A wise girl, or at least, a wise, Brazilian girl knew that you didn’t go to the beach after dark in the Summer. It was January, temperatures were soaring and dusk was settling over Rio, yet here she was, stood on the periphery of the beach. Raquel’s mouth was dry as she took to the steps and descended onto the scorching, soft sand. Swallowing a mouthful of saliva to wet her lips, she fanned her toes among the grains at her feet. Eyes forward, she began the walk towards the tame ocean that lapped gently at the lower reaches of the sand, fording her way between sunbeds and parasols discarded by hordes of sunhappy and eager to smile tourists. She could hear them. Behind her, maybe 15? 20 metres at most? She could hear them gaining on her, with anger in every muffled footstep.

She had paid in full for her brother’s no show. Her face embedded in the sand, El was beginning to regret the sassy remarks she had earlier, so willingly dished out. A shudder took her as calloused, sweaty fingers traced her spine, lips at her ear telling her to make certain that her brother got the message he was due. She felt the spit leap from her bottom lip when she raised her head to speak, “How am I supposed to be your messenger if you’ve beaten the message out of me?”
Raquel didn’t even have time to regret that one, or to feel the pain of his fist. Darkness.