Think of the Devil

Thirty-One

After discovering Alberto hadn't come in to open the shop that morning, Jane ran back upstairs to find her phone. She tried to call him but the line only rang and rang until it went to voicemail. In a panic, she called Angélica next. The teenager sent Jane to voicemail too, but she also sent a text.

"what do you need ?"

Her fingertips flew frantically across her screen as she paced her apartment. "Where's Alberto? Is he okay?"

A moment later, another text came in. "meet me at our fav coffee shop. we should talk"

Jane rushed to get ready. She tied her hair up and slipped into her old boots. Her nearest jacket was the patched-up canvas one she wore to shows, but she tugged it on without a care about her appearance. After grabbing her essentials and pulling on her gloves, she booked it back down the stairs and out of the darkened store beneath.

She smoked the short walk to the coffee shop Angélica had referred to. The two used to go there every Friday morning, a tradition they started after the girl began high school and got a late start day at the end of the week. But that was before Wilson Fisk knew Jane's name, before Midland Circle, before Matt. Guilt pooled in her stomach as she stepped into the shop.

Angélica was already waiting by the bar for her drink, backpack slung over her shoulder and phone in hand. She was focused on a text she was sending, not noticing Jane. As the telepath drew closer, she realized Angélica was texting Rosalyn. Evidently, they'd made up after their fight. Jane didn't have the energy to pry any further though.

Upon seeing her, Angélica almost flinched— noting the fading bloodshot eyes that signaled she'd been crying and the redness in her nose and cheeks from the cold air outside. (Damn, she looks miserable.) She shoved her phone into the pocket of her jacket as she took in Jane's disheveled state. "Hey," she greeted. (Great, and she smells like cigarettes.)

"Hi." Jane did her best to ignore the girl's internal monologue. Defensively, she stuffed her own hands in her pockets. "What's going on? Where's Alberto?"

The girl glanced out the window, tucking her hair behind her ear. "He's fine. He's at home," she answered. "He finally started snoring just as my alarm went off. I didn't have the heart to wake him." (He hasn't been sleeping.)

"What do you mean 'finally?'" she questioned.

Before Angélica could answer, the barista behind the counter called her name and placed two drinks on the counter. The girl stepped forward and grabbed them before turning to Jane, hesitantly holding one of them out.

"You got me coffee?" she asked, her emotions restricting her voice to a whisper.

"Yeah." The teen's voice was quiet too. (You always used to get mine.) She cleared her throat before continuing, "Anyway, um, we need to walk and talk. I'm running behind this morning."

Jane felt a lump in her throat, nodding roughly as she stared at the cup in her hand. She took a sip to swallow it down before following the girl out of the shop. Side by side, they started down the street in the direction of the high school.

"Papá hasn't been sleeping," Angélica started. "I've been hearing the TV at night instead of him snoring. I thought maybe it was just a rough night after..." She cleared her throat, not needing to explain what she meant to Jane. "So I told him to skip work yesterday, but he insisted he was fine." (He looked more tired than you do.) "It wouldn't be so bad if he was coming straight home after work to rest, but..."

Jane frowned, glancing over at her. "What do you mean? Where's he been going?"

"Church," she answered curtly. "The other night, after the three of us talked, we didn't go home right away. He wanted to go to church." In her father's voice, Angélica remembered exactly how he'd phrased it: (Necesito hablar con Dios.) "Last night," she continued, "he went straight there after work and didn't come home until after midnight. And he walked home instead of calling a cab. Said he didn't need one, but we both know he does."