Free Turned to Stone by Jorge Magano Page B

Her apartment was on Calle de la Cabeza, quite near the museum, though that was its only advantage. The building’s entrance was dirty and covered in graffiti. Jaime contemplated its regrettable state while Paloma tried to get the key in the lock. “So you finally managed to get your own place.”
    “I lived with Amanda for a while, but then she got married, and . . .”
    Jaime realized she was trembling. He took the keys from her and opened the door. A nauseating smell immediately invaded his nostrils. “It’s the drains,” Paloma explained as the elevator door opened for them. “They’ve been promising for months to get them fixed.”
    The climb to the fourth floor seemed endless. Over the hum of the old elevator, Jaime could clearly hear Paloma’s agitated breathing. He imagined he could even hear her heart beating. Looking at their reflection in the mirror he noted that he still towered above her. How many elevator mirrors had witnessed their many expressions of affection during those years? But this wasn’t the best time to revisit old memories. The sliding doors had opened.
    Paloma began to unlock the door to her apartment, but then she hesitated. That one moment of doubt told Jaime that something was not right. “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing.” She wiggled her key too easily in the dead bolt.
    “Come on, Paloma. Since when have you not locked your door when you left?”
    “I must’ve forgotten. My mind’s been all over the place lately. Thanks for taking me home, but I’d like to be alone now.”
    She pushed the door open and was about to go in, but Jaime stopped her. “Are you crazy?” he whispered. “They could still be in there.”
    “Don’t be silly. There’s no one there.”
    “They’re going after you, Paloma.”
    “Leave, or I’ll scream.”
    “Very well, we’ll both go. But first we’ll call the police.”
    “Since when do you call the police?”
    “Good point.” Jaime reached into his bag and took out the shiny object he’d kept as a souvenir from his adventure in El Burgo de Osma.
    Paloma gave a start when she saw it. “Where did you get that?”
    “From the Italian mafia. Now let me go first, and stick close.”
    “Sorry, but no. You’re not going into my home with a weapon.”
    “Wanna bet?” Jaime pushed the door open with his foot. Together they stood at the threshold, listening.
    The only sound was the noise from the street, four floors down.
    And then, suddenly, a sneeze.
    “Excuse me,” Jaime said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
    “I hope there really isn’t anyone in there,” Paloma whispered, sounding irritated. “Because if there is, they sure as hell know we’re here now.”
    “I’d like to see you not sneeze after spending three hours in a freezer.”
    “What?”
    “Never mind.”
    Jaime advanced, holding the pistol in both hands like he’d seen people do in the movies, and stretching out his arms every time he walked through a door or turned a corner in the hallway. Followed closely by Paloma, he checked the kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom, then returned to the entrance hall. “There’s nobody here.”
    “What did I tell you?” Paloma said. “Now can you leave me in peace?”
    “Why the hurry?”
    “You’ve seen there’s no one here. You’re as paranoid as ever. I’m grateful for your concern, but I’m not in any danger. So do me a favor and get that gun out of my house.”
    “You always bolt your door, Paloma.”
    “I told you, I must have forgotten.”
    “Forgotten? Remember that time I picked you up at your parents’ and we went to see Gladiator ? You made me go back and make sure you’d locked the door, even though the movie was about to start. I missed the entire opening battle.”
    “Look, Jaime, I’ll ask you one last time: go. I’m not in a good place at the moment. I’m barely holding it together. This isn’t a good time for you to show up and try to drag me into some James Bond adventure.”
    “Why