and the workers were getting restless. He ran out when he thought he
heard the sound of a gunshot.
I could hear Celeste cough; I could hear Louis saying something, over and over:
The twins are dead.
Celeste, still coughing, was crawling toward the gun. I saw it sparkling like an oasis in the grass.
I sat up as if electrocuted. I was about to dive for the weapon when an explosion rang in the distance. Celeste and Louis turned their heads.
An LPG tank exploded in one of the houses in the farmers’ housing complex. My father’s guards, in their panic, thought it was the opening volley of an assault. They opened fire. Five
were killed and twenty-three were injured in the ensuing stampede. I learned about this after the fact. The family was not able to completely keep the media out of it this time so there was
coverage. I saw articles about it on the front page, but they were quickly pushed to the inside pages before disappearing completely.
That night, I didn’t look back. The explosion gave Celeste pause, and gave me a split-second, a chance, to reach the gun first.
In the next moment I had the gun pointed at her.
There is something better after this life.
My sister believed that, in her heart of hearts, in her infinite sadness. I lifted the gun but
did not pull the trigger. I don’t know if I did it because I wanted to punish her, or because I still loved her.
But she reached for the shovel on the ground beside her and stood up to swing it, aiming for my head. I had no time to think. The gun was still in my hand, the barrel pointed at her head. I
turned my eyes away.
I heard a wet, gurgling sound coming from Jessica’s body. I had hit not her forehead or her face, but her neck. Celeste was choking on her own blood. I couldn’t tell you how long I
stood there, frozen in place. Louis came over, took the weapon from me, and stood over her. Before long, the gurgling sound stopped, leaving us with the aftersound of gunfire.
23
LOUIS DROPPED THE gun as though it burned him. He turned to me, and later he said the expression on my face reminded him of how my mother sometimes looked at the dinner table.
Like I had no more fight left in me. Like I no longer cared what happened next.
Louis said, “We need to get out of here,” and that snapped me out of it. All we wanted was to get away from the bodies. As we drove away in his SUV followed by the noise of the
stampede, and with the flames of the burning houses visible in the rearview mirror, we wondered if it would be better to burn all of our bridges.
At first, we thought we could make up a story. Wanting to avenge her father, Jessica killed and buried Celeste and poisoned the twins. She was poised to kill me as well, if not for Louis’s
help.
But would our family side with us? Would Auntie? Would Father, who found God and believed that murder is murder is murder?
If we were forgiven, are we strong enough to deal with the fallout? After what was revealed after Uncle Pedro’s death, Louis had spent more time outside the estate, as though trying to
distance himself from what happened. I didn’t have the choice or the luxury. Now, the twins and Celeste were dead. I couldn’t imagine surviving a day in that near-empty house with an
inconsolable mother and a father who would very likely respond to his grief by killing himself or killing his one remaining child.
I felt considerable relief as we drove away from the estate and the miles dropped behind us.
We drove for hours. We stopped thrice: once to strip the SUV of its plate number, once to eat, change our clothes, and sleep, and once to argue. About what to do. About where to go next.
But we both know what the next step was going to be.
We started drinking. It was stupid but we needed something to dull our fears. It had been ten hours since I shot my sister. The road was nearly deserted until a sedan shot out of a side street
and appeared in front of us. I remember laughing. I remember saying,
Step on
heard the sound of a gunshot.
I could hear Celeste cough; I could hear Louis saying something, over and over:
The twins are dead.
Celeste, still coughing, was crawling toward the gun. I saw it sparkling like an oasis in the grass.
I sat up as if electrocuted. I was about to dive for the weapon when an explosion rang in the distance. Celeste and Louis turned their heads.
An LPG tank exploded in one of the houses in the farmers’ housing complex. My father’s guards, in their panic, thought it was the opening volley of an assault. They opened fire. Five
were killed and twenty-three were injured in the ensuing stampede. I learned about this after the fact. The family was not able to completely keep the media out of it this time so there was
coverage. I saw articles about it on the front page, but they were quickly pushed to the inside pages before disappearing completely.
That night, I didn’t look back. The explosion gave Celeste pause, and gave me a split-second, a chance, to reach the gun first.
In the next moment I had the gun pointed at her.
There is something better after this life.
My sister believed that, in her heart of hearts, in her infinite sadness. I lifted the gun but
did not pull the trigger. I don’t know if I did it because I wanted to punish her, or because I still loved her.
But she reached for the shovel on the ground beside her and stood up to swing it, aiming for my head. I had no time to think. The gun was still in my hand, the barrel pointed at her head. I
turned my eyes away.
I heard a wet, gurgling sound coming from Jessica’s body. I had hit not her forehead or her face, but her neck. Celeste was choking on her own blood. I couldn’t tell you how long I
stood there, frozen in place. Louis came over, took the weapon from me, and stood over her. Before long, the gurgling sound stopped, leaving us with the aftersound of gunfire.
23
LOUIS DROPPED THE gun as though it burned him. He turned to me, and later he said the expression on my face reminded him of how my mother sometimes looked at the dinner table.
Like I had no more fight left in me. Like I no longer cared what happened next.
Louis said, “We need to get out of here,” and that snapped me out of it. All we wanted was to get away from the bodies. As we drove away in his SUV followed by the noise of the
stampede, and with the flames of the burning houses visible in the rearview mirror, we wondered if it would be better to burn all of our bridges.
At first, we thought we could make up a story. Wanting to avenge her father, Jessica killed and buried Celeste and poisoned the twins. She was poised to kill me as well, if not for Louis’s
help.
But would our family side with us? Would Auntie? Would Father, who found God and believed that murder is murder is murder?
If we were forgiven, are we strong enough to deal with the fallout? After what was revealed after Uncle Pedro’s death, Louis had spent more time outside the estate, as though trying to
distance himself from what happened. I didn’t have the choice or the luxury. Now, the twins and Celeste were dead. I couldn’t imagine surviving a day in that near-empty house with an
inconsolable mother and a father who would very likely respond to his grief by killing himself or killing his one remaining child.
I felt considerable relief as we drove away from the estate and the miles dropped behind us.
We drove for hours. We stopped thrice: once to strip the SUV of its plate number, once to eat, change our clothes, and sleep, and once to argue. About what to do. About where to go next.
But we both know what the next step was going to be.
We started drinking. It was stupid but we needed something to dull our fears. It had been ten hours since I shot my sister. The road was nearly deserted until a sedan shot out of a side street
and appeared in front of us. I remember laughing. I remember saying,
Step on
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