It’s night. They’re in a chapel that isn’t a chapel. It’s just like the dream she’s been dreaming for a long time now. But this isn’t a dream. It’s as real as their kissing a moment ago, the two of them — she in her lavender hair up against the wall in the alley behind the club her boyfriend’s brother manages, her boyfriend in his new bomber jacket up against her and both of them laughing. Santi bit her lip just a little. She can still taste the blood, but it’s nothing. It made them laugh. You have two drinks and that’s what happens. You laugh.
When they heard the baby crying, they stopped, looked up and down the alley and couldn’t figure it out. No apartments, just an alley in the Warehouse District where the clubs are. She took Santi’s hand, the way she would at a scary movie, and they walked down the alley away from the club’s back door, slowly, quietly and listening. The baby kept crying. When they reached the building where the sound was coming from, they stopped.