Josiah Marquez Part 4

“No! You know it’s not true, damn it! You put a doll upside down in a bucket full of water at my door while I was at the daycare, you bastard!” she screamed, out of breath and red in the face. “I will never forgive you! I hate you, hate you, hate you!”
“Ana, I didn’t put anything at your door!” I said, turning her in my arms, positioning her to face me, holding her face between my hands. “I didn’t even have anyone do it. I have nothing to do with it, Sweetie.”
Her eyes were darting around as if she couldn’t see an inch in front of her, as if her head was somewhere far away while her angry body reacted to stimuli. It felt like I was living through a horror movie, as if that damned night was repeating itself, as if I was once again pulling this enraged woman from a trance.
I hated the mocking and ironic Ana, the one who tore me apart, but this Ana was pitiable. This was the one I wanted to care for, even though the suffering that clearly existed in that body didn’t justify the things she was capable of doing.
“Look at me!” I pleaded, feeling the weight of the situation, seeing the trigger Ana was stuck on. “Look, damn it! Have I ever lied to you?”
I squeezed her face, scared, terrified that she wouldn’t come back from that damned trance. My heart was in shreds because I thought it wouldn’t happen again, that I’d never see that Ana again.
“Sweetie!” I shouted, shaking her between my fingers as she rolled her eyes and finally seemed to see me. “I didn’t do that! I would never joke about this.”
“The doll... with the phrase ‘Ana drowns children’ attached to the bucket... I... My God!”
“Have I ever lied to you?” I repeated the question, looking deeply into her eyes, feeling pain for her. And I hated feeling so much, I hated caring so much. I hated that I could never stop loving that lost, broken woman. I rested my forehead against hers as Ana raised her hands and grabbed my wrists. “Answer me!”
“No!” she whispered. “Where’s Isabela?”
Then she tried to free my hands from her face, turning red with anger again, losing herself, distancing herself from me and my attempt to calm her, to give her a greater “perspective” on the situation. She began to writhe with more force, with more fury.
“It wasn’t her!” Harry said, leaning against the archway leading to the corridor. “I brought her on my bike today, picked her up at her apartment. You can check the condo’s security camera if you want! We didn’t bring anything but the clothes Isabela bought for your daughter!”
Ana looked at my friend, lost, dazed, about to faint. Harry went to Isabela’s chair and dragged it, positioning it strategically below my ex-girlfriend, then I let Ana drop into the seat.
“I... I checked and my camera is broken... again,” she whispered. “I thought it could only be Josiah”—Ana spoke, not even looking at me or Harry, her gaze fixed on a point on the gray brick wall in front of her. “He doesn’t usually lie. Jow always tells the truth, even if it makes everyone suffer with his cruel words.”
“My camera wouldn’t capture anyone passing by the street; it only focuses on the face of someone at the gate,” I said, my voice low as I looked at Harry, thinking that even that might not help to find out who played that heavy prank.
“The old gossip lady across the street might have seen who did it,” my friend commented.
“We’ll find out who did this, but for now, it’s better if I take Ana home.”
“No!” Ana murmured. “I want to see Isabela. Call her now!” “You’re not going to hit Isa again, I won’t let you!” Harry growled. “Take her away, Josiah!”
“I’m not doing that!” she grunted, glaring at the guy with rage. “I want to look into Isabela’s eyes to see if she’s the one who did this to me. I need to be sure she wouldn’t do this.”
The door to my room opened, and Isabela appeared. She probably didn’t do what I asked about distracting the client. She must have been scared of Ana coming into the room and stayed behind the door, listening to the commotion. Isabela loved to act tough, but in the end, there was a fragile girl inside her. Isa, whom Harry had nicknamed Little Red, looked at Ana with a mocking expression, but when she realized Ana’s emotional state, her demeanor softened abruptly.
“I didn’t do it, Ana!” she said, crossing her arms as if to protect herself. “I would never do that to you!”
My ex-girlfriend bent over, resting her elbows on her knees, and cried profusely. Harry, Isabela, and I looked at each other, not knowing what to do. Ana began to whisper and repeat the same phrase, “it was my fault anyway.” I knew she was resigning to the phrase she read, believing she was responsible for Benício’s drowning. I made a gesture to my friends, signaling them to move away.
“As soon as Bill arrives, ask him to explain to the girl about tattoo care until I can finish it in a second session. And apologize for the confusion,” I instructed Little Red, then turned to Harry. “Go to Ana’s house and bring the bucket here, please!”
When we were finally alone, I knelt in front of her. Gently, I removed her hands from her face and, holding her chin, made her look at me. I hated her, hated the feeling of having to piece together the broken vase that was Ana again. Then came my remorse, reminding me that she was my daughter’s mother, and all the other things, the other feelings I didn’t want to name, telling me that seeing her like this made me suffer.

“Come on! Let’s go downstairs.”
“No! I don’t want to see that again,” she whispered, trying to pull away from me and curl up in the chair.
“Let’s go down to my place!”
Shaking uncontrollably, she accepted my outstretched hand, and I guided her down to the first floor. When I led her to the couch, my heart ached, seeing her so lost, knowing she was consumed by heavy thoughts.
Who would do that to her? If it wasn’t Isabela, who else could want to hurt Ana like that?