The Cracks in the Labyrinth

Epilogue

Adam thought seeing all of his friends together in the funeral home would make him feel better.

He was wrong.

The damage time had inflicted on four of his favorite people in the entire world, their somber faces and muted movements, did nothing but deepen the hole in his stomach. Could he have imagined what took place in Parque Central? No. His doubts had died with Vera. Hallucinations or not, they wanted him, and his old team silenced and out of the way, and he wasn't about to go down without a fight anymore.

Since hiding was a choice no more and exposing them might be the only chance his siblings had, he needed to do this. However, the idea of having to deal with those unnamed things still drained the color from his face.

Not knowing what to say, Adam remained motionless, holding the tiny plastic cup of coffee the funeral services assistant had given him as soon as he arrived at the wake. Should I talk to the family? I think it was her step-aunt who organized this with Santi's help, but I know no one here except for... He glanced at his friends, and his mouth became so dry he wasn't sure he'd be able to speak even if he tried. Get a hold of yourself!

Aware of the lack of any odor associated with death, the constant hum of the air conditioner, and the mild heat from the light fixtures hanging from the ceiling, he remembered what Evi had told him years ago about the illusion of control.

We try our best to ignore our own mortality, bend the world at our will, and keep the darkness at bay, and yet... Adam crossed his arms, dreading the possibility of seeing the same creature he'd killed lurking in the dusky office to his left, behind the large tempered glass. It's make-believe.

"Did you see a ghost?" Ernest said as a way of greeting.

Adam shook his head. "That's not funny."

"Forgive me for trying to bring a little laugh to a wake," he produced a cigarette and a lighter. "You look like shit, by the way."

"Nice seeing you after all these years."

"Smell like it too."

Even though Adam had taken a shower at the motel where he spent the night, his clothes were the same ones from yesterday.

Someone's sobbing turned into wailing and then into a terrible cry. It was a teenager; he couldn't have been over thirteen. As a few of his relatives comforted him, Ernest and Adam walked towards the rest of their friends in the opposite direction, far from everyone else.

The old team sat on metal folding chairs in an adjacent room, a modest chapel with a sole kneeler and a crucifix. Perhaps it was the sadness that comes with loss or the tiredness of a sleepless night. Either way, they seemed incapable of doing anything besides giving up.

After a brief but awkward round of hello's, a failed attempt at a hug from Chuo, and an idle small talk fostered by a nervous Santiago, Claudia was the first one to touch on the topic that had brought them here.

"Did you watch the news about Vera?"

"They claimed she lost her mind," Chuo couldn't hold their gazes and stared at his fumbling thumbs instead. "What was the term? Oh, yeah. 'A suicidal arsonist,' they said."

"Fucking bastards. This was no suicide!" Santiago lowered his voice to an angry whisper. "It's the government. When their arepa muzzles won't do, they opt for more... permanent solutions."

"Paranoia is a perilous road," replied Claud, looking at her coffee. She hadn't had a single sip yet.

"No, no. Let's hear him!" Ernest's eyes glinted with malice. "Tell us, Santi. Did a hired assassin drive your ex to Parque Central, force her to the last floor and start a fire? Wow! How did I not think of that?"