Five Midnights

by Ann Dávila Cardinal

  Lupe was quiet, looking out the windows with big eyes. For all her tough talk, he bet her family never took her to El Norte on her summer vacation. He chuckled to himself. He liked this girl, a lot, but he felt superior in his Puerto Ricanness compared to her. His roots dug deep in the magical Caribbean soil.

  God you’re an asshole. Javier was often grateful no one could read his thoughts. This was why he preferred doing things solo. He just wanted to get this over with. The sun was sinking and in El Norte the bad things slithered out at night under cover of darkness. “Where does Ángel live?”

  “In The Factory. Take the next right, and a left on Calle Alameda.” Izzy was shifting farther forward on his seat, like the junk was pulling at him from the street corners.

  The Factory. Lord. An infamous drug den and home of the Calaveras. It was worse than he thought. Beads of sweat formed on Javier’s forehead. It was as if he were going backward with every block, deeper and deeper into his past.

  As he slowed down at a traffic light, he was distracted by something moving on his left. He swung his head around, swerving the car a bit with the movement, his heart racing.

  There was nothing there.

  As they sat there waiting for the light to change, he could see the movement out of the corner of his eye again, whipped his head around. This time he could see part of a black shape, just at the edge of his vision. The darkness was spreading. It was on the right side, too! The breath was squeezing from his body and he was shaking his head left and right, but the darkness only moved with him.

  Lupe’s voice broke through his panic. “What is wrong with you guys?”

  Guys? Plural?

  Javier looked past Lupe and saw Izzy looking left and right, his eyes wide and filled with terror. They caught each other’s eyes, and Javier could feel the fear arc between them.

  Lupe peered at one, then the other. “Am I missing something?”

  The darkness slowly receded, but still remained, just beyond his vision. He could feel it lurking.

  Izzy looked around as if waking up and pointed to a pockmarked, three-story industrial building covered with layer upon layer of graffiti and torn political posters. “Here.”

  Javier recognized the trio of junkies from the neighborhood who called themselves “the three kings” draped across the steps to the front door with missing glass panes. They spotted Izzy getting out of the car and greeted him with exaggerated movements like they were all underwater. Izzy looked a bit too comfortable.

  Javier rushed to catch up with Lupe as she got out of the car. He realized she was watching him as they started to walk. “What?”

  “Why didn’t you argue with me about going in?”

  Javier shrugged. “Because it would be much more dangerous for you to wait in the car, looking like you do.”

  She stopped walking. “What? What the hell does that mean?”

  He smiled. “You know, white. Blond. A gringa.”

  She gave him a look that could wither flowers. “Why do you do that?”

  “What? What’d I do?”

  She gritted her teeth and put her hands on her hips. “Make sure you make me feel different, an outsider, over and over.”

  “I— But you are.” He was baffled. She knew she wasn’t from here, right?

  She raised her voice and even the three kings were looking now. So much for not calling attention to her. “You think I don’t know that? You think I’m happy about having the skin color of my mother who took off? It’s the only damn thing she left me and all it does is make me feel like I’m not part of the only family I have!”

  Her eyes were getting glassy and Javier’s throat tightened. He wasn’t trying to hurt her. “Look, Lupe, I—”

  But then she was moving. “Forget it.”

  When they got to the building staircase, the three sleazes leered at Lupe like she was a plate of tres leches cake. But they had no idea who they were dealing with. She stopped for a split second, turned her withering glare on them, and without a word from her they went silent.

  Javier smiled to himself. He guessed she was a Puerto Rican woman.

  Izzy was still jawing with the three kings, so Javier grabbed his arm and peeled his friend from them like a Band-Aid. “C’mon man, let’s get this over with.”

  “Catch you later, panas!” Izzy called back as he walked through the doorway.

  Lupe was staring at her cousin. “Friends of yours?”

  Izzy shrugged. “The Diplomat gets along with everyone, cuz.”

  “Yeah, well, I think you should be more discerning in your friendships, cuz.”

  They stopped at the bottom of the steep, wide staircase. It was dark, spray-painted, and smelled vaguely of vomit.

  Javier pronounced, “I would just like to say again that I think this is a bad idea.”

  And with that, Lupe stormed up the stairs with Izzy following behind.

  The ceilings were very high, the walls concrete and crumbling. “What was this building?” she asked.

  “It was a factory back in the day. Closed and moved to Mexico when NAFTA was signed.” Izzy’s voice echoed.

  They arrived at a massive sliding metal door, sounds of music, voices, and crying coming from inside. Lupe looked even paler than usual. “What kind of factory?”

  Izzy smirked. “Pharmaceuticals. Now that’s what you call ‘ironic,’” he added in his best pirate accent. Then he pulled open the sliding door, revealing a large room filled with random scavenged furniture, people draped all over them like lizards in the sun. There was a reggaeton heartbeat thrumming in the floor, the walls; those who were standing seemed to move with it.

  Javier froze. He sniffed and under the scent of cigarettes, sweat, and decay, he detected the unmistakable vinegary essence of black-tar heroin.

  He could feel his heartbeat behind his face, his arms going numb. As he looked around, he noticed that the blackness was leaking into his vision again, farther this time.

  He jumped when Lupe grabbed his arm. She pointed toward Izzy who had stopped walking also. Javier glanced over to see what his friend was looking at and saw a skinny guy with a rubber hose tightened around his bicep, a needle hanging from the crook of his arm, a look of total vacancy spreading in his eyes. Lupe was watching with a fascinated horror while the look in Izzy’s eyes was that of a starving man watching a suckling pig on a spit. Javier would be willing to bet the shadow was spreading even farther in his fellow cangrejo’s head. He herded them both along toward the back, wondering if even worse sights awaited them there.

  Izzy seemed to wake, and pushed in front of them, knocking on a scratched gray metal door in a hallway lit by a bare blue bulb, the colored light giving their skin a drowning hue.

  “¿Quién es?” a gravelly voice called from within.

  “Izzy. Open up.”

  The door opened slowly, and the three of them entered a surprisingly bright room, rows of fluorescent lights beaming from among the maze of pipes that covered the ceiling. The room was filled with people who were all circled around a guy lying on a bare mattress that topped a stack of wooden pallets. There was nothing in the room other than the makeshift bed and a paint-splattered ladder against one wall.

  A girl who held the boy’s hand gestured to Javier and Lupe. “Who the hell are they?”

  Izzy answered, “They’re cool. We’re here to talk to Ángel.”

  She looked back into the guy’s blank face. “Good luck. My brother’s not himself.”

  Izzy pushed through the people, leaned over, and looked into Ángel’s face. “Ángel, man, it’s me. Izzy.”

  Nothing, no reaction.

  Izzy looked back at Javier and shrugged. He tried again. “We want to talk to you about Memo.”

  Ángel’s eyes shifted and caught Izzy’s gaze.

  Izzy nodded. “That’s right, you remember Memo.”

  It was as if Ángel had been plugged in; he started to shake.

  His sister stepped back. “What did you do to him
? You’re wasting your time. The cops tried to get him to talk, but—”

  She stopped and they all stared as Ángel grabbed Izzy’s shirt, pulling him right up to his face, eyes shifting wildly, pupils huge. “Memo…”

  Izzy put his hand on Ángel’s shoulder. “Yes, what about Memo?”

  His voice was uneven, like it was being dragged over gravel. “He took him.”

  Javier stepped forward. “Who took him?”

  Ángel’s eyes were darting, like he was seeing it all play out again. “We’d just done a job. Memo stepped up. Saved my life, even. But then … man, we were just drinking a cerveza … I started to get this feeling…”

  “What kind of feeling?” Javier could tell from Izzy’s voice that he was trying to be patient, but it was getting harder and harder.

  Ángel pulled Izzy close again. “It was like a black hole, you know? I could feel it pulling, pulling in toward its nothingness, its darkness.”

  Izzy looked back at Javier and they shared an uneasy look. Izzy asked, “It was pulling at you?”

  Ángel shook his head hard. “Not me. It didn’t want me.” He looked back into Izzy’s eyes. “It wanted Memo. It wrapped its thin, black shadow tendrils around him, and … and…” His face collapsed and he started to sob, his sister pulling him into a hug, whispering comforting words.

  She gestured toward Izzy and Javier. “Get out of here! You’re upsetting him all over again!”

  But over his sister’s shoulder, Ángel seemed to notice Javier for the first time. He pointed back and forth between Izzy and Javier. “You two, do you see the shadows behind you?”

  Javier spun around like there was a spider on his back, and he saw Izzy do the same. How could Ángel know? The shadow, the darkness … they weren’t real.

  “What’re you talking about, Ángel?” Javier didn’t bother to hide the irritation in his voice.

  “It’s the same shadow he had. Right before … before…” Ángel whispered.

  Izzy’s voice tightened. “Who had? Before what?” This time he was grabbing Ángel’s shirt.

  “Memo.” After that one word the room went silent, the only sound a speaker in the next room blasting, of all songs, Carlos’s hit “El Cuco.”

  Everyone jumped as Ángel screamed. “El Cuco! He’s coming!” His wild eyes focused just over Izzy’s shoulder toward the corner of the room. They all followed his gaze, but there was nothing there but stained ceiling tiles. Then he just pulled back into himself, returning to the same position where he had been when they came in, like a toy soldier winding down.

  He was just repeating the words to the song … right?

  There was a beat of stunned silence, then Ángel’s sister began to shout.

  “Why the hell did you come here, Izzy? Your idiota friend Memo almost got him killed!”

  Javier stammered. “Memo almost got him killed? Mira, it’s his so-called gang that got Memo killed! He was a good kid until he got hooked up with them!”

  “Forget it, pendejo! You and your ‘cangrejo’ friends got him into drugs way before he joined the Calaveras.”

  Javier pushed closer but he could feel Lupe tugging on his arm. He yanked it back. He and Ángel’s sister were face-to-face when a group of people streamed into the small room led by Keno, his “soldiers” lined up behind him like pool balls.

  “Izzy, what you bringing this trash around for?” He pointed to Javier. “I thought you were too good for this neighborhood, Javi?” Then he noticed Lupe standing behind Javier. “And you bring Dávila’s niece here, too? Are you crazy?”

  The sister yelled, “She’s cop family?”

  People in the crowd started pointing to Lupe and whispering. Great. Now they all knew she was related to the chief. They might not live to be killed by whatever the hell was stalking them.

  Javier noticed the people coagulated in the hallway outside the door and confirmed that they’d voluntarily walked into the lions’ den. Keno’s eyes were still on Lupe, and though she was standing strong, chin held high, Javier could feel the tight grip of her fingers around his arm. She was brave, not stupid.

  “Well, Lupe Dávila. Marisol’s been looking for you.”

  “Yeah? She must not be looking hard, I’m right here.”

  Wait, maybe she was stupid, too. Girl didn’t know when to keep her mouth shut. No shake to that voice, though. It was like she was at her most comfortable talking smack.

  “Not for long, gringa!”

  Keno stepped closer to her and Javier noticed he was pulling a revolver from under his arm. Javier moved to intercept Keno when all hell broke loose.

  Keno’s men pressed in behind Javier, shouting threats; the people from the hall poured in hoping for a show, blocking the only exit. Javier was trying to figure a way for them to get out. The window? No, there were three guys between them and the window and they were on the second floor. No way could he fight his way out, not with these numbers—

  An ear-splitting siren blared from above and everyone slammed their hands over their ears.

  Then it was raining.

  Water came down from everywhere, pouring onto their heads, the siren continuing above, pieces of plaster falling with the water like wet snow.

  It was then Javier noticed Izzy perched on the top rung of the rickety ladder against the wall, a lighter held high over his head, flicking the fire detector above. He looked at Javier and mouthed Go.

  Javier grabbed Lupe’s hand as the room came to life once again, people running to and fro as if the water were acid, confused yelling.

  They ducked their heads and joined the crowd straining to get out of the room. Then their wet feet were pounding down the stairs, finally breaking out onto the sidewalk.

  Lupe was breathless, but still moving toward the car. “What about Izzy?”

  Javier was turning the key in the ignition before the doors were even closed, peeling out of the parking space and onto the empty street. He remembered the hunger with which Izzy watched the guy shooting up, and felt an emptiness in the pit of his stomach.

  “Izzy can handle himself.”

  But he wasn’t at all sure he could.

  July 8, 8:23 P.M.

  Lupe

  LUPE PICKED AT her codfish as if dissecting it. Normally she loved her aunt’s bacalao, but that night she was having trouble eating. She was ignoring a text from her father, and he never texted. His fingers were too big for his flip phone. And, well, it was a flip phone.

  Our neighbor Linda told me she saw online that you were hanging out

  with music stars down there! I take it you’re having fun?

  She imagined her response.

  Yep! And tonight I visited The Factory, a major drug den in El Norte! A gang leader pulled a gun on me and I saw someone shooting up!

  Yeah, no.

  Best ignore his message altogether.

  She almost told her aunt about leaving Izzy at the drug den several times, but the woman was already pissed she’d been so late for dinner and anxious about her husband without knowing that her nephew might be in danger. Oh, and then there was the issue of Lupe being right in the middle of it all. Yeah, her tía was a handwringer at the best of times; this news might send her off the edge. No, she’d wait until her uncle got home and talk to him.

  They cleaned up in silence, wrapping up a plate for Esteban to heat when he eventually got home. When the kitchen was back to its normal immaculate state (Lupe had determined years ago that cleaning was an Olympic sport in Puerto Rico), her aunt made her way to the stairs.

  “I’m going to go to bed and read. Buenas noches, Lupe.” Her eyes were so sad, so powerless. How did she live like this all the time? Maria and her uncle had been high school sweethearts, the great loves of each other’s lives. How did she handle him being in danger every damned day? It must feel like living with your heart in a vice, tightening and releasing, then tightening again.

  “It will be okay, tía. I promise,” Lupe called lamely, though she didn’t bel
ieve it herself.

  “Querida Lupe, don’t make promises you can’t keep. Though I pray to Díos you’re right.” She smiled that sad smile, and started to take a step.

  Lupe lurched forward on impulse. “Tía!”

  Maria turned with her hand on the railing. “¿Sí?”

  For one second she thought of saying “nothing,” but instead she said, “Thank you.”

  Her aunt tilted her head. “For what?”

  “For caring that I was late for dinner. For worrying about me. About everyone.” Her voice caught. “For being like a mom.”

  Maria’s face melted and she turned and pulled Lupe into a hug, her tears wetting them both. Then Lupe did something totally uncharacteristic for her.

  She hugged her aunt back. A big, bear-like, tío-type hug.

  When Maria spoke, her soft voice vibrated at the top of Lupe’s head like a hymn. “I wish I were your mamá. I would never let you go.”

  Lupe whispered into her aunt’s clean-smelling blouse. “I wish you were, too.”

  Maria kissed her on the forehead, held her at arm’s length, then let go. Lupe watched her walk up the stairs, the framed photographs of her wedding, of Esteban and Lupe’s father, of her and Izzy as children, disappearing behind her and reappearing as she passed.

  Lupe stood there at the base of the stairs for some time, then she texted Izzy again.

  And again.

  Look out the front window.

  It was a text from Javier that woke her up.

  Huh? She sat up. She was on the couch, a 1950s horror movie flickering from the television in black and white.

  I’m here.

  Lupe looked at the time on her phone. 10:18 P.M. Huh? She moved the front window curtain aside and saw the shadowed figure on the sidewalk in front, the glow of a cell phone gently lighting up his face. Her heart started beating faster.

  Her aunt had to be asleep by now. But waking up and finding a boy—particularly that boy—in her house would not be a good thing. She responded.

  Backyard.

  She pulled open the sliding glass doors with a whoosh and stepped out onto the stone patio. The moon was not quite over the trees yet, but its glow lit the palm fronds from behind. She heard the metal gate squeal like it was in pain and Javier turned the corner of the house, hands in his jean pockets, hair all tousled from the wind.