Lazaro Rising (Part III)

III

 “What is the name of the one whom you seek?” asked a voice, which came from within Féretrina, but did not sound like her. Maryflor was not certain whether she was being addressed by Féretrina or from someone else inside the young lady, as in mediumistic channeling. Maryflor stared warily at the white eyed face before her but couldn’t see any trace of the grave young woman whose body she was supernaturally affixed to.

“Tell me the name of the one whom you seek”, the voice repeated, “Think of their countenance and your feelings for them, then say their name three times so that I might invoke their soul if they be here with me already; do it now.”

Maryflor, terrified, complied, saying the full name of her brother three times as she thought of his serious but loving face, and all of the memories of them together which she stored in her heart from childhood up to now. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her mind reeled with the thought that he might be lost or hurt and she wasn’t there to help him, her blessed brother.

A voice called her back to the room, this time Féretrina‘s, her beautiful black eyes back to their rightful place, but distant, looking ahead but not at Maryflor, rather upon something not physically there. “There are two men in a van, they have stopped to talk to a group of men on a street corner. The skinny one, on the passenger side, leers at the men like a hungry snake mesmerizing his prey. He smiles, flatters and cajoles as his eyes take their measure.

“The chubby one in the driver’s seat does not look at the men because her fears they will see his disdain and the ruse will not work. He has a personal grudge against the men, something about a perceived injustice which has put him in a bad way, but it is all his own doing and he is blaming the men rather than acknowledging his own hand in his fate. He is full of anger and seeks retribution; not the skinny one though, he is devoid of all emotion, he just likes to kill.”

At the intonation of the last word Maryflor let out a sharp cry and fell forward towards Féretrina, who caught her shoulders and set her aright with Maryflor’s hands still clinging to her abdomen. Maryflor knew her search for her Lazaro would probably end like this, but to hear it said aloud was almost too much for her to bear.

Once resettled, Féretrina continued. “The skinny one speaks Spanish but with an accent; his words are more or less correct, but his pronunciation is off, as if he learned from a book. He offers the men fair wages and a free lunch for a day’s work if they go with him for a brief ride in the van. One of the men, he speaks English well–your brother?–he does not trust the skinny man, but his companions are keen. He reluctantly agrees to go just so her can keep an eye out for his friends. It does not seem to end well for them.”

Maryflor, despairing, fell to her knees, while yet grasping the dark messenger before her. Féretrina became very still, as she concentrated for a moment before placing her delicate hand on Maryflor’s cheek. “Maryflor, my Lady has confirmed that your brother Lazaro is with her on the other side of this veil of tears. I know your pain, I too have lost my loved ones through the treachery of others, but I made the perpetrators pay dearly for their perfidy, and I can do the same for you, if you want me to. Give me the word and I shall ask my Lady to assist us in our quest to find these villains and bring them to justice.”

 Maryflor, momentarily pausing the torrent of tears she had been shedding for her beloved brother, looked up to Féretrina‘s face and said softly in a voice horse from crying, “I want them to feel my pain.”

“Pain they shall feel,” Féretrina clarified, “but not anything so abstract as emotional pain. They shall suffer the threefold reprisal of whatever they did to your brother and those men. Give me your consent and I will see it done.”

Maryflor, paused to consider the offer for a moment, then peering up from Féretrina‘s lap into her big black eyes, she replied  “Do it.”

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