What We Have Lost

The footsteps on the second floor began to move back and forth.

There were two pairs of quick, agile steps that seemed to be trying to escape from the room they were in, followed by a pair of heavy, clumsy steps struggling to keep up. In another room, the boy, hidden in the shadows and shielded behind the curtains, glanced downward, outside the house, where a person stood ringing the doorbell.

The person, uneasy, glanced around nervously, as if needing to get inside before someone—or something—caught up to them.

The boy sharpened his gaze; that person gave him a bad feeling.

If they don't pull the little chain for the bell, he won't open the door.

Outside that room, in another part of the house, the woman was slowly getting up. The boy kept his eyes fixed on what the person outside was about to do. To get a better look, almost imperceptibly, he leaned forward.

Then, from the gate, just before reaching for the bell chain, the person looked up and met the boy's eyes—directly and without hesitation. They weren't trying to guess if someone was there, nor were they wondering about the movement behind the curtains. No, they were looking straight at him, as if signaling that he had to come down and let them in.

The boy recoiled, moving away from the window, but the gaze remained imprinted in his memory.

The bell rang.

The boy, compelled, ran out of his room and knocked on the woman's door.

"Go down and open it."
"No!"

Disheartened by his misfortune, the boy rushed downstairs anyway. He passed by the old, battered VW Caribe and stopped at the gate, staring at the person at the entrance.

"Well, are you going to let me in or what?"

The boy unlocked the gate, let the visitor inside, and waited for them to enter. But the unexpected guest didn't pause; they walked straight into the house. The boy followed, grabbing a plastic pitcher and some glasses, preparing to offer water, but the guest spoke first:

"I don't want water. I want to see the woman."

The boy set the pitcher and glasses on the table anyway. The guest let out a low growl and then ordered him to fetch her.

"She'll be down in a moment," the boy replied and hurried up the stairs. "Have a seat, she won't take long," he called out from above.

The unexpected visitor remained standing. When the woman finally came down, moving with difficulty, she poured the water into the glasses and took her place at the far end of the table.

The visitor stared at her.

"You can sit, if you like. Tell me, what can I do for you?"

"I understand that you can make lost things appear."

"I'm sorry, no."

"What do you mean, no?! You helped the Commissioner find his kidnapped son."

"I didn't help him find anyone."

"Are you telling me you weren't the one who told him where his son was and who had taken him?"

"Listen, sir, let me remind you that you are a guest in my home. I will ask you to address me with the minimu—"

"Look, lady, you don't ask anything of me. Answer my questions honestly, and you won't find yourself caught up in any unfortunate situation."

The boy, afraid, watched the exchange. The footsteps upstairs moved like wandering spirits, trapped in the room above. The woman, irritated, prepared her response.