I didn’t have nothing to do with the death of Monica. When I left his house he was sleeping peacefully, like the other time we made love before. And Fermin Fermin I was there, talking to him. Only a few seconds, I had distracted to look at my countenance in that showcase. Then appeared the other. And Fermin fell dead.
Well, the other did not appear exactly, but that I saw it on the glass of the shop. When I turned I only I had eyes for the poor newsagent, so I did not see anyone more. But, at who wanted to cheat? I was alone in the room. Talking to myself. Telling me that I wasn’t a murderer a murderer! It was intended to deceive myself? Wouldn’t mine a brutal paranoia? Wouldn’t it be, simply, driving me crazy? It was then when the doorbell rang. -Now my turn to continue with the story. I knocked on his door. I knew that I was going crazy.
Perhaps it was still too early to settle that matter, but he viewed me time. So it was just then when I called ringer. At the beginning there was only a thick silence, like foreboding. After a while I heard a few cushioned footsteps by distance, the carpet or the fear that everything could be. I heard his familiar voice, acuciada nerves: who is? You know who I am. And you also know that I have the key to your apartment. It opens quietly so that we talk about. I heard her breathing quickly, within. Probably he had supported in the door, agavillando forces for daring to cross me entry. I had to insist: do not try to delay the inevitable. But who is? He repeated weakly, with the faint hope that was not to happen what feared. I am yourself. You already know.