The Flower

Red. It was always his favorite color. I remember when he gave me this necklace, a gold pendant with a rose engraved and a phrase that read para siempre y hasta el fin. Forever and to the end. Well, we reached the end long ago and now here I still am, lost in the thought of what we were and the idea of what we could've been.

"Ma'am?" Asks the vendor, taking me out of my daze.

"Yes?"

"The flowers? I asked if you wanted some."

That's right, focus. When I walked by, and he called out "flowers!," I turned my head, and the sight itself brought back memories still too heavy.

"Oh," I whisper, "that's right. Um, I guess I'll take some."

He must've noticed me glaring at the bright red roses because he takes a handful to the back where he begins to wrap them.

"If I may ask," he shouts, being that the city is so crowded and busy this time of day, "are these for anyone special?"

Maybe. "No. Just me."

He smiles and the wrinkles of decades of laughter show on his face, "oh but sweetheart that is the best kind of special someone. After all you cannot begin to understand true love if not without understanding yourself.” Perhaps that is why we didn’t last.

He hands the bouquet to me and he motions for me to lean in, “take care of them, and I can promise they’ll take care of you.” He winks and I’m not sure what he means. His thick accent and my lack of understanding French may have confused my thoughts a bit. Or maybe there is more to what he says, but I don’t have time for such games. I thank him and pay him (despite his refusion) and clutch the brown wrapping tight. As I walk away I smell the bouquet and close my eyes. It’s as if I’m not in the cloudy city anymore but back in Spain. With him, amongst the dark streets. So hidden I still could barely map the fullness of his face. And what I could map was out of touch. Feeling. Though now, I see his face, and each time he looks into my eyes it pains me that much more.

“Déménagez!” Shouts a man who shoves into me. He keeps shouting as he walks away. I really need to focus. Before I motion to cross the street filled with carriages I look back once more at the vendor but he’s not there and the cart is gone. I try to walk back but the hustle of the street pushes me away, like a force is keeping me from going back. The group practically shoves me across the street and I tuck the flowers into my arm, unsure of what to do with them, but holding them tight. The feeling of the brown paper wrapping, the sound of the crinkling, at least proves to me that the interaction was real. Once I’m across I find a way to get away from the crowd and into an alleyway. I open my midnight coat and stick the flowers in before tying it tight. So tight I’m sure the thorns find a way through my black dress and into my skin. There must be something wrong with me cause the painful feeling makes me smile. A reminder of when this pain, these thorny flowers, brought me joy…pleasure. But a time like that no longer exists and now I am just like the person I was raised to be. Aproveite o poder da dor, porque a morte se sentirá muito mais doce em suas mãos, is what my parents would tell me. Enjoy the power of pain, because death will feel so much sweeter in your hands. Great parenting huh. I roll my eyes and fix my hat. While it's not huge it's enough to hide most of my features, and now, more than ever, I must remain as hidden as I can.

“He said the name was…” I mutter to myself, taking out the notecard from my pocket to double check. His messy cursive is barely legible but I’ve read enough of his letters to understand what it says.

Turn left at the pub and look for the sign that says The Memories of Music. Go inside.

Still no please. Why would there be? I can feel the annoyance he feels with me from this note and it makes me want to tear it up. As I leave the alleyway I toss the flowers to a child that sits on the floor, with a bundle of money hidden in the bouquet and watch as he smiles and celebrates with the other children next to him. I don’t know why I agreed to buy them, he doesn’t deserve it. He is not the same person he used to be, and I need to stop mourning something that was merely an idea. A hope of a rainbow amongst the flood. 

I, unwillingly, follow the instructions and find the sign. It hangs above a door where a guard stands. I swallow my nerves, the man is three times my size and he doesn’t seem to be the friendly giant type. I take a deep breath and walk in front of him, “I’m here to meet Raul Guerra-Ladrón.”

He nods and looks me up and down. I know that judgemental look, and I hate it more than anything.

“Are you done? I have someone I need to meet.” I quip. I guess I can’t stay quiet longer than a minute. He groans and opens the door. Walking in I take in the scenery. It’s dark and a quartet plays in the back corner while a dozen sit at the bar, laughing, talking, swapping stories. Must be so freeing to live a life where you have time to… what do they call it? Ah, unwind. A finger taps my shoulder and I jump back, it’s him.

“You really are not good at this. A hello would’ve been nice.”

“Hello,” he answers. No warmth, no light tone, just hello. God I can’t wait til I can push him in the river and be done with him.

“Are you going to tell me why you left a creepy note on my door or was that your fun way of asking me out?”

“I’d rather be set on fire…again, before doing that.”

“Aww, how kind of you to keep me warm.”

He grunts and begins walking away. Assuming he means for me to follow him I jog to catch up, “you didn’t answer me.”

He doesn’t answer for a while and when I’m just about to repeat myself he mutters, “One, not a creepy note. Just a note. Two, there is a man that says he saw your sister here and wants to talk to you.”

I stop dead in my tracks, “Dalia? As in my missing or dead sister.”

“Do you have more than one?”

I scowl at him, “can you ever be nice.”

“Can you not ask dumb questions?”

I motion towards the open door, “and to think I was going to bring you flowers to thank you for yesterday.” When he practically saved my life.

I can feel his expression change to shock, but as always he never says anything. As I walk to the table I can see a man mindlessly looking about the room, trying to avoid eye contact until I greet him. “Psst,” I loudly whisper over my shoulder to Raul, “are you not coming in?”

“I asked that I speak to you alone Camila.” Answers the man, as he taps his fingers on the table. Who is he and why is he addressing me so improperly?

“Okay…” I say, taking a glance back to see if he really is letting me stay in here alone with this strange man—and he’s not there. Of course. I’ll probably walk out on him drunker than an alcoholic who was given a bar. I look back at the man. He’s clean shaven, his hair showing signs of graying. His suit is pressed and clean and not one thing is out of place. As he lifts to scratch his face (a sign of boredom I’m quite familiar with) I notice not just his watch and the band of solid gold that covers his arm, but the hidden tattoo that sits underneath. What it means, I’m not sure.

“What do you know of my sister?” I ask, observing every small movement he makes for an answer his mind is not willing to say.

 “I spoke to her.” He answers in a gruff voice, looking straight into my eyes. 

“When?”

“Two weeks ago.”

“About?”

“You-”

“Without lying would be helpful.” I don’t know the man’s name the way he said that was obviously a lie.

“Alright,” he mutters, “she was scared. She wouldn’t say what it was about but she had a cut on her cheek, bruises on her arms, and lips dry as a desert.”

My heart sinks. If he isn’t lying then my sister is in deep trouble and I know I’m the only person that can help her, even though I’m not sure if I can. I swallow that gnawing feeling and blink away the tears, “proof.” I say. I must be sure before I mourn.

He smirks and it makes my skin crawl in the worst way as he leans forward and whispers, “a circular carving, on the right hip. Of the letter F in the middle.”

“How-”

“Her dress. She was dressed nicely for something, hair done and everything, and the gown went to her lower hip. One of my kids was there, dropped a toy, she bent down to pick it up, and I saw it.” While I have every right to be disgusted at this man for his lewd looks at my sister, it’s a pretty noticeable marking. Something unique to the Ferreira family. As far as I know no other families have the same symbol.

“I-”

“No.” He says, motioning to stand as he fixes his suit. “Your friend paid me for this. I give you no more.”

“I’ll pay!”

Calmly he walks over and holds out his hand. I rush to stand and the chair falls but I don’t care. As the tears well I search through every goddamned pocket in this coat. Even looking in my bodice but there’s nothing. Not a single penny. I gave my last to that child and now I won’t know anything more about my sister. This is my karma for being kind. He scoffs and walks past me, like this is nothing more than a business deal. In our business sure this costs but Dalia was, is, so much more. Once he’s out of the room I kick the chair in frustration and hear steps enter the room. “Not now Raul.” I muster through tears and anger. When I look up at him I find a new softness on his face as he clenches his jaw, “I gave him all we could afford.”

I shake my head, “you can certainly afford more.”

“I can. But it’s not a good idea to spend so much money on a…”

I walk towards him, “a what? A conversation. A business agreement you made?”

“I wasn’t going to say that.” He answers, and the softness in his features only angers me more.

Dry laughter escapes my lips, “sure. Look I know this means nothing to you but it does to me.” I feel the tears begin to fall, “I wasn’t going to say that,” I mock, “Just like you were going to tell me what happened the night of the fire that you have yet to tell me!” I know I’m yelling and I’m sure the whole building can hear me but I don’t care. I shove him and he barely moves. Gently, he holds my gloved wrist, “you know I can’t say that and don’t act like I’m the only one with secrets.”

I don’t bother to pull away yet, “but she’s alive and if something happens to her it’ll be my fault. And I don’t think I can ever forgive myself for that.”

“And we will find her before then. I promise.”

“Don’t promise something you can’t even say. Cause I have yet to hear you say her name!” I yank my hand away, and with tears streaming down my face I practically run outside. The cold hits me in the perfect way and for a moment I don’t feel like I'm getting strangled by the air, by the thoughts. That is until a small hand tugs at my coat. I take my hands away from my face and look down. It’s the same child I gave the flowers to.

“Miss, I hope you don’t mind but I sold all your flowers except for this one.” He says in a squeaky voice holding out a single rose with a note attached to it. “It looked important so I ran here to find you and gave away the rest of the flowers while I waited since they won’t let me inside.” His accent is like that of an old Parisian man and it makes me giggle a bit.

“Thank you sweetheart,” I say, wiping away the tears and crouching down, “I don’t have any more money but this means a lot.”

He smiles, “that’s alright, your money helped my siblings and I a lot.”

He hugs me and tentatively I hug him back, and a small giggle sounds from beside my ear. When we let go he’s still giggling and I smile, “did you pickpocket me?”

“I tried, but your pockets are empty,” he jokes.

Before he runs off I get an idea and pull him close, “how about this,” I say in my broken french, “you be my spy on these streets and see if you see a girl who looks just like me and when you do, call me on any telephone you find. If you see her and I can prove it’s her, I’ll pay you a lot of money.” No idea how I’ll get the cash, maybe from Raul. I’d just need to convince him…or just take it.

He nods in excitement and I use the paper from the note Raul gave me as well as the pen from the guard and write down a number. “Now,” I begin as I hand it to him, “don’t tell anyone okay? Not even your siblings.” He nods and scurries away as he tucks the note into his small trousers. I smile and it seems the tears were able to dry themselves. 

In a way I’m scared to open the note but looking behind me I see Raul, leaned against the wall, impatiently waiting for me to open it. I take a deep breath and unfold the paper to read it when my heart sinks. Taped to the paper is a black and white picture of Raul and I from yesterday and a note that reads;

Stop looking before you're the ones who need detectives to find you.

- Alvaro.F



Normally I would scoff at such a note but it's who it’s by that makes my heart drop. Alvaro Ferreira, my godfather. The one who took over the family business. The same one who had no alibi the night of the fire, and the question I had then is the same one I have now. What does he have to hide?