Butterfly's Year

32. At the table with the devil

– Will you tell me what happened? – Victor pressed, as I tried to calm the rush of thoughts, still on the floor in the closet. – What's with the necklace? What was in that letter?

I tried to explain, but forming a coherent sentence was incredibly difficult. Besides, I wasn't sure if Manuel really had something to do with my father's death. Maybe it just seemed that way, and I was overreacting?

God, what was I thinking?! He had practically handed it to me. He wanted me to know it was him. No one else would know about the necklace.

– I'll explain later – I finally responded to Victor, who was intently reading the short content of the letter, but to him, it was just a meaningless text. – I need to check something tomorrow.

I took my phone out of my jeans pocket and quickly typed a message, ensuring Victor couldn't see what and to whom I was sending it, knowing he would do anything to stop me from going.

Paulina: I need to see you tomorrow.

I didn't have to wait long for a reply. It came within a minute.

Manuel: I knew you'd want to meet sooner or later :) I'll pick you up from campus after your classes.

The whole night I lay on pins and needles. I tossed and turned, and it was a miracle Victor slept peacefully beside me until morning. In class, I stayed at the back of the group because if the lecturer asked me anything, I wouldn't have been able to answer sensibly in my stressed state. I struggled to remember even what I had for breakfast, so diagnosing a patient based on textbook symptoms was beyond my capabilities.

Manuel, as he had promised, was waiting for me outside the university building. He suggested I get into the car, but abandoned the idea before I could roll my eyes at him, and we went to a nearby café.

– Where's your boyfriend? – he asked, lazily perusing the menu. – Isn't he guarding you anymore?

– He's at a questioning regarding the death of someone – I replied in a matter-of-fact tone. – You don't know him.

Manuel's eyes lit up with a strange, unsettling gleam.

– Your boyfriend is a murder suspect? – he asked, with a distinct note of delight in his voice. – Impressive. I underestimated him.

The small creature living inside me narrowed its eyes and tilted its messy head slightly to the side.

"This is definitely not the Manuel from less than five years ago" – it judged. – "I don't know about you, but I'm scared of him. The guy is terrifying. Just look at his eyes. Those are the eyes of a devil".

I couldn't tear my gaze away from those eyes. I wouldn't go so far as to call him a devil, but there was something about them that gave me unpleasant chills. And the effect was amplified by the fact that while his eyes said too much, his face expressed nothing. It was as if someone had carved a realistic mask in marble and glued it to his face. Where was the Manuel I knew?

– Why murder right away? – I responded with a question, still scrutinizing his gaze and his suspiciously rigid facial expressions, as if he was trying hard to control them. – Where did you get that idea?

– If the questioning is about a death, they probably think third parties were involved. It's obvious – he replied lightly, shrugging carelessly.

– And why do you think Victor is a suspect? – I probed persistently.

Manuel gave me a practiced smile that didn't reach his eyes.

– You're very inquisitive, princess... I mean Paulina – he corrected himself, likely noticing my displeased look after hearing that word he used to call me.