Fifty days since the last time she was here, in her house, fifty days that felt like years and minutes at once.

Since the day she was rescued Flavia tried her best to avoid the topic, forbade herself to keep in touch and it was hard. She stopped turning the tv on, or the radio, she rushed out of any office or shop when the local news was broadcast. For the first few days she ran, even if it felt like there was nowhere she could run, because nobody cares about victims as long as the massacre makes news. For the first few days she found her peace in the safe bubble she built up in Javiera’s bed, in what has been their bed since the first night, and the inspector’s arms became her home, the only one she could have, the only one she wished.

They buried Joaquin, found Mateo, finally, and she stayed up for her family but ran, ran back home as soon as she could, as fast as her sore legs let her, as her weary brain was able to push her, far from the darkness, far from the stink that filled the air in the streets defamed by the steps of the “Psychopath of Vitacura”.

Flavia hasn’t heard of Dante’s name ever since the day he couldn’t face the grief he caused or the consequences of his actions and did the only thing he was able to do: play the victim, run. The day he killed himself wrote the words "the end" at the bottom of the tragedy that overwhelmed the Betancourt family in a handful of weeks and turned it upside down. Deep inside Flavia was grateful, the hurricane smashed her life but when it left, it left with the burden she had always held on her chest, setting her free. When walking away from the jailhouse with her daughter Flavia tried to promise herself that she would focus on the silver lining, that she would leave the cloud behind.

After the umpteenth blow Miranda needed to go back to the clinic, Flavia knew she could use psychological support too but she wasn’t as strong as her daughter and she wasn’t ready to talk yet. She wasn’t able to face her sister or her nephew as well, she couldn't look at Mateo knowing that he remembered about her, bleeding and tied up in a basement, miserable, broken, scared. All alone in the hotel room her panic attacks became more frequent and she never told her, never asked, but Javiera took some time off and things got a little better. Flavia didn’t know how but the hours they started to spend simply holding each other on the bed turned her destress off a little.

Twenty days later she was sick of running, twenty dawns later Santiago seemed like it had already forgotten and on the umpteenth sunny morning Flavia let her body relax. It was cold but it was quiet. Her partner left that morning but for the first time she enjoyed the silence of room 24 even without her. She didn't know that she had just spent her last night there. Javiera asked her to move with her to the house she had with Maira, her ex girlfriend wanted to leave and Javiera needed to go back. It seemed sensible and it was more than that, it was Flavia’s chance to start anew, to build a home she could inhabit, a more solid base than a hotel room, to begin with. It was harder than she thought, with Javiera by her side every spot in the world could feel like home but sometimes Flavia felt like she didn’t belong to that silent, empty house. When Javiera wasn’t there she felt like intruding on a secret privacy, like a nosy guest. It’s not that she let herself openly think it, this sort of unease is more subtle, more sneaky, so it dug a hole and after forty days Flavia fell in it. Her phone rang while she was washing the dishes and as always she answered. Santiago took less than twenty days to forget and Flavia fooled herself thinking that she could achieve the same goal by simply doubling the time. It hit and it hit hard but Flavia saw clear, both the numbness and the muffled state of grace vanished and she recognized that running in circles leads nowhere, that oblivion is a two-edged sword.

Fifty days have passed since the first aid unit took Flavia away pushing her on a stretcher past the same gate she’s staring at now. Fifty days but the house looks just the same. No one has entered since the police collected all of the evidence they needed and left. Marta went there to tidy up, Javiera went there for her to take some of her things but Flavia didn't dare to get close to this place. Never, until now.

She inserts the key in the locker of the gate and slowly turns it, carefully, like performing a delicate surgery, like dressing up a dead body. Each step towards the front door feels heavier but she needs to keep going, she needs peace, she needs a closure and she’s going to dig it out with her bare hands if it’s necessary. With scarcely trembling fingers she unlocks the door so it opens and she steps inside.

The last time she did it it felt like getting inside the jaws of an infernal beast, the last time she could feel its cold eyes on her, could hear it breathing hard in her ear, could perceive the wicked thirst for blood on its steel teeth. Now the walls, the floor, the furniture, the air have the miserable look of a bombed town's wreckage. Now the beast is gone and this place is nothing but the wounded, empty case it left behind. Blood is still staining the walls but it smells like dry tears, even if it sounds like the whole building is still crying. Flavia walks lightly, carefully, as if her weight could inflict further pain on the wooden axes under her feet. She climbs the staircase like a pilgrim, a griever. Each step is meant to lead her up but she feels like descending in something dense, so thick that she feels like being lifted from the solid ground to float in the space streaming all around her. Her mind should be full of ghosts but no one’s there, even the ghosts left and the silence is still, empty, suspended. She is supposed to think a million things a second but she’s left with nothing. The sound of her heels scarcely rapping at the floor is a distant echo, the beat of a weird time, a perpetual motion never equal to itself. She knows why she’s here, but the house doesn’t seem to notice her presence, some would say that it is deliberately ignoring her. Flavia exhales a deep, trembling breath as her legs passively move her forward. She knows why she’s here but the house doesn’t want to cooperate. The walls are cold, distant, she lifts her hand to touch them but she cannot reach. Flavia wants to hate these walls but she’s unable, perhaps they’re trying to protect her like she’s trying to protect them.

The window in Miranda’s room is still open, somehow, and the wind pushes the door to invite Flavia in. Her brain keeps her from recalling the last time she was here and the dust falls heavy in the void of her mind. She sits down on her daughter’s bed and she watches her kid sleeping, little, fragile. She’s five or six years old and she’s perfect. Emiliano looked like this when he was her age, the only moments when he let anyone sit down and properly look at him were when he was asleep, when he wasn’t running about or hiding in Flavia’s closet in order to jump out and scare her. Flavia softly smiles and caresses the silky, thin, almost blond hair of Miranda, one slow brush, two, then both the hair and the girl vanish into thin air. She bends forward, the pillow still smells like her.

She stands up, takes a book from the shelf, opens it, lets her gaze run along the words, unable to read so she closes the book.

The corridor takes Flavia by the hand and she follows it past the corner, to her bedroom. The door creaks on the hinges, it has never done it before, perhaps it didn’t even this time. The bed has just dried its tears out and it might pretend it didn’t but Flavia knows it too well to buy it. She lies down, it’s a little past midday but she’s exhausted. On the left side of the bed she looks up, then she looks down, she holds the pillow between her arms and closes her eyes. It’s not logical, truth to be told if she’s asked to revise all of the things she’s been through during the last six months “logical” would be the last adjective at the bottom of the list to describe them. She gave logic up a long time ago so she’s not surprised now, smelling Javiera’s soft, warm, light scent on the pink fabric. It’s a little past midday when Flavia smiles, she’s exhausted and falls asleep.

___

The last time Javiera heard from Flavia it was a quarter to midday. She has been silent, distant for the last few days. Since she spoke with Paolina she might have said a dozen of words, no more. Javiera asked a couple of times but it’s useless with Flavia, the more you insist the more she runs and the last thing the inspector wants is making her run from her again. She didn’t ask but she observed and Flavia let her, she wasn’t angry at her, her mood this time had nothing to do with her, something Javiera was relieved of. So she was allowed to look, to brush her hair, to hold her on the couch as the world dealt with its errands outside. Occasionally Flavia gave her tiny, almost shy kisses and Javiera took them, as if they were gifts, thoroughly shielding each one. Something was missing though, Javiera needed her partner’s eyes more than everything else and she hadn’t seen them for days. Flavia tried to pretend one night, tried to make Javiera take her body but the inspector didn’t let her, she didn’t want her to pretend and she didn’t want her lips, her skin, her tongue if she couldn't have her eyes too.

“Perdon” Flavia cried that night and Javiera didn’t need to forgive her, but kissed her head and held her tight.

The following morning they didn’t talk, Javiera asked but the other woman didn’t feel like it and the inspector has been waiting since then.

When a message from Flavia pops up on the screen of her phone, Javiera is surprised, but relieved, somehow. When she reads it a sense of anxiety settles down in her stomach.

___

Flavia is sitting on the carpet at the foot of her bed when, at about three in the afternoon, she receives a text from her partner. She moves the photo book from her lap to the floor next to her and walks downstairs.

Javiera is tired, if the dark circles around her eyes are proof, and Flavia can’t help feeling guilty for it. Of course her job is to blame as well but the older woman knows that the atmosphere she dragged them both in during the last week didn’t make her life any better. But Javiera smiles, with her never ending patience, with her unique care and Flavia welcomes her in her arms. This embrace is what both need to know that they are together nonetheless and can make it right.

“Hola” Flavia says in her woman’s ear, not ready to pull back yet and Javiera holds her even tighter.

“Que estas haciendo acà?” she asks and Flavia kisses her, takes her hand and asks her to follow.

“Parece una tontería que vine aquí a mirar fotos viejas y descoloridas” the older woman start as bending to take the album from the floor, but not even for a second Javiera think any of this to be stupid.

“Necesitaba… la Miri està mucho mejor” she nervously smiles. “Va a salir de la clínica en un par de meses o menos y…” she adds but the hand holding the book starts to shake as panic eagerly takes over her.

“Mi amor” Javiera murmurs, takes the book and sets it on the closest shelf.

“Tranquila, ven. Tomas asiento”

Flavia is struggling to steady her breath, poorly and all of her body starts to tremble. Seeing her like this puts a lump in Javiera’s throat. She hates watching her suffer, knowing that what she’s actually able to see is only the tip of the iceberg, only imagining what hides behind the surface.

Flavia watches her hands shaking between Javiera’s ones and feels so stupid, so ungrateful. She feels like she has never stopped being a liar, she played the part of the strong, brave adult so well that almost convinced herself but deep inside she is still a scared child, she will always be. She starts to cry, like the pathetic child she is and Javiera, sweet, wonderful, supportive Javiera holds her, lets her cry, places loving kisses on her hair.

“Perdona, que estupida que soy” Flavia pronounces through sobs.

“Que? Ni siquiera lo pienses, Flavia, en serio”

Flavia snorts “No se porque hago esto. No se que me pasa a veces” Her voice trembles.

“No sé ¿Qué te pasa? Cuéntame” Javiera softly pushes to help her out, after too many days of silence she needs to talk and Javiera herself needs to listen. So she brushes the other woman’s tears from her cheeks and waits. Flavia gulps and starts talking again:

"Tengo pesadillas, a veces. A veces me quedo desvelada y me imagino cosas. Me acuerdo de cosas que no quería recordar. Pienso en todo lo que pasó y me falta el aire" She says in a broken moan, then something wonderful happens. She looks up and lets Javiera meet the stone blue of her eyes, almost gray, almost green, beguiling. Something melts in the inspector’s core and a watery smile appears on her lips.

"Me da rabia, Javiera” the thick black of Flavia’s pupils says “Porque de verdad ahora soy feliz. Con cómo cambió mi familia, con la Miri que está mejor y va a salir, contigo, que eres la mujer más importante en mi vida."

"Sabes que no tienes que regresar aquí con tu hija ¿Cierto?" Javiera tries, doing her best to sound reassuring.

"No quiero alejarme de esta casa. Siento que si me voy los recuerdos me van a seguir y no me van a soltar nunca." Flavia says and doesn’t realise that it’s not the voice of a broken child.

"Quiero alejar ese hombre de aquí, quiero alejar todo lo malo que Dante nos hizo con nuevos recuerdos, con cosas lindas, con la felicidad que ahora tengo." And a pinch of pure brightness sparkles in her gaze.

"Sabes, tengo lindos recuerdos también aquí." She says and pushes herself upper on the bed, leaning her back against the headboard.

"Cuando la Miranda era niña y tenía pesadillas yo me acostaba con ella, y nos quedamos dormidas juntas en su camita." Flavia speaks as her eyes look straight to a lost spot in the back of her memory.

"Nunca me voy a olvidar el olor de su cabecita, la tenía aquí, sobre mi pecho" she says as miming the picture painted in her mind and she’s beautiful. From her naked feet and her gently bended knees partially covered by the ample folds of her white dress, from her delicate shoulders and even more delicate fingers resting on her chest, in a pose so elegant that looks like carved out in ivory, to the soft blush on her lips and on the tip of her nose; from the dark wet lashes to the reddish curls. Javiera would give everything to be part of the memory she’s recalling, to witness the scene she can only imagine. She would have loved to come home to this, to wake up in the middle of the night only to find a younger Flavia asleep with Miranda in her arms. She would have watched them with a tender smile on her lips and would have covered them better with the blanket to make sure they were warm enough. She has never really thought about raising children but by Flavia's side she would have loved it.

"Me acuerdo de la primera vez que tuve a Miranda en mi brazos, cuando nació...era tan pequeña que me daba miedo de romperla" she snorts and she sounds watery. She blinks before tears can actually form in her eyes and keeps going:

“Cuando ella nació no quería que yo la dejara nunca, siempre lloraba si no estaba cerca de mí, así que por un tiempo dormì en la cama conmigo. A Dante no le gustaba pero a mi no me importaba. Ella es la mas linda cosa que me pasò en mi matrimonio con el y creo que no me puedo arrepentir por completo porque el me regalò a mi niña preciosa.” Somehow a couple of tears have fallen and Flavia dries her eyes as soon as she gets back to the present, so she looks up.

“Casi la perdí y fue mi culpa” she notices that Javiera is about to object and stops her before she could. “Sí, mi amor, fue mi culpa. Estaba demasiado preocupada por esconderme, construir la familia perfecta que todos querían para mí, que dejé caer lo único auténtico que tenía.”

“Ella va a salir y se va a recuperar, estoy segura”

“Ya esta casa no es la misma. Ya esta familia no es la misma. Todo cambiò y fue gracias a ti” Javiera only has the strength to deny with a slight nod of her head and Flavia adds:

“Estuvimos aquí, primera vez que hicimos el amor. Te acuerdas?” She asks tenderly, almost shyly.

“¿Cómo me voy a olvidar?” Is the only thing that Javiera can let out.

“En la misma cama que había visto una mentira por años…”

Javiera’s heart thuds with these last words, she cannot even imagine the level of violence that Flavia inflicted to herself in order to keep a promise that had never even belonged to her. She hated herself, Javiera is sure, because why enduring the suffering, allowing it, disrespecting yourself up to this point otherwise? Everything about Flavia, everything about this marvellous woman has been assaulted since she was just a child, her dignity has been raped years before her body and it’s disgusting. But Flavia Betancourt, brave, noble, enchanting Flavia Betancourt is done with it. With fire burning in her impossibly soft eyes she finally holds her own life in her hands.

"No quiero dejarlo todo a él" She speaks. “No quiero rendirme. Toda mi vida he sentido miedo pero es suficiente.”

“Esta es mi casa, Javiera, esta es mi vida y quiero seguir adelante. Con mi familia, la que de verdad quiero, con mi hija…” She says and tenderly caresses the other woman’s cheek with the back of her fingers. “Y con la mujer que amo y que me ama.”

Javiera couldn’t smile more than now even if she tries. She kisses that hand and lies down with this woman.

Flavia dives and takes a deep breath not to drown but to rise and the bed stops sobbing, the ceiling stops falling.

Flavia doesn’t need to run anymore, she needs to heal and the house needs to be healed with her. The ghosts are watching, pale, silent; they see how Flavia holds Javiera tight and lets her cradle both her and the afflicted walls in her arms. A kiss softly placed on Flavia's head eases down on the roof with a blow of the wind, the requiem mass sounds its last measure and silence begins. It's going to be long, it's going to be hard but it's going to be.