the one with dead eyes

It so happened that I hadn’t gone to relax at the park in a long time, that place so often deserted at this hour of the day. It was exactly ten in the morning; the sun was slowly climbing, letting drops of sweat fall with a certain freshness.

A lot of people don’t like to sweat.

Correction: to perspire.

Sitting here I can see a girl in very rough shape wobbling a few meters away from me. Is she drunk? If so, what a disappointment—a young woman headed down that path isn’t very encouraging, and I say that as someone young myself. So no one thinks I’m saying it because I’m a goody-two-shoes: yes, I’ve tried alcohol, I really have—more accurately, I’ve tried to make myself like it. I couldn’t. You always want to fit in; this time I didn’t manage it. Anyway, you don’t need alcohol to do that. I still see it as something strange, probably because I’m still in high school. Yeah, it’s not right to drink alcohol at such a young age.

Anyway, this girl—in a lamentable physical condition—managed to sit down on one of the park benches. She made some strange gestures with her hands, rubbing them together as if she were cold. I could also see how every few seconds she would fall asleep, only to wake up startled. Her clothes were completely wrinkled; her hair looked like a bird’s nest, totally unkempt.

“Poor girl,” I managed to say out loud.

Since the day seemed not to be moving forward at all, I walked over out of curiosity. I noticed she was trembling slightly. What could have happened to her? Probably a family argument, a fight with her boyfriend, bullying—so many things can happen. But this felt serious. I mean, wobbling and trembling around like that isn’t normal, right? Anyway, I didn’t notice the smell of alcohol or any illicit substance—which, how do I know what that smells like? I have no idea. But I did catch a whiff of dirty feet; maybe that’s it. A friend told me about that. So we have the fact that smell can indicate whether someone is on drugs or just has poor hygiene. Thinking about it, both often go hand in hand.

“Are you okay?”

Slowly she lifted her gaze. I could see then the huge dark circles hanging under her eyes; her lips looked dry and cracked.

“Leave me alone.”

Her broken voice made me want to know more about what was happening to her—not because I wanted to help her, but simply because the bland, sunny day made me want to do anything at all so I wouldn’t be stuck at home.

I sat down beside her, just a few inches away. How could I get her attention? She seemed lost in her own world. Every minute or so she scratched her leg, and with the other hand her head; at certain intervals she’d switch. How could I start this conversation? There are many ways—asking the time, for instance—but it’s possible she doesn’t even have a watch.

I took a look.

No, nothing on either arm.

Maybe starting with something about the weather would work…

“The park really is deserted.”

“I told you not to talk to me.”

“I’m not talking to you.”

At the end of the day, talking to strangers is like flipping a coin. Anyway, what could I possibly do with this girl?

“I understand…”

Have you ever heard of silences you can feel? I think “tension” is just an oversimplified way of calling it, because silences are very varied—not all of them are hard or sharp. This one, in particular, felt like a cluster of feelings—not mine, but hers. For some time now I’ve acquired the ability to perceive human energy. It’s not something I always pay attention to; most of the time I let it pass. If I focus, I can feel it.

“Could you help me?” she whispered gently.

“That depends on what you have.”

“Honestly, I shouldn’t ask you for help, but I don’t have any reason not to tell someone.”

“I could help if you tell me what’s going on.”

“Help, I need help.”

“I’m listening.”

“Help, I need help.”

I was left perplexed. Her voice was now monotone—like a robot’s. Distrustfully, I lifted the bangs covering her eyes and saw what I feared: eyes without any reaction, no matter how much I waved my hand in front of them. She didn’t even react to the pinches I gave her face.

“Ellen, Azra speaking; I wanted to ask you a favor. What happens is that—”

The line on the other end of the phone hung up. I wasn’t surprised; after all, what happened a few weeks ago still has her angry. And what could I have done? Besides, throwing that kind of tantrum over something so stupid is very immature.

Ellen, wherever you are, I really wish I could see you again.

Anyway, that won’t happen.

I let out a small sigh.

I’ll have to take care of this alone.

I wanted to take her by the hand, but she was no longer beside me. Where could she be? In her condition she could attack any unsuspecting passerby. Those things show up even on the brightest days.

“Ah!”

I fell to the ground. Confused, I turned around.

“Brat, who do you think you’re talking to?”

A woman—it was the same one as before, but her appearance had changed: green eyes, silver hair, and a more mischievous voice. It was undoubtedly her. She had the same face shape, and besides… who else would it be if not something related to these parasites?

“See you later!”

Running and swinging herself between the lampposts, she vanished into the city. Damn gray landscape—only a few places with any originality are left around here.

And I was looking to rest this month. Well, I had complained about being bored; now without Ellen, how am I supposed to do this? I’d better find her at night. These bugs—they’re body parasites, beings that absorb a person’s energy until they lose all sense of life. That’s why they have to “recharge” every so often so neither of them dies. There are two options: wait until tomorrow, or follow her and take her at the first opportunity.

There are still hours left until night, when I assume she’ll be tired.

I have to go look for her.

And then I saw it—when the sky was orange and the birds were singing on their way home—a timid girl fainted in the middle of a hallway. The noise was so loud it scared the cats hiding in the trash.

I carried her in my arms and took her to a place that, unfortunately, was about to be demolished. The authorities said the earthquake had left it in ruins. That wasn’t true. There was no earthquake. We did it all.

“Ah… where am I?”

She tried to free herself from the ropes; I had her tied to a chair.

I gave a couple of glances to Ellen’s book lying on my table. I’m glad she isn’t so inconsiderate after all.

“Calm down. I’m just looking for what I have to do.”

“I don’t remember anything.”

All of a sudden, she let out a huge scream, so loud it was probably heard all the way in the next city. I covered her mouth.

“I’m going to help you. Let me help you.”

She nodded.

“I’m just scared,” she continued, head lowered. “I’ve been afraid for a while now.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Of everything I can see. I don’t want it. My mother said it’s a gift and that I should take care of it, but I really just want it to go away from me.”

As I flipped through my book, I realized her face was very familiar.

“Are you the transfer student?”

I know I’m usually scatterbrained. A few days ago I forgot to feed my dog; seeing him from afar I wondered, “Is the heat making him this sluggish?” Anyway, I managed to give him his dinner.

Samanta had transferred a few weeks ago. Our school is kind of depressing—just like the rest of the city—but she stood out even more because of her poor communication skills.

Put it this way: it’s as if she didn’t know what to say or do in everyday situations for a normal student.

Speak in front of everyone? No—better hide in the bathrooms.

Make friends? Drown in solitude, eating in the darkest corner of the courtyard—and that courtyard was outdoors.

How is it that nobody worried after she stopped coming to class for a week?

Yes, a student with such a gloomy and surly personality stops showing up, and as a teacher I’d at least call her parents.

But how do I know they didn’t?

A few days ago, Marina had to present a project to our science teacher:

“Samanta didn’t come, so I’ll present the work alone.”

“Who is Samanta?”

That invisible she had become—able to slip past the eyes of those who are supposedly trying to take care of us, at least intellectually. It’s not their job to tell us how to be, either.

I remember once I tried to talk to her.

“Do you need help with that exercise?”

All I got in return was a grimace of disgust. “What did I do?” I thought.

Whenever I work up the nerve to do something kind, that happens.

Now that she’s in front of me, in this state, I have no choice but to try to help her—especially because now I understand her situation. She was like that because of the possession… wasn’t she?

“Urgh, what is this? Salt?”

I threw hundreds of kilos of salt around her, but it didn’t seem to have any effect.

“Do you feel any different?”

“I feel stupid.”

I emptied the jar of salt completely over her. All right, the second step was…

“Fire…” I whispered softly.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. I’ll be right back—I’m going to get something.”

I went into one of the storage rooms next door. Among the dirty drawers I found a lighter.

“It won’t hurt, I promise.”

She’s gone. She wasn’t anywhere.

“Samanta!”

I ran through the hallways looking for her. Night was approaching—the time when parasites become most active.

“How dare you try to burn a queen?”

In front of me, what looked like Sam stood as an enormous woman, holding a stake in one hand.

“Who? You—insolent peasant.”

A chair flew in my direction. I didn’t have time to dodge it.

“Ah!”

The floor felt far too comfortable to want to get up.

“Your species is nothing more than a reflection of how inferior those who are different from us truly are.”

With a leap, I put several meters between us.

A buzzing shook my body.

To the left of my torso, a silver stake pierced the wall I had been leaning against.

I ran down the stairs. I was at a disadvantage; I couldn’t confront her directly.

“I found you.”

A gust of wind slammed me into the ground.

It hurts—a lot.

“Darling, why do you behave this way?”

I couldn’t move. My body ached; my neck was wrapped in her hands, squeezing tightly.

“What’s wrong with you?”

As if it were all a game, she simply laughed in my face.

A thunderous crash echoed through the entire building.

I found myself beneath the wreckage of a scaffold I had destroyed when I slammed into it.

Without hesitation, I forced myself up, wanting to see her face.

“Ah… you’re very resilient, Azra.”

“And are you?”

“Well, my child, I’m resilient enough to kill you. Isn’t it human to accept surrender?”

“I’d say it’s quite the opposite.”

Before she could realize it, I activated the lighter I had tangled in her hair—at a distance, like anyone with this ability.

“What do you think you’re doing!”

Embraced by flames and banished by the sea salt that drenched her, she let out her final screams, begging for mercy. The ritual had begun. The parasite was coming out.

“Oh! Wait.”

I paid attention.

“It’s you—the sick one who stopped the conquest,” she burst into laughter. “How could I have forgotten?”

“That’s me.”

“The day you descend into hell, I’ll be waiting for you.”

A mist covered her, and after that a dull thud was heard.

Samanta lay on the ground, unconscious.

I took her up to the rooftop, where we both rested. This had been far too exhausting.

Surprisingly, her skin was intact; only the one who possessed her had been affected.

We were at the edge of the building. I placed her head on my legs as she slowly woke up.

“Thank you.”

I told her everything that had happened—a brief summary of who I am, what I do, why and how. After all, I was convinced that when she was possessed she remembered nothing. She seemed calm, which unsettled me a bit. I understand accepting this because I’ve been involved in it for months—but her? She took it as the truth. She didn’t ask for clarification or doubt me.

“Sometimes I think the best thing for someone is not to ask anything.”

“Why do you say that?” I replied, intrigued.

“It’s peaceful to live in ignorance. I never wanted to know about these things, and now that I’m free I’d like to never hear about them again.”

“Ignoring something right in front of you— isn’t that discourteous?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m someone you could consider one of those things.”

“Are you a monster?”

“No—at least I haven’t become one yet.”

The sun kept sinking, darkening an orange sky. The light of the faint rays smiled on our faces.

With dusk, hunger knocked at our stomachs.

“I’ll just order a coffee.”

I took her to a small, quiet place most of the time—tucked away in a corner of the city where cars usually just pass by. Sometimes I wonder how it stays open. It has customers, but very few; I’ve never seen rush hour here.

Still, I’ve always been glad it remains this quiet. If it ever went under, I’d take out a loan to help the owner—these pastries and ice creams aren’t something you can just lose like that.

“What are you doing here?”

In front of our table stood a woman with black hair and sharp glasses, approaching Samanta.

“Mom, I was just about to head back.”

“You told me you were studying with Hanna, and I find you here.”

She shot me a glare as powerful as the blow I took from the parasite.

“See you, Azra.”

I felt the embarrassment. There was no need to use my ability—even a blind person could see it: your mother showing up like that. I suppose I won’t be welcome at her house. It’s a shame—Sam looked so pretty.