The front door slowly creaks open just as I reach to touch it with my cold, stiff hand. I stand still, hesitant, wanting to walk away, but finally I peek into the house, and through the darkness of the old Victorian home is a shadow of a flickering light from a fireplace. It is him—the treacherous, most feared in Northern New Mexico – Luis Vasquez. He sits on a wooden chair next to his famous granite table, glaring into the fireplace deep in thought. I cautiously step into his home.
"Please come in," he says in a deep, dark voice.
As I move toward the stench of his burning cigar, the front door slams shut.
"Are you here to repay me?" he asks.
He lifts his head and looks at me. I stumble back, almost falling to the floor.
"Don't be afraid," he whispers.
With his beasty eyes on me, I gain my composure and stand still. He looks to be in his mid-twenties, short black wavy hair, pointy nose, and skin as white as an egg. He wears a long black robe with gold trimmings, and as I step into the dining room, he places his lit cigar on top of the table.
"Are you nervous?" he asks.
"No Sir."
"You know as well as I do that the sunlight is not my friend. But I assure you that I am the great Luis Vasquez, the glorious one, the strength that binds all living things." He picks up his cigar. "I fought with Juan de Oñate, not to mention my distinguished record of converting non-believers to Catholicism." He smiles and then takes a puff of his cigar.
"My father sent me," I say.
"I see, but I did not expect you to be so young."
"I'm eighteen, Sir... just started college at Highlands."
"Oh Highlands... how pitiful. I helped establish that school back in the days to teach poor Mexicans how to speak and write English. You probably didn't know that."
"No Sir."
"Why did your father send you?"
I lower my head shamefully and reply, "Because I created this mess."
His moves forward in his chair and leans against the table. He doesn't move. He just sits there, silent in the sound of the crackling fire. I am about to say something when he pushes his chair back and stands up, dropping his cigar on the table. His towering height blackens the room, dimming the only light from the fireplace. "Oh...yes, you are the one," he says, pointing his finger at me. "You are the one that killed my wolf."
Now with a trembling hand, I reach for my back pocket, pulling out the report. "I have this as proof," I mumble while I unfold the paper. "This is the police report. They said it was an accident. I didn't mean to kill your wolf. It was late at night. He jumped right in front of my truck after a rabbit."
"I should kill you for what you did."
"But you made a promise to my father."
"I can change my mind."
"You can't."
We stare at each other for a moment. His silence is horrifying as the police report slips out of my hand onto the cold floor. He then creeps around the table, walks up to me and glares into my face.
