By the time I returned to Leandro, he was still trying to fit the book on mythology into my battered bag, taking care not to damage the cross that was still crammed into a corner. I wondered, not without some fear, what would happen if it broke. Would I be freed from the curse, or would it fall upon me with greater ferocity? I leaned toward the pessimistic thought, though it was hard to imagine what could be worse than knowing I was going to die in less than seventy-two hours.

If my friend recognized the book before I could move it out of sight, he chose not to mention it. Instead, in the same reassuring tone he'd used earlier, he asked:
"How did it go?"
"Better than I expected," I admitted. "Did you have any idea how suspicious Don Aurelio could be when it comes to matters of faith? Everyone's different, but listening to him, I can't help but wonder what made him decide to become a priest."
"The same thing that leads most of them, I imagine. They get sent to the seminary as children to find a better future than the life of a farmer. They hate it at first... until they realize that behind the walls of a rectory, they don't go cold or have to worry about whether the harvest thrives. For at least that term, they'll have plenty of food and a warm bed, no matter how things turn out."
"Is that so? Those comforts don't seem to have been enough to persuade you to stay," I noted, recalling that Leandro had spent three or four years in one of those monasteries and yet never showed any interest in spirituality.
"No, I'm afraid it's not just about appreciating a certain lifestyle. You also have to have a certain temperament, a more compliant one. If you get what I mean."
"Not really, but I doubt it’s in the best interest of the institution to have a student who takes every opportunity to sneak out the back door."
"Perhaps. Possibly."

Leandro smirked mischievously, perhaps reminiscing about past escapades. I'd heard the stories—mostly from him—about the times he and his friends sneaked out during festivals in nearby villages.

The Malvedos likely had plans for Leandro to stay in the seminary at least until he was old enough to take vows or pursue university studies. But things must not have worked out, and before he turned fifteen, he was already studying at a less strict school, though still run by friars.

Typical, really.

Without further ado, we left the place after a while, not wanting to risk a neighbor showing up to interrupt us. Besides, we decided a walk would help clear my thoughts and let my narrative flow more easily. So we wandered through streets and paths, skirting nearby estates but never losing sight of the town, as I began telling my story.

I told him everything, from the moment I left his house to my encounter with the unknown woman, sparing no detail about the things that had frightened me and prompted my hurried exit from the forest.

Leandro listened attentively without interrupting. Yet, as his expression shifted, I could tell countless questions were forming in his mind. Even so, he managed to stay silent until I finished.
"In hindsight, I should've insisted you stay last night," he murmured, adding before I could object again, "or at least asked to accompany you."
"I appreciate the thought, but would it have changed anything if you'd been with me? If what they say about that procession is true, we both could've ended up in trouble."
"I'm not so sure. Don’t they say the souls are looking for someone to bear the cross? Then what's the use of the other mortal if their principles dictate they only go after the dying?"

He wasn't mocking me, though it was clear he was trying to downplay the situation. So before continuing, I felt the need to ensure:
"You don't believe anything I've told you, do you?"

How could he? If I'd been in his place, I wouldn’t have believed it either.
"Not exactly. I mean, I do think you saw something. I don’t know what, but I also don’t see you making up such a grim story unless you believed it was real."
"That’s better than nothing," I whispered, somewhat relieved.

Perhaps fully believing my tale was too much to ask, even from Leandro. But I was satisfied with being given the benefit of the doubt. No, my friend wouldn’t blindly accept a story like the Holy Company brought to life… but neither would he dismiss me as a liar or delusional, as some townsfolk might have.

"What I will suggest," he continued, trying to sound as reasonable as possible, "and not to discredit you, is that you go see Ballejo as soon as you can."
"For what? To have him certify my gradual descent into madness?" I joked.
"You know what I mean."
"Right, sorry. It’s a good idea, and I know you’re saying it with my best interest in mind, but I don’t think I’m ready to talk about this with anyone else."
"You don’t have to. The way I see it, there’s a blank spot in your memory. It could’ve been caused by the shock of seeing something you weren’t emotionally prepared for, but what if it wasn’t? Maybe you fell or hit something before passing out. Going to the doctor was just a suggestion to check your physical condition."
"I’m pretty sure if I’d suffered any physical injury serious enough to hinder me, I’d have noticed. At least the headache I felt when I woke up faded after a few minutes, and I assure you I’m perfectly fine now."

Leandro looked at me skeptically. "You can’t know if the fall caused harm unless you’re examined by a professional," he probably wanted to say, but he wasn’t in the mood for debates. He wasn’t wrong, so I conceded:
"I’ll visit Ballejo tomorrow, but only if I feel unwell again."
"I suppose I’ll have to settle for that," Leandro sighed, closing the matter for now. "Now, about that woman you mentioned…"
"Do you know her?"
"By sight, yes. She’s the sister of one of my former schoolmates. I’ve barely spoken to her, but I think it’d be worth talking to her again."
"And what if it was just my imagination? I mean, what if I only imagined she was there and handed me the cross?"

The question wasn’t asked because I doubted my memory but because of the deep-seated fear of entrusting my terrors to someone I had barely crossed paths with, despite my logical mind insisting that, if I was right, it was entirely possible that this person had experienced something similar to what I had.

“Were you ever introduced to each other?” Leandro asked in return. “Not last night. I mean before, when you returned to settle in the village.”

“No. Maybe I saw her once as a child when I came here on vacation. But I didn’t even know her name.”

“In that case, there’s your proof that it wasn’t a dream. No matter how good your imagination or memory for faces might be, it’s impossible to associate a name with a face if the meeting never happened.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I reflected, though I wasn’t entirely convinced. Still, I didn’t want to keep pondering when the last time I had any knowledge of Delia in the world of the living had been. I’d been going in circles all morning, and my brain was begging for a break. “But regardless, what’s the plan? Am I supposed to approach her and ask about a nighttime encounter I’m not even sure happened?”

“Well, if you put it like that, you’ll sound like a guilty drunk trying to figure out which neighbor’s flowerbed you trampled during a wild night.”

“Lucky for me, I don’t spend much time at the tavern.”

“No, I was thinking it might be better if I were the one to pay Delia a visit.” Seeing I was about to ask, he added, “Not to interrogate her about your encounter, but to get to know her a bit and see if she’s trustworthy. Think about it—no matter how reassuring she was to you last night, that doesn’t change the fact that she left you to your fate as soon as she thought herself free of the supposed curse. In that case, and no matter how cooperative she seemed when speaking to you, who knows how she’d react if you brought it up the next time you see her? It might be better if I approach her first and see what she remembers about last night. After that, if you feel up to it, you can bring up the subject yourself.”

“With your supervision?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with that, of course. You could also go without me, but I thought I might go ahead to spare you from taking on more responsibilities.”

I paused to consider it. What were the pros and cons of letting him go first? If I resisted this plan, it would only be because I was reluctant to involve him. But now that I’d told him everything, there was little reason to hold back.

Once the nightmare was shared, there was no way to undo it and make Leandro forget.

So in that regard, it seemed pointless to keep torturing myself over what I could or couldn’t reveal, fearing my friend’s reaction. Then, while I might not necessarily agree with every decision he made from that point on, I had to acknowledge that Leandro would use the information I’d given him as he saw fit. That was a freedom I couldn’t deny him, no matter how much I wanted him to avoid anything dangerous.

What harm could there be in letting him go, then? It wasn’t like he was offering to step into the lion’s den—though I had a sneaking suspicion that if I truly asked him to, he probably would.

If it had been someone else, I might have questioned their motivation, wondering why they’d dare to offer such help. But in this case, it never occurred to me to question it. I took it for granted that this was what a friend would do, since if the roles were reversed, I would have suggested something similar.

In any case, I was determined not to leave him alone for long. Agreeing to tell him about my troubles was one thing; burdening him with the task of making sense of them on his own was entirely different.

Thus, I accepted his proposal on the simple condition that if his conversation with Delia proved fruitful, we would meet again that afternoon to share updates and decide how to proceed.

While Leandro ventured into the neighboring village with this mission in mind, I promised to spend the rest of the day resting. That turned out to be only a partial truth, because although I did plan to nap for a couple of hours to recover some lost sleep, my main objective upon returning home was to thoroughly inspect the book Don Aurelio had lent me.

So, as soon as I was back within the four walls of my home, I settled at the kitchen table, preparing for what I imagined would be an extensive reading session.