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With Dad no longer among the living, all his loyals by his rotting corpse, I stood at the pit and took a piss, right over their burnt bones.
I laughed at Mom’s pathetic attempt to shove me in the pit, too. “How fucking dare you?”
Placing my dick back in my jeans, I kept laughing. “You should be thanking me.” I turned toward her, pinning her with what I hoped was a menacing glare. “Now you can fuck Weatherman and have more sons.”
After recovering from shock that I had figured it out, she practically spat, “Why would I do that when the first two are such assholes?”
Wait… Two?
Enjoying how much this was already rattling me, she poked my chest like I had done to Rosa. “That’s right, stupido. Your father still lives.”
Mom’s hilarity stabbing at my chest, I viewed the pit of bones, no longer seeing a perfect revenge. I only saw more treachery.
Mom pounced on that, too. “Seems your puta keeps lying to you.”
I faced her again, preparing to add to our war of words. “At least she is still alive.”
All color faded from Mom’s face before she looked toward the pit.
I sighed. “As you heard, his screams were long. And music to my ears—”
She shoved me again. “You fucking good -for-nothing piece of shit!”
Why was this bitch still alive? Simple. She had two sons who hoped she would love them someday.
She screamed at me, “I wish you were never born!”
My next sigh was a tired and honest one. “Me, too.” I gazed around her property of land that was so much bigger than the other lots. “But since I’m alive, might as well make the best of it.” I faced her home. “I’m moving in, Mom.”
As much as I enjoyed making her life a miserable one by living in her home, I hated all the memories it brought back. The cigarette burns she had inflicted when I was so young started to burn and ache as if fresh all over again.
Sitting in Dad’s chair at the dining room table, I exhaled while chewing the purposely placed eggshells in my breakfast. “Delicious, Mom. You’re best yet.”
“May you choke, stupido!”
Standing in front of the brand-new security system, monitors all over the living room wall, Piercer laughed at her. “I’ll take cereal, Mom.” He had to delay observing the activity in the playground to duck from a half gallon of milk that soared toward his head. Once standing straight again, he told me, “Bro, we have something going down again.”
Scooting Dad’s chair from the table, I rose. “Mom, Pierce spilled milk.” The container had exploded on impact. “Clean it up, will you?”
“Fuck you.”
Walking toward Pierce, I shrugged. “Then move out and get a job.”
Spanish curse words flowed from the kitchen as I stood in front of the screens. Shoulder to shoulder with Pierce, I, too, cursed. The angel had returned. It was becoming clear that he only would when, besides Rosa, only one unsold was present in the playground.
The unsold was a small girl who had been highly protected by my Little Hellion. She had missed Anita fiercely and was pouring adoration into this victim. I think she was desperate to ease guilt for her mistakes and inability to rescue my product.
“Putaaaa…” Mom sung out while cleaning up the milk.
“Keep pushing, woman,” I grumbled, partly distracted by a certain angle from another camera.
The view showed Rosa and soot-boy huddled, one on each side of the sleeping child. Over the small body, their palms faced each other but didn’t touch. With intensity, they stared into each other’s eyes. Even though the camera picked up voices, technology wasn’t able to detect an angel’s voice. All I could do was speculate on what he was saying by his body language. The way he leaned forward, it seemed he was trying to inspire a strength from Rosa.
Now sweating, I heard her groan as if struggling.
The angel succeeded.
Rosa made a miracle.
