Valentina's Lost Days

by A. P. Hernández

  Valentina's Lost Days

  A.P. Hernández

  Translated by Nestora M. Salcedo

  “Valentina's Lost Days”

  Written By A.P. Hernández

  Copyright © 2017 A.P. Hernández

  All rights reserved

  Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.

  www.babelcube.com

  Translated by Nestora M. Salcedo

  “Babelcube Books” and “Babelcube” are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  VALENTINA’S LOST DAYS | A CASE OF THE | EX INSPECTOR CHIEF POLICE OFFICER | LAZARUS DEL RÍO | A.P. Hernández

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  VALENTINA’S LOST DAYS

  A CASE OF THE

  EX INSPECTOR CHIEF POLICE OFFICER

  LAZARUS DEL RÍO

  A.P. Hernández

  About the Author

  Antonio Pérez Hernández (Murcia, 1989) is a teacher of Primary Education, Pedagogue, Master Degree in Education's Research and Innovation and Doctor, mention Cum Laude, for his Doctoral Thesis "Evaluation of the Competence in linguistic communication through tales in Primary Education”.

  He has been awarded an Accésit in the Prize of Literary Creation Nemira, and with Finalist results in the International Contest of Fantastic and Terror Novel, Dagón. He has published a total of seven books and has been translated into English, Dutch and Italian.

  Nowadays, he combines his teaching with writing.

  OUT THERE

  -1-

  Lazarus del Río watches television. Or at least try. After a long time of doing absolutely nothing except subsisting on canned food and cheap beer, he thinks that turning on the TV in his house can be a good (and simple) way of showing interest in the world in which he still lives.

  The screen lights up, and Lazarus closes his eyes, dazzled by the sudden flash of light. Since that happened, Lazarus has never gone out again. He has declared war on the outside world and is now firmly convinced he will not set foot outside his 200-square-meter duplex. There you have everything you need and, thanks to the Internet, you can pay the utility bills and purchase from home.

  Lazarus sits on the sofa in the living room and, still with slanted eyes, watches the newscaster on his LG 45-inch HD Ready. She is pretty. Woo! yes, it is! Brunette, as Lazarus likes, with brown eyes and white skin. He sits down on the couch and listens.

  She speaks of an organized band specializing in the theft of high-range vehicles and alerts the neighbors of a Madrid neighborhood to extreme precautions.

  Lazarus breathes, relieved, although he knows he is not yet safe.

  He was waiting for the next news.

  - "Come on, Dark-eyed, behave well with Lazarus."

  The next news is the aggression produced between two young people at the exit of a discotheque. The presenter explains that the events occurred at three in the morning when the youngsters, aged 19 and 22 left the premises in a state of obvious drunkenness. When leaving, they argued and engaged in a violent fight. Apparently, one of the boys had a knife and stabbed the other, who is hospitalized in critical condition.

  - "The world is shit," -says Lazarus.

  And, may God forgive him, he cannot be happier for it.

  He waits for the next news, becoming even calmer.

  The presenter talks about a minor fire in a building. Fortunately, the incident has not caused any deaths, only two minor injuries ...

  Lazarus turns off the television.

  The anxiety accumulated in his chest is diluted, little by little. The rhythm of his heart diminishes and is keep in step with his breathing.

  At last! At last Lazarus has stopped being news ... Of course, how long has been that? 15 years? 16 years?

  He cannot answer those questions. Time ceased to make sense from the moment he entered prison. And, if it were not enough, after serving his sentence, he has returned imprisoned again, although this time in his own house. When entering Lazarus lowered the blinds, and locked the main door.

  - "As if someone were coming to visit me," -he thinks. - "As if anyone cared about at all!

  He left jail a few weeks ago (maybe months) and many things have no longer cared.

  For Lazarus, his life also no longer makes sense.

  What future awaits him, submerged continually in that darkness, unable even to go out to the garden of his house? Lazarus knows that, despite the time that has passed, his incidents have not been forgotten. Clear evidence is the graffiti that is on the front of his house: FUCKING KILLER.

  He also knows that moving to another city is not an option. Wherever he went, people would recognize him: The Chief Inspector of the National Police Corps, Lazarus del Río, turned overnight into an assassin.

  His photo was on the front page (and for several days) of the leading international newspapers. He was the headlines of magazines and bulletins in several countries. His actions resonated in all languages ​​and all the news of the world.

  - "I used to have a life before," -he says, thinking aloud. - "I have nothing now."

  Lazarus has no family, except for his older brother, who since what happened, did not return to maintain contact with him.

  - "Nobody went to visit me in jail ..."

  And that's what hurts the most. No one. Nobody cared for him.

  I'm alone. Understood.

  Lazarus stands up and walks to the fridge. Of the beer saving pack that he bought a few days ago on the Internet, there are only three left, grabbing them from the handle, returns to sit on the couch with the cans in his lap. He drinks the first one in a sigh, squeezes it with his left hand with an excessive force and throws it towards the corner of the living room.

  He had never been drunk, on the contrary, he was always an abstemious man.

  - "But that was before I became the monster I am now."

  And with that thought, Lazarus tipped up and drank the second can.

  He burps sonorously, squeezes and throws it, this time, against the entrance door.

  - "Fuck you all!" -He screams at the lonesomeness that surrounds him with the tears streaming down his cheeks. - "FUCK you all! He was a murderer! He was a fucking rapist!"

  -2-

  It is four o'clock in the morning and Lazarus purchases on the Internet. Tomorrow, in the first hour, they will be taken to the door of his house.

  Check his final order: twenty packs Maxi-Beer savings, three packs of sugary drinks, thirty cold ham and bacon pizzas, toilet paper, eighteen bags of potatoes, twenty-seven cold coffees and five packets of whole grains.

  Click OK and enter his credit card number. Then click FINISH PURCHASE again and, for his surprise, notices that cannot do the operation.

  Lazarus, fearing the worst, access with his ID and password to his private online banking. Check that he has a balance in favor of only 121.45 €. His eyes wide open and he puts his hands to his head, stunned.

  So much time in prison had made him forget that he had no job or income. He was expelled from the National Police Corps and disqualified from employment and salary.

  Lazarus frowns. Where had all his savings gone? Without a doubt, enters his user profile, select his current account and click on the option SEE MOVEMENTS FROM THIS ACCOUNT.

  For his astonishment, he realizes that not everyone has forgotten him. Maybe none of his workmates had come to visit him; perhaps even his brother did not talk to him ... But there was someone who had periodically remembered him!

  - "Big bastards!"

  The Mortgage of his house.

  He'd forgotten about the damn mortgage.


  At the end of each month, there was a negative balance of € 490 accompanied by the HIPOTECA VIVIENDA concept.

  The good part was that thanks to his savings, the bank had not seized his house. The bad, terrible part is that his savings are gone and that, also, he still must pay more than 40,000 € of the mortgage. Before, when he was Chief Inspector of Police, dealing with a monthly fee of € 490 was a simple matter, but ... what would he do now?

  The last thing he wants is to be kicked out of his house ...

  - "I have to find a job ..."

  But reject the idea quickly. There is something about him that refuses to work on something that has no relation to the national police. After all, he has been in the group most of his life, since he passed the entrance tests at age 19.

  The career path of Lazarus was brilliant. He began, like everyone else, a simple police officer in practices, to later become a policeman. But it did not stop there. Unlike his companions, Lazarus continued to ascend: from a police officer to deputy inspector, student inspector in practices (first and the second year), inspector trainee, inspector and finally chief inspector.

  The position of the chief inspector was a high rank, no doubt, but Lazarus knows that if he had not committed that stupidity, he would have become a commissary.

  - "And now that? -He asks himself, staring at the stack of beer cans in the corner of the living room. - "Am I supposed to look for a job as a waiter or store clerk?

  The single idea makes him sketch a sullen grimace. Lazarus has nothing against the waiters, nor against the store clerks. The real reason he refuses to look for a job is that he still believes to be a police officer. Despite being expelled from the body years ago, Lazarus, inside, continues to behave, acting and feeling like a policeman.

  - "I'll always be Chief Inspector," -he says to his reflection projected on the screen off the TV. - "And a Chief Inspector is full-time."

  Lazarus contemplates himself; he can barely recognize himself. He sees a tall, thin man with black eyes. He has the shabby hair and the tattoo of a snake crawling from his left nipple to her neck.

  Lazarus gets up from the sofa and heads to the second floor of his duplex. He's tired, and his physical condition has gotten worse since he got out of jail. In prison, at least, lifts weights daily with the rest of the inmates. But at home, the only exercise he can do is drag his feet from the toilet to the sofa, and from the couch to the bedroom (and this last, when he does not fall asleep on the couch).

  He climbs the steps with certain fatigue and waddles back to his bedroom. Without hesitation, open the first drawer. Check with amazement that it is still there. He can hardly believe it.

  Lazarus took his old and expired professional ID card. Look, with a mixture of love and nostalgia, the national coat of arms.

  - "I only have this left," -he whispers, reading his old body identification number. - "Only this..."

  Exhausted from the effort of climbing the stairs, and no doubt because of the alcohol ingested, Lazarus lies down on his bed.

  He sleeps clinging to his ID card.

  -3-

  Food began to scarce, and Lazarus considers more and more the possibility of coming out, as he calls the outside world, OUT THERE.

  But OUT-THERE is a vast and hostile place, full of accusing looks and soft conversations behind.

  - "I was better in jail," -he says, shifting his position on the couch. His back hurts, and he regrets not having a reclining sofa. At least he talked with people there.

  A jury court issued a verdict regarding Lazarus del Río in which it was estimated that, in his actions, there was a crime of murder with treachery. It did not matter to anyone that to who he shot surprisingly, was a monster, a rapist, and a girl hunter.

  So, he spent 15 years in prison, and that, thanks to the extenuating circumstances that reduced his penalty: extenuating of fit of madness or stubbornness and attenuating of confession. In fact, the murderer of the rapist became in order murder. Lazarus took advantage of the defenselessness of the victim to end his life, but he did it without cruelty and moves for his anger, so that they did not punish that willful behavior. Later, without further ado, he turned himself into the police, to his companions...

  Lazarus made friends in jail. It is true that the prisoners do not well accept the police, but Lazarus soon discovered an internal code. Apparently, the drug dealers, robbers, and murderers had their own ethics and, in their eyes, the actions of Lazarus seen as something honorable and understandable. Killing a rapist was something as respectable as robbing a bank to feed your children.

  On mornings like that, Lazarus missed his friends. Now they would be in the gym of the jail, well eaten, and sunbathing, while he ...

  - "Freaking shit!"

  He accommodates on the couch again. This time, he folds his arms over his belly. He realizes that he is getting fat ...

  And so, suddenly, Lazarus hears a sound.

  It comes from the street.

  It comes exactly from the entrance threshold.

  - "it's a person ..." -But Lazarus knows that it did not. It's an animal. A...

  - "Cat!"

  The cat howls in a pitiful way. Lazarus knows how the cats are and waits for the animal to leave from where it has come. But the cat does not go. He continues doing that meow, so like a cry, for five minutes, ten minutes, 15 minutes, 20 minutes ...

  Urged by curiosity, Lazarus stands and goes to the door, the only piece of wood that separates him from the fearsome OUT THERE. Stick his ear to the wood and listen carefully to the meow. It's long, sorry and ... painful. Yes, Lazarus perceives pain in that sound.

  Even knowing that it is complete madness, turn the key to the entrance, grab the knob and open the door ... Just a few millimeters, only enough to stick out an eye.

  The air outside shakes his face like a kind breath. A thousand indescribable smells, and, at the same time, tremendously familiar, hit him. But Lazarus looks at the animal that lies on the level area. It's a black cat. He is lying down, curled up, his head intermixed with his tail and legs. He is young and famished.

  - "What are you doing here?" -Lazarus is happy to ask that question. It is the first time in weeks that he interacts with a living being. - "Go to your house!"

  The cat does not react to his voice. He just continues with his sad crying.

  Lazarus opens the door a little more. Tea the horizon, in search of neighbors who can throw glaring accusations, but there is nobody.

  - "Everyone is working ..."

  Lazarus opens the door wide, takes a step outside and catches the cat. When closing the door behind his back, his heart goes a thousand times per hour.

  DAY ONE

  -1-

  For some strange reason that Lazarus cannot understand, taking care of the cat awakens in him a feeling of happiness.

  Before he would never have rescued a cat from the street, much less a black cat, but as Lazarus knows, he is not the same one he was before.

  Lazarus shares with his new pet one of the last cans of veal sauce left in the larder. He drinks beer (also one of the last) while Beefalo (name with which he has decided to baptize his new friend) drinks fresh milk in a cup of glass.

  The two eat at the table, one in front of the other, and the living room window is slightly raised. Lazarus does not know when he has opened it, but he, convinced that he did it for Bucephalus, so that the animal could take a little sun.

  Bucephalus finishes his plate and stares his eyes at Lazarus’s plate, specifically, the last piece of veal in the sauce.

  - "You've eaten your plate!" Do not even think about it ...!"

  But Bucephalus leaps in a blink and before Lazarus can react.

  - "Damn cat!" -Exclaims Lazarus with a smile. That was my food!"

  Bucephalus chews his well-deserved calf delicately until knocking on the door of the entrance, catch his attention.

  Lazarus is astonished. This time is no badly injured animal. That's for sure. It has been two blow
s dry and clear.

  KNOCK, KNOCK.

  They call again.

  Lazarus, who since enjoying the company of his feline friend, has made without being conscious much progress, is headed for the door. Even fearful, fear and dread have disappeared. Feel safe enough to turn the key and slightly open the door.

  He sees a woman.

  She is blond (Lazarus likes brunettes, but at this point, any woman is attractive to him) and, from afar, she seems with class: she wears a tight black tube style dress Norma Kamali, a black bag with a magnetized clasp Lautre Chose and disproportionate sunglasses.

  - "Sorry to bother you," -the woman begins. - "Are you Lazarus del Río?"

  Lazarus, not without some reticence, opens the door a little more.

  - "Yes, who are you?"

  - "Good morning, Lazarus. My name is Marta, and I would like to talk to you."

  Lazarus stands as still as a statue. He stares at her for a few seconds that seem eternal.

  - " Do you mind if I come in, please?" -She asks, after not getting any invitation from Lazarus.

  Lazarus turns his head and looks at the interior of his house. The cat is tasting the piece of veal in sauce on the table, the stack of beer cans in the corner of the living room, the underwear spread on the floor, the socks that he had left lying here and there when he was hot on his feet ...

  - "Lazarus?"

  Lazarus looks at the woman again.

  - "It will only be a few minutes of your time, please," -Marta insists.

  When she did not get any answer from her interlocutor, the woman added:

  - "It's very important..."

  Lazarus does not see beyond the almost opaque glass of her sunglasses, but he has enough experience to know that the woman has glassy eyes and pronounced baggy-eyes.

  Lazarus del Rio, intrigued by that visit and partly captivated by this beautiful woman, speaks without thinking and says something that he swore he would never do again:

  - "I've got the house a mess, do you mind if we go to a coffee shop?" There is one a couple of blocks from here that is very quiet."

  Or so he thinks. He has not set foot in it for 15 years. In fact, they could have torn down it, and he would not know.