Brain Child Page 0,110

open, you’d ground me for a week.”

Cynthia swore under her breath, then reminded herself that she’d only been gone an hour, and it was the middle of the afternoon. Besides, the courtyard was empty. She drove inside and got out of the car. “Well, at least we don’t have to call the police,” she observed, her eyes scanning the hills once more. “He’s gone.”

“Thieves,” a soft voice hissed from the shadows of the wide loggia in front of the house. “Murderers.”

Cynthia froze.

“Who … who’s there?” she asked.

“Oh, God,” she heard Carolyn whimper. “It’s Alex. Mama, it’s Alex.”

“Quiet,” Cynthia said softly. “Just don’t say anything, Carolyn. Everything will be all right.” Then, her voice louder: “Alex? Is that you?”

Alex stepped out of the shadows, the shotgun held firmly in his hands. “I am Alejandro,” he whispered.

His face was dripping blood from a cut above his left eye, and his shirt was stained darkly from another on his shoulder, but if he felt any pain, he gave no sign. Instead he walked slowly forward.

“There,” he said, gesturing with the gun toward the south wall. “Over there.”

“Do as he says, Carolyn,” Cynthia said softly. “Just do as he says, and everything will be all right.”

“But he’s crazy, Mama!”

“Hush! Just be quiet, and do as he says.” She waited for what seemed like an aeon, praying that Carolyn wouldn’t try to get back in the car or bolt toward the gates. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw her daughter begin to move slowly around the end of the car until she was standing at her side. Cynthia took the girl’s hand in her own. “We’ll do exactly as he says,” she said again. “If we do as he says, he won’t hurt us.”

Slowly, keeping her eyes fixed on Alex, she began backing around, pulling Carolyn with her. “What is it, Alex?” she asked. “What do you want?”

“Venganza,” Alex whispered. “Venganza para mi familia.”

“Your family, Alex?”

Alex nodded. “Sí.” Again he began moving forward, backing Cynthia and Carolyn Evans slowly toward the wall.

He could see the wall as it had been that day, even though they’d plastered over the damage and tried to wash away the blood of his family. But the pits from the bullets were still there, and the red stains were as bright as they had been on the day he’d watched his family die.

And now, the moment was finally at hand.

He wondered if the gringa woman would face death with the bravery of his mother, crying out her defiance even as the bullets cut the life out of her.

He knew she wouldn’t.

She would die a gringa’s death, begging for mercy. Even now, he could hear her.

“Why?” she was saying. “Why are you doing this? What have we done to you?”

What did my mother and my sisters do to deserve to die at the hands of your men? he thought, but it was not the time for questions.

It was the time for vengeance.

He squeezed the trigger, and the quiet of the afternoon exploded with the roar of the shotgun.

The gringa’s face exploded before his eyes, and new blood was added to the courtyard wall. Then, as with his mother before her, the woman’s knees gave way, and she sank slowly to the ground as her daughter watched, screaming.

As Alex squeezed the trigger a second time, his only wish was that the courtyard was as it should have been, and he could have watched as the blood of the gringas disappeared into the dust of the hacienda.

José Carillo turned up Hacienda Drive, and shifted his battered pickup truck into low gear. Listening to the transmission’s angry grinding, he hoped the truck would last long enough for him to begin the job at the hacienda. With the amount of money that one job would produce, he would be able to afford a new truck. But he was already late, and worried that he might lose the job before he ever got it. He pressed on the gas pedal, and the old truck coughed, then reluctantly surged forward.

It was on the second curve that he saw the boy coming down the road, a shotgun cradled in his arms, his face and shirt covered with blood. He braked to a stop and called out to the boy. At first the boy hadn’t seemed to hear him. Only when José called out a second time did the boy look up.

“You okay?” José asked. “Need some help?”

The boy stared at him for a moment, then