't want her to come after us, Faustine."

"Leave a note somewhere. 'Don't come looking for me.' Something like that."

"She's not gonna give up like that. You don't know her."

Faustine smiled.

"Remember back in school, when we met, I asked you out, and you said you couldn't because your mom wouldn't let you, and we talked about our parents and I said I wished I had your mom because mine didn't care about me at all?"

Erik nodded. She continued:

"Well then, I take back what I said. Your mother and mine are both wretched women."

Erik lowered his head. He felt guilty for never having been able to live with Faustine. As soon as she turned 18, her mother said she needed to work or go somewhere else and stop being a burden. Faustine did both. She lived with some friends for a while, but then they went their separate ways, so Faustine got a boyfriend and went to live with him and his friends. After that, she bounced from boyfriend to boyfriend until she met Wesley, who initially said beautiful things to her, even recited poems, sent flowers and chocolate, teddy bears and some costume jewelry. He said she was everything he had asked God for and invited her to live with him with the promise that they'd get married in church, have children, and that she'd never have to work again in her life because he had a plan to get rich and support the household.

Deep down, Faustine knew it was a trap, that he was doing and saying everything the romance movies taught a man should do, that none of it was genuine, that he didn't like her, but the alternative of living on the street or in a hostel was much colder and more frightening. Besides, ever since that day at the amusement park, her dream had been to marry Erik and live with him. Preferably far away from his mother. But almost 20 years had passed and her friend still hadn't sorted out his life, and she couldn't wait any longer, so she agreed to live with Wesley. In the first few months, while she was still uncomfortable, her boyfriend was a sweetheart and did everything he could to make her feel good. He was affectionate, gave gifts, was helpful, and was always in a good mood. The moment Faustine decided to accept that perhaps she could be happy even if she didn't love him, the arguments began. At first, they were small disagreements about domestic trifles, until they escalated into arguments and insults fueled by his jealousy. Wesley swore she was cheating on him, that she didn't love him, that she had lovers, and that he'd find out. The first act of aggression occurred when Faustine discovered that it was Wesley who was cheating, and with any woman who crossed his path. The punch hit her in the stomach as soon as she threw in his face that his paranoia was just a projection. Then, he helped her, cleaned her vomit from the floor, and apologized profusely. He even lay in her lap and cried, begging forgiveness and saying he didn't know what had happened. He said he couldn't live without her and asked to stay together. Having nowhere else to go, Faustine forgave him.

For the next three months, Wesley returned to being the charming prince from the fairy tales. Until another jealous outburst escalated into another physical assault. His mood began to fluctuate frequently again until Faustine stopped being surprised. She had simply accepted that this was her fate and that perhaps she'd never have the chance to be happy with Erik.

Then the sexual perversions began. Faustine refused, complained, fought, but in the end she was forced to give in because she had no alternatives. Deep down in her soul there was still a small hope that Erik would manage to confront his mother and one day suddenly appear, inviting her to run away with him, but that day never came and she realized that perhaps she herself should flee from there, even if she had to live in a hostel.

Talking to some acquaintances, she learned that on the other side of the state, near the coast, there was a small town with cheap apartments and plenty of job opportunities due to a possible oil exploration project. She couldn't travel there to investigate further, so she spent a large part of her salary making phone calls from the gas station to renters and potential employers. In a short time, she found an inexpensive place to live and a job. Everything was already arranged.

"I've something for you," she said. "I had it made a long time ago."

She handed him a small paper bag that was sealed with clear tape. Erik opened it and turned the contents into the palm of his hand. It was a locket necklace with a heart pendant. Inside, in one half of the heart, there was a small photograph of Faustine holding an old rag doll, and in the other half, a very childlike drawing of a stick figure with curly hair and a supermarket uniform.

"You never take photos, I had to improvise."

Erik smiled sadly and leaned in to hug her, but Faustine touched his cheeks and kissed him again.

"Come with me. Please."

"I can't," he whispered.

"You promised me. I can't wait any longer, Erik. I've already waited 20 years. Please keep your promise. For both of us."

Twenty years ago, when they were 15, on one of the rare occasions when Matilda let him go out, Erik was able to go to the amusement park with a couple of his mother's friends who were bringing their children. He had already told Faustine that perhaps his mother would let him go and that they could meet there. It wasn't long before she found them. The couple realized that the two were friends, gave him some change to buy cotton candy or try to use it at one of the machines, and then stayed away with their children.

Erik walked with Faustine to a claw machine. He spent all his coins on the machine until, on the last try, he managed to catch a rag doll, which he gave to her. Faustine hugged him.

"Will you marry me?" he asked.

"I do!" she replied, jumping up.

"When we grow up, we're going to live together, far away from here."

"Promise?"

"I promise. And we're going to get a dog," he said with the last of his youthful enthusiasm.

"And a cat!"

"And they'll never fight. They'll be friends."

"Yes!" said the girl with a smile that Erik never saw again.

She pressed the doll against herself and said:

"I'll never lose her. She'll be mine forever."

After that meeting, life went on, carrying them into existences almost completely separate from each other. The energy and joy of living had vanished, only an ethereal hope remained — like the ectoplasm of a hazy dream — that one day they could be happy together. But at 35, time was no longer on their side.

"Forgive me," Erik whispered.

Faustine studied him seriously.

"Do you still love me? It's okay if you don't. I'll understand."

The question hit him like a colonoscopy turning his insides upside down.

"The truth?"

"Of course."

"The only reason I haven't jumped out the window yet is because of you and Pluto."

His eyes filled with tears, but the midday heat dried the moisture in an instant. Faustine kissed him one last time and whispered in his ear:

"Sort out whatever you need to sort out with your mother, and then come find me. I can't stay here."

"I know. I'll go. I promise."

She moved away from him and looked him in the eyes.

"Two promises."

"Which I will fulfill."

Faustine pointed to the necklace.

"Wear it."

Erik closed his eyes and took a deep breath because of a sharp pain in his stomach.

"I can't," he whispered.

She agreed, already losing her patience, and got up to go back to work.

"Do you still have the doll?" he asked, putting the necklace in his pocket and standing up.

"Of course I have it. I promised." And headed to the gas station.

"Faustine."

She stopped and looked at him.

"I still don't know how, but I'm going to get out of here too. And I'll meet you there."

She nodded.

"I'll wait for you."

He tried to smile, but he felt guilty for disappointing her, for losing Pluto, and for not knowing how to break free from his mother's control.

He accompanied her back to her post and they hugged one last time. Behind Faustine, the Shadow stared at him with liquid, bloodshot eyes like the two aquariums of a massacre. She returned to work and he wandered through the city until it was time for him to go home.

From then on, every day, Erik went to work with the locket in his pants pocket and took it out when he got home. He hid it inside a sock in the drawer before going to take a shower. And before going to sleep, he'd take out the necklace to look at Faustine's picture under the streetlight and smile at her drawing.

One day, he awoke as he fell out of bed. The Shadow had sat on his chest and felt like it weighed a ton. Erik remained pinned to the floor, unable to breathe. At first, he thought he was having a heart attack, as his chest ached and his heart beat rapidly and erratically, as if stumbling while trying to escape his chest. Then he thought that perhaps it was the stress of that life finally taking its toll, but the rationalities about the sudden event vanished with the tide of a profound feeling of despair. It was as if he were adrift at sea, in the dark, under a storm. The Shadow lay on top of him while Erik cried out with a superhuman fear. Two tentacles emerged from its eyeballs, slowly approaching his ears. Its mouth opened, and two small arms projected out, holding a pair of blind, dead eyes. Erik struggled to free himself and ended up stomping his feet hard on the floor, making a loud noise that his mother could hear.

In a panic to avoid attracting Matilda's attention, Erik managed to find the strength to finally break free from the Shadow. He rolled to the side and jumped up. He leaned against the wall to catch his breath and calm his heart.

He undressed and went to take a shower, but he couldn't wash himself properly because the Shadow kept trying to hug him.

He got ready, ate his usual bland breakfast in the presence of his grumpy mother and the hateful photograph of his grandfather, brushed his teeth, and went to work.

It was just another dull day like all the others, except for the Shadow, which did everything to get his attention. It started with dark tentacles emerging from under the freezers in his section; dark slime dripping from the top of the warehouse boxes; glassy eyes bleeding with every cut of meat in the butcher shop; and the chokeholds it delivered to every customer who resembled Wesley, Faustine's boyfriend. Finally, it sat on his shoulders and bent forward, staring at him upside down, causing several necrotic hearts to gush from its eyeballs, mixing with the meat he was bagging for the customers.

Erik remained firm in his decision to ignore it. He never questioned whether or not he believed in supernatural beings, nor was he ever devoted to any deity, never adhered to any religion, and only went to church when Matilda forced him. However, he made an exception for the Shadow, as he believed it to be a demon that had chosen him to haunt.

Suddenly, the Shadow disappeared. Erik felt a chill, as if the absence were more frightening than the presence. In the distance, at the entrance to the market, Lucia was talking to the manager, and they both exchanged tense glances at him. They went to the butcher's counter. The manager called him aside and asked him to wash his hands. When he returned, Lucia was holding back tears, her hands trembling as she touched her belly.

"Is everything alright, Lucia?"

The woman took a deep breath, as long as a drowning survivor.

"Faustine died. Motorcycle accident. The funeral will be tomorrow at 6:00 PM."

Erik's ears were blocked, and he heard nothing but a high-pitched buzzing. On top of the chicken freezer, the Shadow melted with each tear it shed, flooding the meat with its darkness.

The manager gestured, but Erik didn't hear him, only stared as if he no longer belonged to that world. Suddenly, the man placed his hand on Erik's arm, and Erik startled back. The manager reflexively pulled his hand away and repeated what he had said:

"Look, if you want, you can take the rest of the day off."

There was only an hour left until the end of the workday. Erik shook his head negatively. He thanked Lucia for her trouble and went back to the butcher shop.

While packing a piece of meat, his arm fell to the floor. Erik stared at the limb as if it were something alien that had never belonged to him. The other arm fell along with the bag of meat. Then, his nose and eyes popped off his face and landed on the countertop. One of the eyes bounced off and fell into the grinder and disappeared. His head slowly tilted to the side until it fell from his neck and hit the floor with a thud like a dried coconut. The eye on the countertop watched as his legs also fell, bringing down his torso. His disjointed pieces no longer recognized the body that they had once inhabited.

"Erik," called one of the other butchers as he picked up the bag Erik had dropped. "Go home, man."

"I'm fine," he whispered as he picked up the knife to prepare another order.

The butcher firmly grasped his hand and removed the knife.

"Do everyone here a favor and go home, dude."

For a moment, he stood staring at the wall, unsure how to move to get home.

"Go home, Erik," the man said one last time, gently pushing him out of the butcher shop.

Erik stumbled a few times before reaching the sink. His arms lay still at his sides, unsure how to move them to wash his hands.

A female employee approached and asked if they had run out of soap. Erik didn't move. She checked and saw that there was soap. She asked if he was alright, but seeing his silence, she left, afraid he might freak out or yell at her.

One hand gripped the soap and remained still as if the rest of the program hadn't been written. Gradually, the other hand twitched and moved toward the tap. Too weak and awkward to hold it, it took several attempts to turn it on. Erik stared at the weak trickling water.

Another employee, who was about to retire, approached when he realized what was happening.

"Let me help you with that, son."

The man washed his hands, took off his apron, and helped him put on his backpack.

"Tough day, huh? Life is hard. But we can't give up. You're young, you have your whole life ahead of you. What hurts today will stop hurting tomorrow. Give it time and be nice to yourself. Take care, young man." He patted him twice on the shoulder and left.

Tottering, Erik made his way home. The Shadow slithered beside him like a slippery slime. As he stepped onto an uneven sidewalk, he tripped, fell, and lay on the ground for a while.

An elderly man who was sweeping his porch came out to help him.

"Oh my god! I've complained to the mayor several times! Did you get hurt, young man? These politicians have no shame. People are at risk out here and nobody does anything!"

Erik stood up with the man's help, thanked him in a whisper, and resumed walking.

As soon as he arrived in front of the building, he mustered the strength to act as if he still had a reason to live. The last thing he wanted at that moment was a beating. He went inside and continued with his usual nightly routine, holding back as much as possible to prevent any part of himself from escaping and causing trouble.

Before falling asleep, he stared at her photo with the rag doll. Faustine seemed smaller than the doll, which after a moment came to fill the entire photo. He wondered what Wesley had done with her belongings. Erik wanted to ask him to keep the doll. He'd have to hide it from his mother or carry it with him in his backpack all the time, but either way, having the doll would give him some comfort. He fell asleep holding the necklace.

The next day, he woke up at the same time as always and froze in bed. Every muscle in his body ached. At first he thought it was the flu, but as he persisted in moving, he managed to get up despite the pain. He felt heavy and weak. He had breakfast in the presence of his mother and his grandfather's photograph. And then jumped when he saw the Shadow attack the photo with a flying kick.

"What happened, boy?"

"Cramp," he lied.

"Of course, you're not sitting properly. You're all hunched over. Straighten your posture!"

Erik obeyed without complaining, he wasn't in the mood to take a beating. He brushed his teeth and went to work.

As soon as it was 5 p.m., he washed himself, took off his apron, grabbed his backpack, and went to the funeral home. There he found Lucia, her two other coworkers, and a fourth woman he didn't know. Lucia hugged him from the side with only one arm because of her belly.

"It's so good that you came. This is Solange, the social worker. She helped us with everything and arranged the cremation with the city hall."

Erik tensed.

"Are they going to cremate Faustine?"

"The cemetery is full, and even then we wouldn't have the money to pay for a burial plot. I tried looking for her family, but I couldn't find anyone. That Wesley is a nightmare to deal with. This is what we were able to do for her."

"Cremation is also an act of respect," said the social worker. "You can scatter the ashes in a place the person liked, or you can keep them at home. Often families bury their loved ones, then can't afford to keep it, and the bones are removed and thrown into a mass grave like indigents. With the ashes, you can give them a more dignified final resting place."

Erik consciously agreed with the woman, but his insides churned at the mere thought of seeing Faustine turn to dust.

As soon as a family left the crematorium with an urn, it was their turn. One of Lucia's colleagues said a prayer over Faustine's coffin while everyone held hands. Erik knew he could cry, but he didn't. After all those years of suppressing his feelings, the urge to cry only came naturally to him under the water of the shower.

"Aren't we going to wait for her boyfriend?" the social worker asked.

"I sent word," said Lucia. "But I doubt he'll come."

"May I start then?" the agent asked.

Lucia and her colleagues nodded. The funeral agent pushed the coffin into the furnace and the process began. The five waited in the anteroom for a few hours. In the end, the agent handed an urn to the social worker.

"Where will you be burying the ashes? Was there a place that she liked?"

Lucia and her two coworkers looked at Erik.

"The beach. She liked the beach."

Solange held out the urn for Erik to take, but he got startled. Lucia intervened and took the urn.

"I'll take it with me. When Rogerio and I go to the beach, we'll release it there."

They said their goodbyes, and Erik waited outside until Lucia's husband came to pick up the women.

It was night and he knew he was going to get a beating for coming home late. He walked slowly, unwilling to return to his old life. Everything he loved was no longer a part of it. Perhaps it'd be better to wait for a truck and throw himself in front of it.

He took the necklace from his pocket and looked at Faustine's picture. The doll seemed to have a more vivid, almost pulsating color, as if it were breathing. Erik then decided to stop by Wesley's house to pick up the doll.

He knocked on the gate. The place was tiny, squeezed between a two-story commercial building and a pharmacy. The wall was high, and nobody couldn't see inside. An old car, with faded paint, was parked on the sidewalk. Wesley answered barefoot, wearing only shorts. He was a large, very strong man, with enormous arms as if he spent all day at the gym. Erik never knew what he did for a living.

"Hey, come on in."

Erik had to squeeze past him.

"Keep going."

The hallway was long and wide enough for one person at a time. The walls were made of plastered concrete. Erik walked quite a bit until he reached a square with a round concrete lid on the floor and a cubicle that served as a studio apartment. On top of the lid there was a vase with a dead plant.

"Ah, Faustine used to watered it, but... You know... Yeah."

"Don't you have any water?"

"Only the municipal water. The well over there is dry."

"To water the plant."

"Oh, man, no. Not me. It's a hell of a job. And what for, right? That's her thing. Women have this thing about wanting to take care of things, you know."

"You didn't go to the funeral."

"Damn, man..." he said, making a tearful face, his voice breaking, but Erik noticed that not a single tear had fallen. "I couldn't bear to see her body in a coffin..." He sniffed, but the sound was of clear and dry nasal passages. "It all happened so suddenly, nobody expected this... I don't know what to do..."

"And what were you doing before I arrived?"

"Come on in, man. I was just relaxing, you know? This whole thing just wrecked me. I'm too weak for anything."

Erik entered the cubicle. There were three rooms: a combined living room and bedroom, and a separate kitchen and bathroom. In the living room, there was a wardrobe on one wall, a sleeper sofa on another, and a cabinet with a large TV on the opposite wall. An adult film was paused, only a blur of what the actors were doing was visible.

"Sit down."

Erik sat down on the sofa. Wesley sat on the arm of the sofa next to him.

"I needed to relax, you know?" he said, indicating the movie.

Erik didn't say anything.

"Want a beer? So we can get through this thing."

"I can't drink."

"Come on, man. Of course you can. Why would you be rude today of all days?"

Erik didn't refuse, he simply shrugged. Wesley got up and went to the kitchen. He had never been in there before. He didn't know what Faustine had endured to survive. The whole place was very dark and stuffy, probably not even sound escaped. Which explained why she was always injured and none of the neighbors had ever called the police.

The wardrobe was new, but made of cheap plywood that would soon mold and swell, needing to be replaced. The ceiling fan wobbled dangerously. The TV stand seemed to be the same age and made of the same material as the wardrobe. The TV itself must have been several years old. The sleeper sofa was quite worn, with many tears in the upholstery and splinters of wood showing.

Tossed under empty snack packets and leftover food beside him on the sofa were some strange Polaroid photographs. Erik didn't want to snoop, but the images were eerily familiar. The photos showed Faustine tied to the sleeper sofa and two men around her laughing and holding drinks. In some photos, Wesley was hitting her with a broom handle. In others, he was brutally raping her. In the last ones, he was strangling her. And in the final photo, the two men and Wesley were laughing and making obscene poses over her corpse.

Standing in the kitchen doorway, Wesley stared at him, holding a can of beer in one hand and the six-pack in the other. Erik squeezed the photos and accidentally crumpled them. He glanced at the door, calculating whether he could run to the gate, open it, and escape without Wesley catching him. He intended to go to the police and demand that justice be done.

As soon as he crossed the room, a beer can shattered on the impact on his head. Erik staggered and fell to his knees. He tried to crawl out, but the six-pack struck him squarely on the head, knocking him unconscious.

***

The world swayed around Erik. Sounds came and went in a circular tide. In the background, the smell of burnt cloth and paper called him back to reality.

With great difficulty, he managed to sit up and open his eyes. He was still in the entrance to Wesley's house. Wesley had just climbed out of the well using a rope tied to a hook on the wall and emptied a bucket onto a mound of dirt about waist-high next to the well.

Erik felt a pressure at the back of his skull and touched his head. The sticky, red liquid clung to his hand. He tried to stand up, but fell. He then began to crawl towards the hallway that led to the street. Wesley kicked a pile of burnt cloth into the well. When he saw Erik trying to escape like a slug, he laughed.

"You, who love her so much, will finally be able to say that face to face."

Erik continued crawling.

"Where do you think you're going? To the police?" He laughed. "With what proof? I burned the photos, the negatives, and all her junk that was still here. Including that smelly doll she slept with. Nothing's left."

Wesley grabbed the shovel, went over to Erik, and kicked him in the stomach. Erik vomited up a gooey substance and felt the contents of his intestines and bladder slide out.

"And the son of a bitch even shat himself."

Wesley kicked Erik in the ribs. Erik curled up in a fetal position.

"Even if you managed to go to the police, my friend there took care of everything for me. He even explained what I had to do with her motorcycle so as not to start an investigation. Then you get there and what's going to happen? They'll kill you and put it on my account. And I don't want to owe them anything. It was already a hell of a hassle paying Ternura, that bastard. And if you're going to die anyway, then I'll take care of it myself right here right now, for free." And raising the shovel high, he added: "Give the chick a kiss for me."

The world and Erik vanished with the blow.

***

The river's waters deposited Erik's body at the amusement park gates. It was neither day nor night. He was trapped in a limbo between existence and non-existence. The colorless walls crumbled slowly as if they had an eternity before collapsing completely. The rusty, jammed gates showed no sign of ever having been painted. On the ground, weeds served as the flooring that the park once had. The faded, rusty and shattered toys were scattered like corpses on a battlefield.

The ground trembled rhythmically, one time after another. Weakly at first, and then stronger, making Erik's stomach churn.

The jumble of cloth, wool and silicone fiber that was once the doll approached Erik and picked him up. Gigantic, burned, and torn, Faustine's doll cradled him as she herself had been cradled before. She stroked his hair, placed him over her shoulder, and patted his back.

Erik woke up disoriented. That place and that smell were both familiar and strange. The park and the Faustine's scent mingled with desolation and the smell of smoke. However, something deeper caused this strangeness, something that wasn't absorbed by the ordinary senses, a profane sensation.

Stealthily, like a snake, a red tentacle with a mushroom-cap-shaped tip slithered across the park, dodging obstacles, coiled around the doll's leg, and pulled, knocking her backward with a dry thud. Erik sat up and looked back. A slimy sphere, from which countless tentacles emerged, throbbed on the horizon. As the two approached pulled by the monster, Erik realized it was made of the mixed pieces of hundreds of men, one man's arm with another's leg, a head here, a dismembered torso there. A soup of human debris. The heads opened their mouths, groaned, and stuck out their tongues. The terrifying chorus of an unspeakable perversion.

Suddenly, the monster lifted Faustine's naked corpse, which was as riddled with holes as a Swiss cheese. Erik screamed for his friend and got up on the doll — which was still being dragged — to leap towards the humanoid sphere, but tentacles grabbed him by the waist before he reached the ground. They positioned him facing the corpse as they violated the perforations. Erik tried to break free by scratching the tentacles, pulling, pinching, but this didn't seem to affect the monster. Then three tentacles approached him and showed the sharp little teeth that emerged from the tiny mouth on top of the cap. They tore Erik's shirt and sank their teeth into his chest. They began to penetrate slowly as he screamed and pushed the tentacles away from him in vain, his hands slipping on a white goo. Then, suddenly, they forcefully penetrated his chest as if they wanted to reach his soul. Erik screamed so loudly that his voice echoed through the park several times before fading away.

As he tried to tear the tentacles from his chest, they snapped off forcefully, making him scream again. They carried with them Erik's still-beating bleeding heart. The veins, arteries, and ligaments resisted the tug as much as they could. Desperately, Erik grabbed them and pulled repeatedly as his hands slipped in the blood. When the first artery burst, the blood spurted like a fan, painting the monster red. In the background, the remaining tentacles consumed what was left of Faustine's body, which shrank with each bite.

Erik grabbed his heart, pulling it towards him, but the tentacles were stronger and, in a final effort, finished tearing it off from his chest. Blood gushed from every artery and vein with the same force as his scream, staining the entire park with his crimson pain.

The rest of Faustine was thrown far away when the doll ripped off one of the monster's tentacles. Using the severed limb, she beat the monster until it dropped Erik. She continued to beat the monster with all her giantess strength, making it squeal in terror and slide towards the horizon where the two disappeared, but their noises could still be heard.

Erik crawled through the park, feeling his way along the ground and calling for Faustine. He found her body, as small as a memory, lying among the remains of a carousel. With just two fingers, he lifted her tiny body, almost unrecognizable from so many perforations, and placed it on his knee. From his pocket, he took the locket necklace she had given him, opened it, placed what remained of her inside, and put on the necklace. The heart-shaped pendant swayed in front of the gaping hole in his chest where his organ had been. The necrotic arteries and veins hung out like the remnants of an unearthed trauma.

"Erik!" shouted a boy as he was dragged away.

Erik ran towards him through the ruined toys.

"Erik! Don't leave me!" he cried, disappearing into a vast lake.

Erik threw himself in and tried to swim, but the water began to swirl with increasing force and speed, creating a wide whirlpool like a storm at sea. Every now and then the boy would stick his head out and scream. Erik tried to swim to him, but the water was too strong. Gradually, the level dropped and the water disappeared, until the boy vanished beneath the earth. The current also carried Erik away through a gigantic drain.

As he descended, the water thickened, dragging him down with difficulty. At one point, Erik became trapped between some roots in a muddy swamp. He clung to them and climbed in the dark until he reached the inside of the tree. He squeezed through the wood and reached a crack where a faint light entered. He poked his head out, wriggled until he was free from the tree, and fell to the ground.

"Erik!" the boy shouted again.

The dim light wasn't enough to see beyond a few steps ahead. The rest of the place was pitch black. Erik turned around, searching for the source of the sound.

"Erik! He's gonna do it again!"

Erik felt his stomach churn. He'd have felt his heart beat faster if it weren't for the emptiness in his chest. However, his blood flowed through the necrotic veins and arteries as if his heart were still pumping.

He was spinning around, not knowing where to go.

"Stop, please!" said the boy. "I don't like this, Grandpa."

Erik vomited. He took a few steps around and realized there was a corner of darkness that repelled him to the bone, so he gathered all the courage he thought he hadn't and ran in that direction. The sounds of liquid and dry skin grew louder as he approached.

"Erik!" cried the boy, sobbing.

Erik found him coiled up by a huge beige snake.

"Erik, don't leave me here!" the boy said just before disappearing into the snake's curves.

"Ah... That's great that you came to visit Grandpa," said a voice in the darkness. "It's been so long since I've seen you, son."

The serpent looked down at Erik, its strange head becoming visible in the darkness as it approached with sinuous movements. The first thing Erik saw was the shiny bald head, then the flabby, wrinkled skin, and finally the malevolent eyes he'd never forget. The grandfather's head came very close to Erik and encircled him with its serpentine body.

"Don't worry, Grandpa will always be here," he said, smiling.

Erik ducked and ran out of the encirclement, but the serpent's tail struck him down with a blow to the head.

"Don't run away, son. Grandpa loves you so much."

Before Erik could stand, the snake coiled around him, holding him upside down like a cocoon. Erik tried to push, but couldn't move, so he did the only thing he could: he bit the snake, tearing off a piece and spitting it out. His grandfather grunted, but didn't let go. Erik continued tearing off pieces until the snake couldn't take it anymore and dropped him, almost broken in half. Erik ran to where the boy was trapped and freed him with his teeth. He picked him up and looked around, not knowing where to run. What remained of the snake slithered towards them.

"Don't hurt Grandpa, darling. I love you so much..."

Erik held the boy tightly and ran away so that the darkness swallowed the snake. Several voices rang out from all sides:

"Erik, come back to grandpa. There's nowhere else to run, my dear."

From the darkness, several snakes emerged, each bearing the grandfather's smiling head. Erik ran to the only dark corner that was empty. The snakes followed them in a winding chase. Some struck, their long forked tongues sticking out.

Erik ran as fast as he could, carrying the boy who was quite heavy.

"They're catching up to us!" the boy shouted.

Erik heard his feet hitting the floor with the same hollow sound as his mother's clogs. He stopped and kicked the ground a few times with his heel. A square moved with the taps, indicating a trapdoor.

"They're coming," said the boy.

Erik placed him on the ground and groped around the square for a way to open it. Finding no handle, he told the boy to jump onto a corner, causing the opposite corner to rise. He grabbed the edge and lifted the trapdoor. He pushed the boy down first and then climbed down himself. He emerged into an all-white corridor with the trapdoor beneath his feet, but in the form of a normal wooden door lying on the floor. He made sure to lock it, the only one that had a key.

He picked up the boy and looked around. The corridor stretched white ahead of them, ending in a black door. On both sides, on the ceiling, on the floor, and behind them, there were many equally white doors. A young woman dressed in old-fashioned clothes opened the door on their side, stared at something ahead of her, and quietly turned back, closing the door behind her. On the other side, the door opened, and the same scene repeated. Then, one after another, all the doors, including those on the ceiling and the floor, opened, showing the same scene with the woman.

"Mommy?" whispered the boy.

The door behind them opened and the same woman appeared. The first door beside them opened again, and Erik decided to move forward before it all repeated. He held the boy firmly and dodged the doors on the floor, also avoiding touching the side doors. He reached the last door, which was black, and went inside.

It was a familiar room. A room he never entered again. The boy was sitting on a man's lap in an armchair with its back to him.

"Erik..." whispered the boy, crying.

"It's so good that it's just the two of us, my dear," said the grandfather. "It's always better this way. Your mother will be out for a while. Here, take this, my darling."

The door opened and the woman from the hallway entered, stared at the scene for a moment, and slipped out, closing the door without making a sound.

Erik had forgotten about it, but that day he saw his mother, and even though he couldn't stand her anymore, she was the face he most wanted to see at that moment. He thought she'd save him, fight and yell as she always did, and put an end to it. But his mother loved her father too much to the point of throwing her own son to the wolves.

Filled with hatred, Erik took a step to pull the boy away, but began to choke. He fell to the floor behind the armchair, suffocating. He coughed up salty water and convulsed as if receiving an electric shock. Finally, he put his hand to his throat and pulled out a live eel and held it with both hands. The fish thrashed about and gave him electric shocks. Erik stood up and struck his grandfather's head repeatedly with the fish. The old man got up.

"The door!" Erik said to the boy.

The boy ran and tried to open the door, but it was locked. The grandfather turned slowly, revealing a face shaped like a jellyfish with tentacles pointing forward.

"My boy is growing up, becoming a young man," said a disembodied voice.

Erik struck his grandfather again, but the grandfather gripped the eel with unexpected force. The tentacles grabbed Erik's arm and burned him. The young woman opened the door again and repeated the scene. The boy seized the opportunity to escape. The door closed.

Erik grabbed the tentacles with his other hand, resisting the burn, and pulled violently, tearing them off. The grandfather squealed like a wounded animal. Erik picked up the eel and beat him repeatedly. He only stopped when the woman opened the door. Then he ran, crept behind her legs, and left.

He was in his living room, but everything was gigantic and the decor was old-fashioned. He felt like a doll that had come to life and was loose in the house. He couldn't climb on the furniture because he couldn't reach it, but he quickly discovered that this was an advantage. In the distance, a multi-headed monster spat venom and bit into parts of the furniture, trying to reach something behind a cupboard. Erik hid behind the sofa and ran to the other end to get a better look.

"YOU'RE COMPLETELY USELESS!" screamed one of his mother's heads, causing acid to rain down from its mouth and corrode part of the cupboard.

The nine heads were enormous, much larger than the thin and long necks that supported them. They looked like balloons tied together with a single string.

"I'M THE ONE WHO HAS TO DO EVERYTHING!" said another head, causing it to rain more acid.

"HE'S WORTHLESS," said the third, and took a bite out of the wood.

"A SLOWPOKE," said the fourth, joining the first and tearing a piece off the door.

"A SPOILED BOY."

"ALL HE DOES IS CRYING."

"GET OUT OF THERE, BOY."

"YES, YOU IMBECILE."

"GET OUT OF THERE NOW!"

"HE CAN'T DO ANYTHING RIGHT."

"WE CAN SEE YOU, YOU ANIMAL."

Huddled in a crack behind the cupboard, the boy cried out for Erik. All the heads of the mother hydra turned toward the sofa and growled. He ran to the other end, but the heads surrounded him. He ran back to the other side where he could see the boy, but the heads closed him in. He pretended to run to the other side again, and the heads went there. Then he seized the opportunity and ran off the sofa toward the boy. He picked him up and ran behind the cupboard toward the kitchen. The heads followed them, knocking over furniture, spitting acid, and cursing them.

On the way, Erik realized that the doorknobs on all the doors were too high and that he'd never be able to reach them. He entered the cabinet under the sink through a half-open crack. The two managed to slide the door shut inside. Erik sat the boy down on a package of soap. The sound of the maternal hydra spitting its acid and crashing against the cabinet door was so terrifying that it made his insides tremble. Erik knew he wouldn't last much longer, so he knelt in front of the boy and stared at him.

"I'm so scared, Erik," the boy said, crying.

"I know, and it's okay to be scared. The things you went through... nobody should have to go through that. It was awful, you were alone, helpless, not knowing what you did wrong or what to do to fix it. Always terrified, trying to predict what would upset her, how to calm her down, how to make her happy."

The boy nodded, sniffing. He wiped his nose and jumped at the sound of the hydra banging on the door.

"But you know what? It wasn't your obligation to take care of her feelings. She was an adult, you weren't. It was never your responsibility. You did much more than you were supposed to. It was never your fault that she was always unstable. She was always wrong for leaning on you and demanding that you achieve a perfection that even she wasn't capable of achieving. Damn, she'd be the last one on the list. You did what you could and what you knew how to do. There's no mistake and no blame in that. Do you understand?"

The boy sniffed and nodded again.

"As for what he did..." Erik breathed heavily, not with fear, but with hatred. "No matter what others say, you have no obligation to forgive him. What he did was a crime. You were a child. That was perversion. He was a criminal. It was never your fault. And there was no way you could defend yourself, not at that age. You did what was possible under those circumstances. You have nothing to be ashamed of. I know how much this hurts, I know what you're feeling. You'll never be alone in this pain. But look at me, look into my eyes. Nothing that happened will ever be erased. You'll have to live with this every day for the rest of your life. But now you are no longer that defenseless little boy. You are a man, an adult perfectly capable of defending yourself. Do you understand?"

Before the boy could nod, the hydra crashed against the door again. He looked at Erik, wiped his eyes, and nodded.

"I'll never let anything bad happen to you. Never again. But I need your help. We can't live like this anymore. We need to leave. Faustine, Pluto... They're never coming back." Erik's voice was choked-up. "But we both are still alive and we need to move on. I need your help though."

"How?"

"I need you to trust me. I need you to understand and accept that I am capable of taking care of both of us. Can you do that for me? I know you'll always feel incredibly scared, but that can't control us anymore. You need to trust me."

The boy sniffed and spoke with conviction:

"I trust you, Erik."

"We have to work as a team from now on. I'm not going to leave you alone in the dark anymore, but you'll also have to let me act. Understand?"

"Yes."

Erik and the boy hugged. The already warped cabinet door bent with each blow from the hydra. Then Erik took the boy's hand and ate it. He chewed the skin, the muscles, the bones, and swallowed. The boy stared at him with a serene expression, with complete trust. Little by little, Erik devoured the boy completely. Through the tear in his shirt, a huge belly protruded, as if he were pregnant.

As he pondered how he'd confront the monster, a cold hand touched his shoulder. Behind him, the Shadow blended into the darkness, but he could see the lilac eyes gleaming. Erik's arm went limp, stretched like chewing gum, and sprawled on the ground. The Shadow touched his other shoulder, and the arm melted. It touched his head, and it slowly fell back like melted wax. Finally, it touched the hole where his heart had been, and his entire body crumbled and pooled on the ground.

The Shadow took Erik's feet and put them on. Erik's image took its place as a shadow, and the Shadow took the place of the flesh and blood Erik. It leaned against a corner behind some gallon jugs and waited. The hydra broke down the cabinet door, knocking over the cleaning products. It looked around and saw neither Erik nor the boy.

"WHERE ARE THOSE BASTARDS?" shouted one of the heads.

"DID THEY ESCAPE DOWN THE DRAIN?"

"ERIK! YOU LITTLE FAGGOT!"

"SHOW UP!"

The Shadow rushed out, dragging Erik along as the light threw him from side to side. The hydra saw him and repeatedly slammed itself against the ground, trying to bite him. Their heads were bruised, they lost some teeth, broke their noses, but they continued to thrash about.

"COME BACK HERE, PUNK."

"YOU'RE GOING TO GET A BEATING YOU'LL NEVER FORGET."

The Shadow entered the room and positioned itself against the light so that Erik's figure stood in front of the liquor cabinet. The hydra lunged forward in all its fury and cut itself in several places on the shards of glass.

"YOU'RE GOING TO GET SUCH A BEATING..."

"... THAT YOU'LL NEVER BE ABLE TO WALK AGAIN!"

The Shadow sped to the other side so that Erik's image was now in front of the half-open window curtain. Outside, giant snakes prowled the yard, hissing and rattling their tails.

The hydra growled, screamed, and lunged toward Erik's image. It coiled itself in the curtain and fell out the window. The snakes seized it, and each one devoured a head.

The Shadow pulled the cord of a lamp, knocking it to the floor, and dragged it to the utility area. It plugged the lamp in and straightened it so that Erik's image faced the door. It walked slowly so that Erik could pass under the door like a sheet of paper. As soon as he was completely through, the Shadow returned to its place as a shadow on the floor and also slid under the door.

***

Erik's whole body ached. Moving a finger felt like a torture. He coughed and almost choked on the dirt. He bent over to stand reflexively, but it was as if there was a heavy mattress on top of him. The last thing he remembered was a kick from Wesley. Understanding what was happening, he struggled to raise his arms despite the pain and dug from the bottom up. He choked on the dirt and coughed every time he tried to breathe. He put his hand out and wiped the dirt covering his face. He spat it away, gasped for air, sat up and touched his chest. The hole was gone. He desperately patted his pockets until he felt the bulk of the heart pendant. He sighed in relief, pushed all the dirt away from him and found what remained of the burned doll. Feeling around, he found his backpack, a pair of sharp-pointed scissors, and a pickaxe. He put the doll and the scissors in his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. He stood up with difficulty and felt around the wall. It was the bottom of the well. He looked up. No light came in, he was trapped there.

The wall was rough, with some creases and protruding points. With the help of the pickaxe, he climbed up the well. Upon reaching the top, with a strength he didn't know he possessed, he pushed open the concrete lid and climbed out.

The streetlight wasn't bright enough to illuminate Wesley's backyard, but the darkness was no longer his enemy. He picked up the pointed scissors and dropped his backpack on the ground. The front door was unlocked. Erik entered so quietly that for a moment he felt the world turn upside down and he himself became a shadow again.

Wesley was fast asleep on the sofa bed. The static from the TV was the only ambient light. Erik sat over Wesley. Still sleepy, Wesley opened his eyes and saw a being that was half man, with the TV light projecting the static onto his face, and half absolute shadow.

Erik pierced the eye that saw the light. The world darkened for Wesley, and before he could understand what was happening, Erik pierced his other eye, staining his existence red. He pierced Wesley's stomach so many times that a soup of blood, feces, and urine formed in his abdominal cavity.

Erik folded the sofa bed over Wesley and dragged the entire piece of furniture out. He fully opened the well lid and pushed the furniture with the corpse inside. A dry thud sounded as the sofa hit the bottom. He pulled the lid back and closed the well. He washed his hands and the scissors in the kitchen sink. With the dishcloth, he scrubbed the pickaxe thoroughly and dropped it on the floor. He cleaned the doorknob and the door, turned off the TV, put the scissors in his backpack, went outside, cleaned the gate, and threw the dishcloth in a public trash can.

During the night, it was impossible to discern any stain on the dark uniform, so no one who passed by him noticed his filthy presence.

Judging by the silence in the neighborhood, Erik assumed it must be the middle of the night. He pressed the intercom and the doorman let him in. Erik hurried upstairs. He opened the apartment door very carefully so as not to make a sound. The house was completely dark. He left the scissors on the small table at the entrance, went to the laundry room and threw his backpack into the sink. He headed to his room with the doll, wrapped it in a towel and left it on the bed. He went to the bathroom and cleansed every corner of his soul. In his room, he took another backpack, put in the doll, his wallet, and his documents. He decided to leave behind all the dark clothes his mother had bought him, dressing only in a jacket, sneakers, jeans, and one of his many dark blue shirts. He planned to buy light-colored clothes somewhere else. Then he put the necklace in his pocket and left the room without making much noise.

The living room light came on. His mother glared at him, dressed in a nightgown and with an angry grimace.

"Do you think this is some kind of brothel where you can come and go as you please?"

Erik said nothing. The scissors gleamed on the small table near the door.

"Where were you?"

"Taking a walk."

"Taking a walk?!" and she gave a disgusted laugh. "I've been here all night, worried about you, and you were 'taking a walk'!"

Erik adjusted his backpack on his back.

"And you think you're going out again?"

"Yes."

"Go on, go on. I want to see you going out again. Do you think I'm a fool? That I don't know you were with that hooker from the gas station?"

Erik caught up to his mother with two steps and looked her up and down.

"Aaah!" she groaned mockingly. "He's turned into a tough guy now. Coming at me like that... Where did you get that courage? From that whore's cunt?"

Erik's hand flew towards his mother, but stopped just an inch short of reaching her. Matilda laughed mockingly.

"He's only fucked some pussy and now thinks he's Superman! Oh, but this isn't over yet!" And she grabbed the belt that was on the sofa behind her.

"It's not worth it," Erik said to himself as he walked toward the door.

"It isn't worth it?" echoed the mother in a louder tone, but still not a shout. "Where do you think you're going with this whole attitude?"

"Away."

"Away?!" And she laughed with a look of utter shock. "And how are you going to live? You're useless, worthless. You can't do anything on your own. You need me for everything. How are you going to live, Erik? Are you crazy? Did the hooker at the gas station give you some kind of drug? Are you retarded?"

"I should've left a long time ago."

Matilda laughed again. Suddenly she studied him, analyzing the situation.

"You were going to leave secretly. Without saying anything to me... You were going to leave me here without knowing what happened to you..." she commented incredulously.

Erik nodded silently. She felt a little dizzy and leaned against the back of the sofa.

"Exactly as he did..." she said, distraught. "Your father abandoned me when I was pregnant..."

Already irritated, Erik took a deep breath.

"My father abandoned me too."

"My God... After everything I did for you, everything I sacrificed for you... You were going to leave without even saying goodbye. You were simply going to disappear, without any consideration for me..."

"I never asked to be born."

Matilda let out a muffled scream, horrified, and put her hand to her mouth. Suddenly, terror turned to hatred. She grabbed the belt and struck Erik on the face with all her might. He didn't move, only breathed heavily and glared at her with years of pent-up rage. She struck him again.

"HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN, YOU IDIOT, THAT WITHOUT ME YOU'RE NOTHING?" she said, hitting him repeatedly. "IT'S THANKS TO ME THAT YOU'RE ALIVE, YOU WRETCH!"

"Yes, I'm alive," Erik said loudly and clearly, with the voice he thought he never had. "But I've never been happy."

Matilda stopped beating him and laughed, incredulous.

"POOR THING... THE POOR LITTLE BOY WAS NEVER HAPPY. OH, MY GOD. TO THE HELL WITH HIS MOTHER WHO SACRIFICED HER LIFE FOR HIM. FUCK THIS IDIOT HERE WHO ALWAYS TOOK CARE OF HIM, ALWAYS CLEANED UP HIS SHIT, ALWAYS GAVE HIM A HOME, FOOD, AND CLEAN CLOTHES. FUCK MATILDA, THAT IMBECILE. THAT SELFLESS SLAVE. BECAUSE THE LITTLE PRINCE IS UNHAPPY, POOR THING. HIS COWARDLY MOTHER DIDN'T SACRIFICE ENOUGH. HIS SLUTTY MOTHER DIDN'T WORK ENOUGH, DIDN'T HURT HER FINGER JOINTS ENOUGH SCRUBBING DIRTY UNDERWEAR. SHE DIDN'T PREPARE HIS FOOD ENOUGH."

Erik took a step back and glanced at the scissors.

"DON'T YOU HAVE ANY CONSIDERATION EVEN FOR YOUR GRANDFATHER? WHO RAISED YOU LIKE A FATHER? BECAUSE THAT PIECE OF SHIT OF A MAN LEFT?"

Erik's blood boiled, turning his pale cheeks red.

"You knew. You always knew everything and did nothing."

Matilda took a step back and stared at him from head to toe in astonishment. A sudden silence swallowed her voice. In the space between them unfolded the memory of her opening the door, seeing her son and father in his room, and closing the door to leave.

Erik stepped forward. Matilda swallowed hard.

"You knew what he did to me when you left me alone with him, and yet you never, NEVER..." he screamed, "did nothing to stop it. Now you dare to complain about consideration and sacrifice? YOU THREW ME TO THE WOLVES LIKE A SHEEP OFFERED FOR SACRIFICE BECAUSE YOU WERE TOO SCARED TO STEP OUT FROM UNDER THE WING OF YOUR PEDOPHILE DADDY! YOU WEAK! COWARD! TRAITOR!"

The belt flew toward Erik's face, but he caught it before it hit him. With a pull as strong as the one he gave to the well lid, he ripped the belt from Matilda's hand.

Then, in a fit of rage he never thought he was capable of, Erik beat his mother with the belt. First, Matilda screamed in shock and disbelief, and stood paralyzed for a moment processing the information. Then she screamed in panic and terror as her son repeatedly whipped her.

"AND YOU KNOW WHAT?" Erik shouted in the brief intervals between lashes. "WHEN THAT DAMNED OLD MAN WAS DYING OF CANCER IN THE HOSPITAL, SCREAMING IN PAIN, I LIKED IT!" he said, pronouncing the three last words with all the phonetic nuances. "I WAS VERY SATISFIED! IT WAS THE CLOSEST I EVER CAME TO BELIEVING THAT A GOD EXIST! I ENJOYED EVERY MINUTE, EVERY SCREAM OF THAT SUFFERING, AND I FELT AVENGED! IT WAS THE BEST MOMENT OF MY LIFE!"

Matilda fell to the ground still screaming, but out of hatred. The blows struck her ego.

"SO, MATILDA, I DON'T NEED YOU TO TAKE CARE OF ME. WHEN I NEEDED A MOTHER, I HAD A GENERAL."

Her arms, legs, and face began to bleed. She panicked, moaning as if she had some kind of mental disability, and tried to get up, but Erik hit her legs and she fell again, hitting her face on the corner of the sofa and breaking a tooth.

"NOW YOU KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO BE DEFENSELESS, HELPLESS AND SO VULNERABLE, IN DESPERATE NEED OF EMPATHY, ONLY TO BE MET WITH CRUELTY."

Fueled by the immense hatred for life that Matilda carried, she grabbed one end of the belt and began to pull while still lying down.

"GIVE IT BACK TO ME!" she shouted. "MY FATHER GAVE IT TO ME! GIVE IT BACK!"

Erik didn't let go of the other end. He dragged his mother across the room and grabbed the scissors. Matilda tried to get up, still pulling at the belt. Erik cut it in half, causing his mother to fall again and hit the back of her head on the floor. She crawled onto the rug, crying with rage, not knowing how to punish him. He threw the other half of the belt over her and put the scissors away.

"Don't come after me. Never look for me. I don't want to see your face again. From now on I'm an orphan," and he left, slamming the door.

It was almost dawn when Erik left the building. He walked to the gas station and stopped at an ATM to withdraw some of his money. He sat on one of the benches in front of the station shop and waited for business hours.

When Lucia arrived accompanied by her husband, she gave Erik a sad smile.

"What are you doing here at this hour?"

"I'd like to ask three things of you."

"Of course, son."

"Have you scattered her ashes at sea yet?"

"No, I haven't had the time."

"May I keep her?"

Lucia looked at him confused, but knowing that Faustine had no one close to her besides him, she agreed.

"Could you bring the urn to him, darling?" she asked her husband.

"Sure, but I can only do it now."

"All right," said Erik. "I'll wait. Thank you."

The husband kissed Lucia on the forehead and drove off.

"What was the second thing?"

"I'd like to adopt Samara and Persephone."

Lucia smiled, her eyes filling with tears as she remembered Faustine.

"Samara has already been adopted, but nobody wants Persephone."

"I do."

Lucia nodded happily through her tears. The two went to the back of the gas station. She opened the shed door and they both heard the kitty's desperate meows. Dragging itself imposingly, it emerged from behind some crates and began rubbing its head against Lucia's feet.

"Here's her food, it's kitten food. Over there is the carrier and the bowls. In this bag there are some newspapers, some toys, and her vaccination record. I'd get this for you if I could bend down."

"That's alright, Lucia. Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

Erik bent down and reached out to the kitty. It sniffed, looked him straight in the eyes for a second as if examining his soul, let out a loud, long meow, and threw itself on his hand, rubbing against it. Erik petted it and picked it up.

"Hi, Persephone."

The kitty meowed and purred, rubbing its head against his clothes.

"It looks like she was waiting for you."

The two stared at each other, knowing what that would have meant for Faustine.

"What was the third thing?"

"Could you spare me a white shirt? I'll pay for it."

"Okay. I'm going now, when you're done give me a shout out at the front."

"Okay. Thank you, Lucia."

She left. Erik waited for the kitty to eat, drink water, and relieve itself on some newspaper. Then he lined the carrier with more newspaper, placed it inside along with some toys, put the bowls in the bag, and placed the bag in his backpack. He took the carrier to the front, waved to Lucia, and waited outside while she brought the urn and the shirt in a transparent bag. Erik put the urn in his backpack and slowly placed it on the ground. He took off his jacket and changed his shirt right there. Lucia didn't comment on the bruises on his body. Erik made a ball with the dark blue shirt, threw it in the trash can, put on his jacket and backpack, and handed the money to Lucia.

"Thank you, Lucia, for everything."

"Give her a dignified ending."

"I will."

"Good luck, Erik."

"Thank you."

They smiled at each other and she went back to work. As he walked to the snack bar near the gas station, his shadow followed him on the ground as a normal shadow. Erik ordered a hamburger, a chicken croquette, french fries, a soda, and a bottle of water. He paid, sat at one of the tables outside, placed his backpack on the table and the carrier next to him pressed against his leg. He put the bottle in his backpack and devoured the entire meal as if he hadn't eaten in years.

He leaned back in the chair and took a few slow, deep breaths. A feeling of lightness and freedom filled him, as if performing a hemodialysis on his soul. Outside, the traffic of cars and people was beginning to intensify. The birds and cicadas were also starting their day.

He took the necklace from his pocket, stared at Faustine's photo while feeling Persephone's paw pierce the carrier's bars and grab his trousers. He put on the necklace and tucked it inside his shirt. He touched it from the outside to make sure it'd stay there for a long time. The heart's outline was visible beneath his shirt.

One of the employees came out and asked Erik if he wanted anything else while he picked up the trash.

"Does the bus that goes to the coast pass by here?"

"It stops at the bus station down the road. It should arrive soon, but it makes several stops along the way."

Erik thanked him, gathered his things, and walked to the bus station. He bought two tickets, waited about two hours, and then boarded. He placed his backpack on the window seat, secured by the seatbelt, and the pet carrier between his feet on the floor. As soon as the bus departed, he let the outside world transform into a series of colorful blurs and closed his eyes. He'd finally fulfill his promise to live with Faustine and a pet on the coast.

THE END