GET OUT OF THERE RIGHT NOW
My husband suddenly called me and asked, bluntly,
“Where are you right now?”
I was at my sister’s house, in a quiet neighborhood of Mexico City, celebrating my niece’s birthday. The room was packed, there was laughter, balloons and the smell of freshly cut cake.
“At my sister’s house,” I answered. The whole family is here.
On the other end of the line there was a strange, heavy silence, as if something had gotten stuck in the air.
Then he spoke, in a voice that did not know him:
“Listen to me well. Grab our daughter and jump out of that house right now.
I let out a nervous laugh, the kind that comes out when something doesn’t add up.
“What?” Why?
He shouted at me, no longer restrained:
“Do it now! Don’t ask anything!
That voice was not his. It wasn’t courage. It was pure fear, real fear.
I took my daughter in my arms and started walking towards the exit. My heart was pounding so hard that I felt like everyone could hear it. What happened next was terrifying.
My husband’s voice no longer sounded like him.
She was tense. Forcibly controlled. Terrified.
“Where are you exactly?” he asked.
I looked around my sister Mariana’s living room. Pink balloons floated near the ceiling. My niece Lucía was opening presents sitting on the floor, while the uncles laughed and recorded with their cell phones, saying that this video went directly to the family group.
“At my sister’s house,” I repeated. It’s Lucía’s birthday. The whole family is there.
Silence.
Too long.
“Listen to me carefully,” he said at last. Take Emma and get out of that house. Right now.
I felt a knot in my stomach that left me breathless.
“What’s going on, Daniel?”
“Listen to me,” he ordered. Don’t ask. Get out now.
Daniel never raised his voice. He never panicked. We had been married for eight years and it was the first time I had heard real terror from him, a terror that cannot be faked.
—Daniel…
“Sara!” he shouted. I don’t have time. Grab our daughter and leave immediately.
I didn’t argue.
I couldn’t.
I walked quickly around the room, forced a smile that hurt my face, and picked up Emma, who was six years old.
“Let’s go to the bathroom,” I said to Mariana, trying to sound normal.
She nodded, distracted, busy arranging disposable plates.
But instead of going into the hallway, I went straight to the front door.
“Mom?” Emma whispered, pressing her little face to my neck. What’s going on?
“Nothing, my love,” I said, my hands trembling as I opened the door. Let’s go for a walk.
As soon as we crossed the threshold, I heard him.
Mermaids.
Not one or two.
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