PART 8 — THE WOMAN WHO WAS BURIED ALIVE
PART 8 — THE WOMAN WHO WAS BURIED ALIVE
Lucía had stopped speaking.
Not because she had nothing to say.
Because, for the first time, she knew that telling the truth might be more dangerous than keeping it buried.
Alejandro could see it in her face.
They were back at the mansion now.
The police had secured the property after the shooting at the abandoned hospital.
Rafael had disappeared.
Again.
No one knew how he had entered.
No one knew how he had escaped.
And no one could explain how he had known they would be in Room 17.
But Alejandro no longer cared about Rafael.
Not yet.
He cared about Lucía.
Because when they returned home, she had gone straight upstairs and locked herself inside the bedroom.
She had not eaten.
She had not spoken to Valeria.
She had not even looked at Alejandro.
Finally, at three in the morning, he knocked on her door.
“Lucía.”
Silence.
“I know you're awake.”
Still nothing.
“Open the door.”
The lock clicked.
Alejandro entered.
Lucía was sitting beside the window.
She looked exhausted.
“What happened to you that night?”
She stared outside.
“I told you.”
“You told me the accident was fake.”
“It was.”
“You told me Mother wanted you gone.”
“Yes.”
“You told me Father tried to protect you.”
“Yes.”
“But you never told me what happened after the crash.”
Lucía's hands tightened around the blanket.
Alejandro sat across from her.
“Rafael said you were buried alive.”
She closed her eyes.
“That is what happened.”
Alejandro's stomach turned.
“Tell me.”
Lucía remained silent for several seconds.
Then she whispered:
“I woke up inside a coffin.”
Eleven years earlier.
Lucía remembered the darkness first.
Not the pain.
Not the cold.
The darkness.
She couldn't move.
Her arms were pressed against her body.
Her knees were bent.
Something heavy covered her chest.
She tried to breathe.
The air was warm.
Thin.
She screamed.
No sound came out.
Her throat felt torn.
She pushed upward.
Wood.
She hit the lid.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
She screamed harder.
“HELP!”
Her own voice came back to her.
Small.
Weak.
Almost gone.
She began pounding.
“HELP ME!”
Then she heard footsteps.
Above her.
Someone was walking.
Lucía froze.
A man's voice.
“She's awake.”
A woman's voice answered.
“She shouldn't be.”
Lucía recognized it.
Esther.
Her mother.
Lucía began screaming.
“Mother!”
Silence.
Then Esther spoke.
“She's too dangerous.”
Another man answered.
“We were told she was dead.”
“She is.”
“But she's breathing.”
A pause.
“Then fix it.”
Lucía stopped breathing.
The coffin shifted.
Someone lifted it.
She heard metal.
A latch.
Then the lid opened.
Light flooded her eyes.
She saw three faces.
Esther.
Rafael.
And a doctor.
The doctor looked terrified.
“Mrs. Aranda…”
Esther raised one finger.
“Do your job.”
Lucía tried to speak.
“Mother…”
Esther looked at her.
There was no emotion in her face.
“I'm sorry.”
Then she turned away.
Lucía screamed.
“Please!”
The lid closed.
Darkness returned.
The coffin moved.
Alejandro stared at his sister.
“You were alive when they buried you?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't the doctor stop them?”
“He was paid.”
“Who paid him?”
“Esther.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew about Elena.”
Alejandro frowned.
“You knew where she was?”
“No.”
“You knew she existed.”
“Yes.”
Lucía swallowed.
“And I knew about you.”
Alejandro stared.
“What about me?”
“I knew you weren't Esther's biological son.”
Silence.
“That was enough to make me dangerous.”
The coffin had been transported to an old cemetery outside the city.
Lucía remembered the journey.
Every turn.
Every bump.
Every second.
She had screamed until her voice disappeared.
Then the vehicle stopped.
The coffin was lifted.
She heard soil.
Shovels.
A hole.
Someone said:
“Quickly.”
The coffin descended.
Lucía pounded on the lid.
“PLEASE!”
Nobody answered.
Then dirt struck the wood.
One shovel.
Then another.
Then another.
The sound became unbearable.
Dirt.
Wood.
Dirt.
Wood.
Until there was nothing else.
She lay beneath the earth.
Alive.
Unable to breathe.
Unable to move.
Certain she was going to die.
Then she heard something.
A faint scratching.
Not from above.
From inside the coffin.
Beside her.
Lucía turned her head.
There was another person inside.
A woman.
Unconscious.
Blood covered her face.
Lucía stared.
“Elena?”
The woman opened her eyes.
Barely.
“Lucía?”
Lucía began crying.
“You're alive.”
Elena tried to speak.
“Your brother…”
“Where is he?”
“Elena…”
“Your brother…”
Her voice faded.
Then she whispered:
“They took him.”
Lucía reached for her hand.
“Who?”
Elena's fingers tightened around hers.
“Esther.”
Then she passed out.
Alejandro stood.
“She was in the coffin with you?”
Lucía nodded.
“You were buried together?”
“Yes.”
“How did you survive?”
“Someone came.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Then how did you get out?”
Lucía stared at him.
“Because the grave wasn't deep.”
Alejandro frowned.
“What?”
“They didn't have time.”
“Why?”
“Because someone arrived.”
“Who?”
Lucía shook her head.
“I never saw his face.”
“What did he do?”
“He dug us out.”
“Both of you?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to Elena?”
Lucía's face broke.
“She died.”
Alejandro froze.
“When?”
“Two days later.”
“How?”
“She had been poisoned.”
His stomach turned.
“Who poisoned her?”
“I don't know.”
“Did she tell you anything?”
“Before she died.”
“What?”
Lucía looked directly at him.
“She said your father wasn't your biological father.”
Alejandro's breathing stopped.
“You told me I was Rodrigo's son.”
“I said he was your father.”
“That's not the same thing.”
Lucía shook her head.
“Elena said your biological father was someone else.”
“Who?”
“She didn't tell me.”
“Why?”
“She was afraid.”
“Of whom?”
Lucía whispered:
“Your grandfather.”
Alejandro sat down again.
His mind was racing.
His grandfather had supposedly died decades ago.
Yet Rafael had claimed he was alive.
If Elena had feared him, then the entire family history had been constructed around a man who should not exist.
“Why would Grandfather want me?”
Lucía looked at him.
“Because you were the heir.”
“To what?”
“The Vargas fortune.”
Alejandro frowned.
“The Vargas fortune disappeared.”
“No.”
“What?”
“It was transferred.”
“To whom?”
Lucía's voice was barely audible.
“To you.”
Alejandro stared.
“But I never received anything.”
“Because Esther hid it.”
“Why?”
“Because she wanted control.”
“Control of what?”
“Everything.”
The next morning, the detective arrived with new evidence.
He placed an old burial record on the table.
“This is where they buried you.”
Lucía stared at the document.
“Yes.”
The detective placed another.
“This is the original death certificate.”
Lucía looked at it.
Her name.
Her date of birth.
Her supposed date of death.
Then she noticed something.
“The signature.”
“What?”
“This isn't Mother's.”
The detective nodded.
“We know.”
“Then whose?”
He placed a magnified copy beside it.
“Doctor Emilio Serrano.”
Lucía's face changed.
“I know him.”
“Who is he?”
“He was the doctor who delivered me.”
The detective looked at Alejandro.
“And he signed your sister's death certificate eleven years before she supposedly died.”
Alejandro frowned.
“That makes no sense.”
“It does if the death was planned.”
Lucía looked at the document.
“He knew.”
“Yes.”
“And he helped them.”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
The detective's expression hardened.
“Dead.”
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
Alejandro felt a chill.
“Cause?”
“Heart failure.”
“Convenient.”
“Very.”
They searched the doctor's old house.
Inside they found nothing.
Then Lucía noticed something on a bookshelf.
A children's book.
She pulled it out.
A photograph fell from behind it.
She picked it up.
Her face went pale.
Alejandro took it.
It showed the doctor.
Esther.
Rafael.
And another man.
Rodrigo.
They were standing beside a grave.
The date was eleven years ago.
The night Lucía was buried.
Alejandro stared.
“My father was there.”
Lucía nodded.
“He knew.”
The detective examined the photograph.
“There's something else.”
He pointed to the background.
A black vehicle.
A license plate.
Alejandro recognized it.
“That's Father's car.”
Lucía looked at him.
“Then he was there when they buried me.”
Alejandro shook his head.
“No.”
He couldn't accept it.
“My father tried to save you.”
“Maybe.”
“But he was there.”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn't he stop them?”
Lucía looked at him.
“Because he was the one who put me in the coffin.”
Silence.
Alejandro stared at her.
“What?”
“He brought me there.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“You saw him?”
“Yes.”
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
Lucía's eyes filled with tears.
“He stood beside the grave.”
“What did he say?”
She closed her eyes.
“He said…”
Her voice broke.
“'Forgive me.'”
Alejandro couldn't sleep.
He replayed everything.
His father's recording.
His mother's lies.
Rafael's threats.
The secret room.
The two brothers.
Elena's disappearance.
Lucía's burial.
And now the possibility that Rodrigo had personally delivered his daughter to her grave.
There was only one thing he could do.
Find the grave.
They drove out of the city before sunrise.
The cemetery was almost empty.
The old section was covered in weeds.
Lucía stopped near a row of neglected graves.
“This one.”
Alejandro looked down.
Her name was barely visible.
LUCÍA ELENA ARANDA
The stone had cracked.
He knelt.
“Did they bury you here?”
“Yes.”
“Then how did you get out?”
“I told you.”
“The stranger.”
“Yes.”
“Who was he?”
Lucía looked around.
“I don't know.”
The detective began examining the ground.
Then he noticed something.
A second grave.
Beside Lucía's.
No name.
No stone.
Only a metal marker.
17
Alejandro's blood ran cold.
Room 17.
The same number.
He knelt.
The marker was loose.
He pulled it out.
Beneath it was a small metal box.
Inside:
A key.
A photograph.
And a cassette.
Alejandro inserted the cassette into the portable recorder.
Static.
Then Rodrigo's voice.
“I know what you're going to ask.”
Alejandro froze.
“If Lucía is alive, then I failed.”
A pause.
“I did not bury my daughter because I wanted her dead.”
Another pause.
“I buried her because I knew they were watching.”
Lucía began crying.
Rodrigo continued.
“Esther believes she controls everything.”
A faint laugh.
“She doesn't.”
Alejandro's heart pounded.
“There is one person she fears.”
Static.
Then:
“Your grandfather.”
Alejandro looked at Lucía.
Rodrigo continued.
“He never died.”
A long silence.
“He took Elena.”
The tape crackled.
“And he took Mateo.”
Alejandro stopped breathing.
His missing brother.
His grandfather.
Elena.
Everything connected.
Then Rodrigo's final words came through.
“Alejandro, if you ever find this…”
The recording paused.
“…do not trust the woman who saved Lucía.”
The tape ended.
Alejandro stared at the recorder.
“The woman who saved you.”
Lucía looked confused.
“I told you it was a man.”
“You said you never saw his face.”
“Yes.”
“Then how do you know it was a man?”
She froze.
Alejandro looked at her.
Lucía's expression changed.
“I…”
“You don't know.”
“No.”
“You assumed.”
“Yes.”
The detective stepped closer.
“Then someone may have lied to you.”
Lucía slowly looked toward the cemetery entrance.
A woman stood there.
Older.
Gray hair.
A dark coat.
She was watching them.
Alejandro turned.
The woman began walking away.
“Wait!”
They ran after her.
She disappeared behind a stone wall.
Alejandro reached the corner.
Nobody was there.
Only a scarf lay on the ground.
He picked it up.
A familiar perfume clung to the fabric.
Lucía stared at it.
“No.”
“What?”
She touched the scarf.
Her hands began trembling.
“I know this.”
“Whose is it?”
Lucía looked at Alejandro.
“The woman who saved me.”
“Who?”
Lucía whispered the name.
“Esther.”
Alejandro froze.
His mother had not merely known Lucía survived.
She had been the person who rescued her from the grave.
The woman who had buried her alive had also been the woman who dug her out.
Which meant the question was no longer whether Esther was guilty.
The question was why.
And somewhere beyond the cemetery, someone was watching them.
Someone who knew the answer.
May you like
Someone who had been waiting twenty-six years for Alejandro to discover that his family's greatest lie was not that Lucía had died.
It was that anyone in the Aranda family had ever truly been trying to save her.
