Deadland Woman

Mexico City

Marisol could not sleep. The large window next to her bed, which always looked like a hole rather than a window, allowed the wind from the mountains to enter from the west and into her sixth floor apartment. It was cold but she liked it cold. It was the only way she could normally fall asleep. Tonight her mind was adrift. It had been six months since her daughter had been murdered and she was living alone. She sat up on the bed and moved her long hair away from her face.

Her landlord, a small circular woman in her early fifties, with a hairless mole on her left cheek, had told her earlier today that if she did not pay her rent by Friday she would call the police and have her thrown out. She made sure to make it very clear to Marisol that if she left anything in the apartment she would keep it. Marisol knew that this was probably a sneaky way of getting her hands on the large mirror in her bedroom that she had always wanted. Marisol imagined the landlady’s apartment full of everything she always wanted from past tenants. She sunk back into the bed.

She thought about asking her ex-husband for money but dismissed it by shifting her body again to the cooler side of the bed facing the window. Her apartment had no air conditioning; some of the tenants had window units that Marisol noticed were either stolen or brought in from the U.S. The heat was not a problem for her because she always kept the windows open at night and during the day while she was at work. At night the wind would cool the room beyond anything an air conditioner could do.

Marisol sat up on her bed again. She was not going to sleep; she stood up, the cold floor startling her feet, and walked over to the window looking out onto the urban landscape of Mexico City. The flimsy white sheets of the window provided some modesty.

Her nightly visitor had not come tonight. She had not come by for days.

Mexico City looked peaceful at night, asleep. It looked innocent. She could hear someone in the distance below yelling for a cab. The arrogant sound disturbing the peace.

She looked back into her apartment and read the clock at ‘3:30 a.m.’. She knew she was not going to be able to sleep and if she did manage to fall asleep she would sleep right through her alarm in the morning.

She walked away from the window and across the room; the cold floor had become natural and comforting. At the corner of the opposite wall there was a large oval mirror left over from the previous tenant - the one the landlady wanted.

She looked at woman on the other side. The tiny, uneven stretch marks on her abdomen pointed to the tattoo on her hip. It was an Einstein quote she had read somewhere. It was done at a happier moment in her life in college. The dark spots under her eyes added some character to her average face, she thought. She placed her hand over her tummy and remembered Sofia. She closed her eyes and thought of happier times, of laughter of conversations.

A sudden image of Sofia eating her way through her abdomen startled her, opening her eyes. She turned away from the mirror as though the image she saw was someone she was angry with. She jumped on the bed head first and assumed the fetal position drawing the bed sheets to her body.

In the distance she could hear a faint American song being played from one of the cantinas on the street below. It was very faint.

She recognized it as one of her dad’s favorite songs. Her dad had a collection of vinyl records which she had placed in storage after he committed suicide. She remembered the grooves of the records under her little fingers and how they felt when she moved them against the grain.

Her bedroom was empty; she had no drawers or chairs. All she had was a large bed and that oval mirror with two legs that supported it on its back. After Sofia was murdered, she felt it was best to not look at anything that would bring back memories.

She heard some movement in the apartment beyond her bedroom door. She sat up on the bed and looked across the room to the door. It was covered in shadows. She stared at the it, not wanting to move trying to make out a sound.

The door handled shook and twisted open. Someone was coming in. Marisol grabbed her pillow and pressed it against her body. She was back.

Marisol stared into the darkness coming from the now opened door. “Go away please,” she said to herself. “Please go away.”

“Marisol,” a whisper from beyond the door was heard.

“Please go away,” Marisol repeated.

“My child,” she said. Marisol could only see some of her now. The shadows covered most of he body and face. She could see her rotted mouth moving. Her exposed jaw moving up and down as though she were chewing rather than talking.

“I need more from you mi amor,” she added. “I need more,” she whispered again to make sure that she was heard. “Come here," she said. Marisol saw the bony hand extend from the shadow.

“No,” Marisol said. "I don't want to."

The angular features of her bony face, dirty hair and naked body became more visible in the light from the window as she moved closer.

Marisol stood up with the pillows held tight against her body.

Micte approached further and stood in front of Marisol; her face in front of hers. The sound of her breathing through her mouth sounded like a snake moving across gravel.

“You look nice today,” she said. She traced her bony finger up Marisol’s right arm; her dry finger resting at the top of Marisol’s neck. She pulled back Marisol’s hair as if she were going to attempting to brush it. “Did you know that you are my favorite of all the ones I have querida?”

“Please. I cannot,” Marisol replied bowing her head in submission as the dead woman moved behind her continuing to play with her hair. “Forgive me,” she added.

“I used to have hair like yours,” she said. “It was long and beautiful. All the boys used to love my hair.”

Marisol stood facing forward still grasping her pillow. She began to cry. "Please, I don't want to do this anymore," her nose sniffling and body struggling to stay upright. She drifted to Marisol's side and then in front of her; Marisol's eyes followed her without moving. She smiled with the few bits of flesh she still had around her mouth; she pulled Marisol’s chin up with her rotten finger. “It’s been too long mi amor. I don’t have much patience.” She moved closer into Marisol's eyes. “I am hungry.” Marisol closed her eyes tight.

She exhaled and released Marisol's chin; Marisol dropped her head. “Tomorrow,” Marisol said under her breath. “I will do it.”

"I know," she said slowly moving further away into the shadows of the apartment.

Marisol looked up from the floor and opened her eyes. The door slammed and she was gone.