a quiet voice. “He would walk on the other side of the street, crossing himself, if he had to pass this way.”
“So, what made you want to come here?” James asked. “I would think you’d want to avoid it.”
“I thought if I could face this, something so scary, I could face…home.” She sniffled. “He’s wasting away, delusional. We’ve done everything, everything, grandma and her herbs and rituals, the doctors, and he just…keeps…dying.” She uncovered her eyes as more tears ran down her cheeks. “But, James…I think…I think you were right. I think these statues are Donllejo’s. And that’s why he feared this place.”
“What? I don’t understand,” James said.
“I think my grandfather made these,” she sighed, burying her head into her knees.
James reared back to look at her. “What…I…uh, how do you know?”
She raised her face to his. “Because the man in the ballroom, the one that fell on top of me, was my grandfather.”
James knew his mouth had to be open, and he shut it so fast his teeth clacked.
“He looked just like him. And the piano man…the woman…they all look so familiar. I think I’ve seen them all in photo albums,” she continued, her voice soft.
“But…you said, you said,” James stammered, shaking his head in confusion.
She nodded, gulping. “I know, my father raised me to believe it was wrong, a sin for anyone in our family to create a person. He said it was playing God. It was something I never questioned because no one did.”
“So, why would your grandfather break this rule?” James asked.
“When I saw those statues…how there’s something about them…maybe…