The Jock, The Nerd and The Geek

Epilogue (Part Two)

Yours affectionately,
Elvina Holland.

Soledad...

That was his Abuela's name.

In a flash, he flipped through the other pages of the book, finding more and more letters of their correspondence, though it only held the other mystery woman's, and none of his Abuela.

Marcos had no idea how long he sat there, now on the floor of his room with his legs crossed, before he reached one that had his blood running cold.

To my Old Gingerbread Dame,

I suppose you find the name fitting, and it does suit you but I have to substitute the witch for a Dame (as you are no lady from the stories you've told me), a title that perfects you completely.
In your last letter, you asked about the people I dream of frequently and what I would like to tell them, and this is what I would have said if we did meet.
I would tell them that for years, I have dreamed them, sharing many scenarios that I still don't know if they had happened, or my mind keeps playing tricks on me, because sometimes we are at a beach, all three of us and I feel free, more relaxed than I ever have, and the other times, I am driving through a storm, trying to reach their car which is just some feet away, but I never do.
I would tell them that in the first five years I dreamt that, I never saw their faces. I feel a connection towards them, but when I wake up, I forget part of it, or know that I'm forgetting something, but after two years, I'm still not sure if it is the trauma of the war, or the death surrounding me, but I see them now.
And their names are Marcos Gomez and Paris Holmes.
I do not claim that I remember them, for I do not but during everything that has happened, everytime that the urge to die with a grenade strapped to my chest, or jump off a cliff nearly took over me, the fact that there might be people who love me, as they do in my dreams, exist, I feel the strength to live another day.
They give me the hope to want to not die. To want to see them and tell them thank you for everything that they have done and ask for their apology in forgetting them as I still cannot remember anything, and even if they have moved on from me, it still doesn't matter. I'm grateful nonetheless.
But that will never happen, will it? I might die here before I get a chance to be relieved, but I know if I carry their faces in my head to my last breath, it would be a pleasant feeling.

Yours Sincerely,
Alexandra Parker.

Alex...

Marcos found himself shuffling through the book, panicking. This couldn't be the last one. If it was, that meant that she had died, a-and he didn't want to imagine that.

Still, he found nothing.

Crazily, he flipped through the pages again, this time, watching only one fall out before hurriedly picking it and skimming through the pages.

This time, it was from his Abuela, telling Alex that it was probably the last time she was going to send her later as she felt her time was running out and asked to be cremated while the female would be the one in charge of her ashes, pouring it in a place that she treasured most, that day being today.

It was a copy of the original one, as that version had already been sent to Alexandra.

Immediately, Marcos was off the floor, the letter in his hand as he hurried down the stairs and entering the kitchen, startling his Mother, Elise and Paris, but he ignored their looks focusing on Maria, saying in spanish so they wouldn't understand, "Where are her ashes?"