Charon's Net

by Gemma Herrero Virto

  In the distance, he made out a clearing between the trees. He continued running, using the last of his strength, not knowing why he was so sure that this was the place; that he was arriving there now. He considered the fact that he was making a lot of noise; that he might be alerting Charon, but he didn't care. It didn't matter to him if she escaped that night. He would catch her in the end. The only important thing was getting Gus out of the whole situation, and getting out of this forest in which time and space appeared not to follow the natural laws, giving him the impression of having spent centuries running through an infinite forest, as if he were trying to move along with all of his strength, at full speed, but was not managing to get anywhere. Like in his worst nightmares.

  Nevertheless, giving him hope, the clearing was approaching. The trees were becoming less densely packed, and they allowed him to approach more quickly. He kept running until he got there, and leaned on the last tree, trying to make out in the complete darkness whether there was anybody there. The sensation of unreality struck him, taking him back to the very nightmare produced by his own mind months earlier. In the centre of the clearing, he spotted the inert shadow of a human body.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The image of that body filled his entire field of vision, as if it had become immensely large; as if the entire universe had reduced itself down to that moment, to that prostrate being in the centre of the clearing. He slowly approached, already knowing who it belonged to, what it was that had happened, but wishing to not be there, to not know, to not see his face. He stopped a few steps away, feeling as the despair overwhelmed him. The body was lying on its front, preventing him from seeing the face, but he knew that it was Gus, that it could not be anybody else. He tried to deny it, but it was impossible. Those were the black jeans that he wore day after day. That was his jacket. The blood that was flowing out from amongst his hair, shining impossibly red in the darkness, was his.

  He crouched down slowly, trying not to feel, trying not to think about how he knew him, how he was feeling guilty for his death, and how he considered him to be his friend in spite of the fact that he had never shown it, and now it was too late. On crouching down he felt something strange. A warning of danger, which he did not know the source of, made him look up. There she was, standing still on the edge of the clearing. Carlos shot up, emitting a roar of rage. It was over. At last he had her in front of him; at last he was going to put an end to this nightmare. She looked at him for just one second longer, enough time to notice the fury flooding Carlos's eyes, to take in his ferocious expression. She turned and began to run, going deeper into the forest.

  He went after her. He was not going to allow her to escape. He felt filled with strength, with energy. All of this tiredness had vanished upon seeing the look of fear in Mónica’s eyes. Now he was the hunter and she the prey. He saw the girl running clumsily between the trees, slipping and grabbing hold of the branches to haul herself back up and keep running. At no moment did he lose her from his sight, she was the only thing that mattered. To chase her, to catch her, to finish the whole thing. But, despite running with all of his strength, he was not managing to get close to her. She was going along gaining increasingly more advantage over him, perhaps because she was not as tired as he was, or perhaps spurred on by fear, from what he had seen in her eyes. He tried to run even faster, to not lose her. His mind was in a fog, incapable of thinking about anything other than discharging all of his pain on her, on the guilty one.

  The trees continued to spread out, allowing him to see his prey more clearly. The rain and the wind both struck him with all their might. Carlos ignored them and continued after Mónica, who was running down the slope, focusing all of his attention on not slipping. The tiredness had disappeared now, and he was not even noticing the cold. All of that had been replaced by his ardent desire for revenge. He felt overwhelmed by the thrill of the chase, and full of strength, as if he could carry on running forever. It seemed to him that she was closer now. He could make out her silhouette more clearly. His hand shot to his side, going for his gun. At some point, the forest would end and, without the trees in the way, she would be an easy target. But the gun was not there. He remembered that he left it with Natalia, and then his mind began functioning again. Natalia, his job, his responsibilities, his ethics... He could not shoot a woman who was running scared through the rain. He could not kill her, no matter how much damage she may have caused, no matter how much he may have wanted to.

  He carried on running regardless, in spite of the fact that the forest had started to become dense again, making the darkness prevail once more all around him. The trees hid her from his view, making him fear he would lose her, forcing himself to put more exertion into the race. It was useless. She was not there anymore. He made himself stop and listen carefully. In the distance, he thought he heard the sound of a splash. He ran in the direction of it. The ground becoming was even damper, and his legs were beginning to sink into the mud. He remembered the place; he had passed through here shortly before. It was the quagmire that divided the forest into two. With a mighty effort, he managed to extricate his legs and begin to advance forward, whilst a shiver ran up his spine. In their hectic race, Mónica was advancing directly towards Natalia.

  ***

  It felt like it had been a very long time now since Carlos had left. Natalia had remained attentive to the sound of his footsteps, wishing for them not to go away, wishing for him not to leave her alone in the silence. But the trees had swallowed up the echo, and now she could only hear the sound of the branches knocking against each other, along with the wind, increasingly stronger, which blew between them, creating a gentle moan like that of a mournful soul.

  She left the handgun on her lap and hugged herself tightly, closing up Carlos’s coat in an effort to warm up. It was impossible. Her clothes were soaked through, and the cold was penetrating down to her skin. Her entire body was shaking, and her hands and feet were beginning to go stiff. She tried moving her fingers to wake them up, and sharp pinpricks of pain responded to her efforts. She continued moving them, ignoring the pain. She needed her fingers to be able to react in case she had to use the gun. She hoped she would not have to use it. In fact, she still thought it was ridiculous that she had even been left with it in the first place. She was the only one who could consider herself safe from harm in this forest, with Gus in the hands of a killer, and Carlos trying to arrest her. What was going to happen to her? Absolutely nothing. She would just have to wait a while until either everything had sorted itself out, or the patrol units had arrived.

  She went back to wondering why they had not yet arrived. It was not possible for Roberto to have not told anyone. First and foremost, he was a member of the Basque police force; an ‘Ertzaina’ and he would know what it was he had to do. Peoples’ lives and the arrest of a dangerous murderer should come before any personal quarrel. But, what if it wasn’t like that for Roberto? She barely knew him; she did not know what to think about him. All she could do was pray that he had raised the alarm, hoping that was the case. But, what if the patrol units didn’t come? To what extent were they prepared to confront Mónica without the help of anybody else? In that moment, she did not feel that they were a very prepared group: Gus, not suspecting a thing; herself, injured with no chance of defending herself; and Carlos, unarmed. He thought that he had a chance against her in a physical fight, but the fact that Mónica had never used firearms before did not necessarily mean that she did not have one. And, even if she didn’t have any, they knew that she used knives, and even an axe. What chance would Carlos have against that? For a second, her mind was overwhelmed by images of severed limbs, seen so many times in the crime scenes, but which up until now had always belonged to anonymous faces. The sole idea that they could belong to Gus or Carlos caused an even more intense cold to run through her body, stopping her from breathing. She imagined a shadow with a bloodied axe running through the forest towards her. She picked up the gun again, with trembling hand
s and tears streaming down her cheeks. It seemed to her that there were more noises all the time; that the wind was blowing harder, like the desperate cry of some wild animal. The sounds surrounded her, giving her the impression that thousands of beings were approaching, running, crawling, crying, and laughing. She remained attentive to the darkness, aiming from one side to the other, following, with the barrel of the gun, every movement from the branches, every whisper from the bushes against the nearby trees. Her tears were making it even more difficult for her to focus her vision. All she saw were shadows clouded by the veil of rain and her own crying. Her heart sped up so much that it caused shooting pains in her chest, and her breathing became more difficult. She tried to breathe in harder, in an attempt to take in air, but it refused to reach her lungs. She had to flee; death was coming closer, searching for her, and knew exactly where to find her. She got up, ignoring the pain in her ankle, and began walking downhill, trying to leave the forest, and make it to the village. Carlos's coat slipped from her shoulders, but she did not stop to pick it up. She tried walking faster as she continued keeping her eye on the thick vegetation, fearful that some shadow would jump out from between the trees to grab her. The ground was increasingly more slippery from the rain. She gripped tightly onto the gun with just her right hand, whilst she used her left to support herself on the tree trunks. She took a few more steps, trying to hurry up, feeling that time was running out, and the lack of air was beginning to make her feel dizzy. She fell to the ground again, sliding several metres through the mud, scraping her legs, hands, and face, against stones and bushes. The gun slipped away from her in her attempt to grab hold of a tree to stop her fall, and it slid away down the hill.

  Natalia sat on the ground, sobbing like a little girl. The impact had caused all of her anxiety to now burst forth. She stayed there, crying, for a few minutes, whilst her breathing settled down and she managed to regain control of the situation. She had to find the gun. She looked all around, searching for it. She thought she saw it glinting a few metres further down, resting against a bramble bush. And then she heard it. Panting, running footsteps that were fast approaching. This time it was not the product of her imagination or her fear. Something was coming towards her. Crying once more, she dragged herself towards the gun, praying that she would have time to grab hold of it, moving blindly in the direction of where she had seen it, her vision clouded over by tears and by fear. Her hands brushed the cold surface whilst she heard that the approaching being was making their way through the last of the trees. She turned, trying to aim, and saw as a black figure jumped out from the forest and fell on top of her. She struggled against the dark shadow that was crushing her with the weight of her body. Natalia had to fight; she could not allow Mónica to be victorious. She writhed, trying to free herself, but a hand grabbed hold of her throat, preventing her from breathing. Mónica sat down on top of her, not loosening her pressure, whilst with her other hand she tried to snatch the gun off her. Natalia felt herself becoming dizzy, her vision beginning to blur. She needed to make one final effort; she was fighting for her own life. She raised a hand and drove her nails into Mónica’s face, until she felt the blood beginning to flow. With a shriek of rage, the latter let go of her and struck her face. Natalia felt her consciousness fading, but right away a sharp pain in her right hand brought her back. Mónica was biting her, hard. Unable to help it, Natalia let go of the pistol. Monica picked it up quickly, stood up, and took a couple of steps back, not taking her aim off her. The girl’s hand was trembling, and her body was convulsing from her crying. Natalia tried to control herself, to remember the story that Doctor Martínez had told them. She was not in front of a monster. In spite of the atrocities she had committed, she was just a girl who was tormented by guilt, and confused...

  “Mónica, wait...” she said in a gentle voice. “This isn’t the solution.”

  The girl appeared to be taken aback on hearing her name, and looked her in the eyes, but did not stop aiming the weapon at her.

  “Don’t you understand that this is not how you’re going to find the peace you’re looking for? What you’re doing is only causing more pain, and won’t put anything right,” she got onto her knees and reached out her arm a little towards the gun, very slowly, holding her gaze so that Mónica could see she was not trying to hurt her. “There are people who can help you, and put an end to this nightmare.”

  “No, nobody can... This will never end; it’s all gone wrong,” she replied, sobbing. “I’m so tired...”

  “Yes we can help. Trust me, let me help you,” said Natalia, standing up slowly so as to approach her. “All of this has to stop.”

  The girl lowered the gun a little, as she cried in anguish. Natalia took a step forward, slowly. The whole situation felt unreal, like she was in the middle of a dream that did not make any sense. This frightened creature, crying in the rain, could not be the cruel killer they had spent months pursuing. And, nevertheless, she knew that this was the case; the images of the crimes, of the mutilated bodies, played out at full speed in her head, tormenting her. It felt like she ought to be feeling rage, the desire to take vengeance, and not the compassion that was making her see her as a frightened little girl.

  “Come on, give me the gun,” she implored, holding out her hand. “Don’t you think there have been enough deaths?”

  Mónica raised the gun again, and in her eyes Natalia saw that she was no longer afraid, nor desperate.

  “No,” she replied in a firm tone. “There’s still one more.”

  Natalia screwed her eyes tightly shut. She heard a shot, and felt as a warm liquid splattered onto her face. She slowly opened her eyes as her whole body trembled violently. Mónica was lying at her feet, her head pierced by a bullet. She collapsed down beside her crying, feeling herself losing control. Without knowing what she was doing, she caressed Mónica’s blood and rain-soaked hair, feeling guilty for not having been able to save her.

  Some fast footsteps were approaching through the forest, but she ignored them. She felt herself being gripped by the shoulders, by hands that were shaking her and forcing her to come away.

  “Natalia, are you all right? Answer me, are you hurt?”

  She kept her eyes riveted on the lifeless body, shaking from the uncontrolled sobbing, not completely understanding those words, nor recognizing the voice. A hard blow to her cheek brought her back to reality.

  “Natalia, answer me,” Carlos gripped her by the shoulders again and looked at her, worriedly. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded and embraced him, as she allowed the tears to continue flowing freely. A few seconds later, he separated himself from her, and looked at her again, intently, as if he were trying to convince himself that nothing bad had happened to her.

  “She killed herself... She shot herself in front of me and I couldn’t do a thing to stop her...” she tried to explain.

  “Don’t worry about that,” Carlos caressed her cheek for a second and stood up again. “I have to leave now; I think Gus could be injured. I’ll come back as soon as possible.”

  He ran off, going back in amongst the trees. Natalia stayed still, watching him leave. She cast another glance at the body, buried her face in her hands, and began to cry again, for Mónica, for the girls, for their families, for herself, and Carlos, and Gus... Because solving a crime, or taking out a killer, did not turn back time.

  ***

  Carlos retraced his steps, forcing himself to move slowly, so as not to slip. The anxiety was still consuming him, demanding that he hurry up, that he get back to the clearing. The nightmare might still not have ended; he possibly had one chapter left to go. He was feeling guilty for having gone running off after Mónica without having checked to see whether he could still do anything for Gus. He was afraid of not being able to quickly find the exact place; that his previous state of fury would have prevented him from taking note of the route he had taken. He almost did not remember having passed through those places. All of the events of t
he previous minutes appeared hazy in his mind, as if he had not experienced them himself; as if he had been possessed by a beast that he did not recognise, but which resided within him. The clearing appeared before his eyes, a few metres away. Upon reaching the edge of it, he stopped short again, feeling once more embroiled in the nightmare. The second he saw it, it would become something real, something inevitable. All hope would vanish. He did not want to spend the coming years of his life with the memory of empty eye sockets recriminating him for not having arrived in time, for having left him to die in this forest. Nevertheless, he continued going forward, and approached the body.

  There was a dark figure to the side of it. At first, Carlos thought that it was some wild animal and ran towards it, to get it off him, but, on drawing closer, he realized that it was Art, nudging Gus’s side with his nose as he whined. Carlos knelt down beside the body, holding back the tears that were burning in his eyes. Gus was still in the same position, and there was now even more blood, surrounding his head like a red halo. He crouched down and placed a hand on his shoulder to turn him over, feeling as the anguish gripped hold of his throat. The blood was flowing from a cut on his temple, but his face did not show a single other injury. It seemed as though he was sleeping. Carlos took his pulse, begging for him to still be alive. He seemed to detect a very slight movement in his wrist for a moment, as if he still had some life left in his body, but he was so nervous that he lost it and was not able to find it again. Had he imagined it? He moved the soaking hair from his face and went closer to him, trying to find out whether he was breathing. Gus opened his eyes slightly and gave him a startled and absent look, as if he did not recognise him, or know where he was. Carlos felt the hope returning, and he took hold of his hand firmly, trying to let him know that he was by his side.