“I know exactly how he feels…”, I murmur, pinching the bridge of my nose and squeezing my eyes in exhaustion.

“He’s been sitting at the kitchen table for hours. I don’t know exactly what he’s waiting for. His face looks unreadable. I wanted to take care of him, of that wound, but he doesn’t let me”.

“I guess he has something more important than that to think about…”, I mumble to myself, remembering how I felt when Carmen was laying in a hospital bed, when she had a code blue, when she seemed about to die.

“I guess so, yeah…”.

Right then, the door opens wide and Dante’s pale face appears in the frame.
His green eyes are cold and firm.
He doesn’t seem to notice the intimate position Carmen and I are in. He doesn’t seem to notice it or, most probably, he doesn’t give a shit.
He raises his hand, showing us a big yellow envelope and Carmen jumps out of my arms, patting my knee, implicitly inviting me to get up.

“What’s that?”, she asks, moving a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I just found it under the front door. I already checked the backyard and the street. Nothing and nobody. They’re silent. Or I was distracted. Or both”.

He lets go a long sigh and starts walking back to the kitchen.
I wonder how he can look so cool and detached, and the answer can be only one: when the most important things of your life are stolen, the only thing you have to do is to keep calm and try to figure out the best and quickest way to take them back.

We follow him and we sit at the table.
His big hands smooth down the envelope as he inhales deeply.
He throws us a quick glance and rips the envelope open.
There is a white paper page folded, inside.
Dante unfolds it, pursing his lips, and places it wide open on the table, spinning it towards Carmen and me.
There is just a short, typewritten sentence.

”I: an anted, ashen sawmill with lice, a sole arm. A report that harms all.

Tick tack.”

Carmen frowns, a slight grimace appears on her face.

“What the fuck is that? It doesn’t make any sense”, she asks in a shaky voice.