"It's graduation day," said a voice by the garage entrance.
The crimson veil of blood forcing his left eye shut made it impossible to bring into focus the scrawny, dark silhouette stepping through the door. This is not good, Anibal realized at once. He had his stepson pinned underneath him, there was red splattered over both of them, and the stupid boy was whining like a homo. Goddammit.
"The kid hit me," was all Anibal said, as a way of explanation.
"I suppose it's okay," said the voice. It sounded like a woman.
"You are trespassing."
"Father will understand."
"What the fuck? Who are you?"
"Get away from Marcelo," the woman demanded.
"Don't tell me how to raise my boy."
"You are hurting my friend."
No. Not a woman. A girl. The weirdo?
"He's fine," Anibal told her. "Say you're fine, boy."
Marcelo couldn't speak. Built like a cleanup hitter, Anibal's body weight was crushing the air out of his stepson's lungs, whose cries for help had now turned into desperate gasps. Your zipper is down, too.
"Get away from him."
"You don't tell me what to do!"
"'To protect someone you love.'"
"You are insane. Get out of my house!" Anibal shouted.
"And you are rabid."
"I'll fuck you up too, little bitch!" Since Marcelo was still clinging to the wrench for dear life, Anibal couldn't snatch it away from him, so his instincts told him to look for his baseball bat. Where was it? But instead of him finding it, the bat found him. Straight. In. The. Face.
There was a blinding, electric flash of white pain followed by a loud bell ringing. Is it time for church? If it was, this was great news because the blow had shaken his bruised soul to the core, pushing and pulling it furiously against the insides of his being. I can see, Anibal thought, relieved, when bright stars appeared before him as his cheek, nose, and ear ballooned to deformity. Then, after hitting the floor hard, he tried to glimpse of the figure looming over him but ended up staring both at the ground and at the girl at the same time. This shouldn't have been possible. Something was terribly wrong.
"Ofelia, n-no!"
Marcelo's voice sounded distant. Why was this? Anibal couldn't tell. His capacity to think had been torn apart beyond wanting to find out the full extent of his injuries.
"He's rabid," Ofelia explained, unphased.
Was it bad that Anibal felt no pain? After his left hand slipped on the oil-stained ground when he tried to move, his arms and legs stopped obeying him.
"Get the biggest knives in your kitchen," said the girl.
"W-what are you doing?"
"Graduating from killing animals to killing monsters."
Despite his efforts to ask for help, Anibal's tongue laid dead in his mouth.
And then it was too late.