The second call
1472 Words
Across the city, on the 32nd floor of that same glass building, Xavier stood at the window.
Xavier Vega.
Ten years.
Ten years of November.
Ten years of wine he couldn’t drink.
Ten years of a locket in a drawer that he never opened, but never threw away.
His assistant, Mara, set a tablet on his desk.
“There was an incident this morning. One of the applicants stopped to help. She’s at La Paz.”
He didn’t turn from the glass.
“Name.”
“Irene Morales.”
The air left him.
“Send me the file.”
He opened it.
25 years. Sevilla. Painter.
Emergency contact: None.
Notes: _Mother deceased 10 years ago. Patient alone._
Ten years.
The same number that had been carving him hollow.
---
Ten Years Ago
The gallery was full of light and noise.
His 28th birthday. His name in gold on the wall.
Irene came in late, breathless, rain in her hair.
Red dress. The kind that made the whole room go quiet.
“Sorry,” she laughed. “I got lost, she said frivolously."
He cupped her face and placed a warm kiss on her forehead, “You’re here." "That’s the only part that matters."
The lights dimmed for his speech.
She stood in the crowd with a glass in her hand. His favorite red.
His toast was her, he said her name out loud for all to hear, with pride and admiration in his eyes, in a room filled with all manner of people from walks of life, his eyes only met hers, it was like she only existed in that space. Their love was noticed by all.
He didn’t see Camille.
Not then.
Three days later, the police laid the security tape on his desk.
Frame by frame.
21:17 Lights down.
Camille in black. His distant cousin’s fiancee, moving like smoke.
A bump, a hand. A vial from a ring, tipped into a glass. Two seconds. Gone.
21:22. Irene walking to him, smiling. “To us.”
She drank.
21:25. She was on the floor.
He watched it 40 times.
Not because he thought it would change.
Because he needed to memorize the second he failed her.
In the ambulance she squeezed his hand.
“Don’t be mad I was late,” she whispered.
“I’m not mad,” he said. His voice broke. “I’m never mad.”
She smiled weakly. His eyes were glassy, tears threatening to fall, which eventually did, even with her almost dying, she felt awful seeing him cry, that was the first time she ever did, and it stung badly.
Her thumb weakly wiped it off and fell back to her side, you always scolded me whenever I cried, please don't cry, she said gasping for breath, coughing out blood. Xavier clinged to her tighter like it'd extract the poison out of her and make her live.
I-I.. she struggled to speak
he shushed her by placing his index on her lips, tears trickled down his face and fell on her cheeks...
I-I l-ove y-you Xavi... that was the last she said and her body went completely numb.
Xavier screamed in agony, and just like her, he died that day, only that his body stayed behind.
"The Burial"
Thursday, Cold rain.
Closed casket.
40 people and none of them knew her the way he did.
He held the locket in his palm the whole time.
_Para siempre._
"Forever."
When they lowered her, something in him went quiet.
Not grief. Grief makes noise.
This was silence, the kind that gnawed at his soul.
For a year he was a ghost.
He stopped sleeping. Stopped eating.
He lived at Vanta because it was the only place that didn’t ask him how he was.
He bought galleries. Fired partners. Fired his distant cousin.
He turned three rooms into twelve. Madrid into London into New York.
He built glass and steel so high he could see the whole city,
as if maybe, if he looked hard enough, he’d see her walking.
Every November 9th at 22:14 PM he signed a contract.
Every November he sat in the ER at La Paz for one hour.
He told the board it was strategy.
It was penance.
Camille got 13 years with hard labor, the one that destroyed souls, court's verdict .
However, Xavier wasn't contented with the number of years she was sentenced to prison, he wanted her to rot there, but the court's verdict was finalized. Noneless, he pulled strings, he made sure to bring Camille's family and every one attached to her to dust, within a day, Camille's family went bankrupt, they lost everything and became beggars overnight, in the heat of the moment, the family cut off ties with thier imprisoned daughter and disowned her.
The news circulated like air and it got to Camille in prison, she knew karma had come for her, but she regretted not her actions, "even if I had a chance to destroy her in every lifetime, I would." Those were the words of Camille.
Her last words in court: _“If I can’t have him, no one else will.”_
He never went to see her, she didn't deserve his presence, let alone breathe in the same space as his.
The locket stayed in his drawer.
He never opened it, but he treasured it more than life itself.
Ten years of building an empire to outrun a memory.
And no matter how much time flies, I'll wait for you, my love, the world calls me delusional, they'd never know a pain as profound as mine because it didn't happen to them. Xavier enunciated each word to himself like his hope would spring to life.
---
"Now"
Xavier closed the file.
“She stopped,” he said.
In the last life, she ran to him and died.
In this life, she stopped for a stranger and lived.
“Call Daniel Calderon,” he said. “Second interview. Tomorrow. 10 AM.
And Mara — if she’s good, she starts Monday. Under me. Direct.”
“Sir, we filled that role.”
“Then we unfill it."He said icily."
---
Irene sat on the bench outside La Paz until the sun felt cruel.
217 euros.
Rent in 6 days.
A voicemail from her mom saved on her phone. Ten years old.
_“This is it, mija. This is the one.”_
Her hands shook, the cold wind brushed past her, making strands of her white hair dance.
The phone buzzed. Unknown number.
“Ms. Morales? Daniel Calderon, Vanta Arts.”
Her throat closed, taken aback for a split of seconds.
“We made a mistake. We’d like you to come in tomorrow. 10 AM. Second review.”
“But HR said—”
“HR was wrong. People who stop for strangers are rare, not everyone would make the sacrifice you made, especially for a stranger. We want to see you again.”
She hung up and cried.
Not loud.
The quiet kind. The kind you cry when you’ve been alone for ten years and someone finally says _we see you_.
---
The next morning she arrived at 9:30. A black elegant dress she picked from her wardrobe, flat shoes...
The elevator opened on 32.
Xavier was at the window.
He turned.
Black suit no tie; black has been his signature wear for the past ten years, every part of him mourned her still.
Hands in his pockets like he was holding himself together....
“Ms. Morales,” he said. His voice was low. Careful.
“I’m Xavier Vega.”
She shook his hand. His palm was warm.
And for one second, her chest did something stupid.
Like she’d lost her breath and found it again, she felt warmth where she shook him, she found it strange.
For an hour they talked.
About light. About art. About why some paintings make you feel like you’re being seen, about how and why someone could stare at a painting for a long while without it becoming a bore.
She forgot to be nervous. She talked with her hands, relaxed and calm. She didn't realize the interview would be so refreshing, she thought it was going to be daunting since it was the boss, the enigmatic CEO of Vanta Arts, Worldwide who was her interviewer.
At the end he asked only one question.
“If you had to choose between being on time and doing the right thing?”
She didn’t hesitate.
“The right thing. Every time.”
Xavier nodded. Once.
Daniel walked her out. “We’ll call you today.”
Upstairs, Xavier went back to the window.
He opened the bottom drawer.
The locket...
He didn’t open it.
“In this life, not even death could do us apart, he whispered sardonically"
---
- Writer
