The Last Good Thing About Me

The rain had been falling over the Chinese village of Xitang for three days when Alejandro Vargas arrived with a secret he had spent ten years trying to bury. Xitang was a village of narrow canals, stone bridges, whitewashed houses, and red lanterns that swayed above the water. Tourists visited during summer, but in October, the streets belonged to older adults, shopkeepers, stray cats, and the occasional stranger who came looking for something he had lost. Alejandro claimed he had come to write a book. The truth was that he had come to find a man. And perhaps if he was brave enough to kill him. Alejandro rented a small room above an old tea shop owned by a widow named Lin Mie. She was a woman in her sixties with silver hair, sharp eyes, and an unusual habit of watching people long after they had stopped speaking. “ You looked tired”, she told him on his first evening, placing a cup of jasmine tea before him. I haven’t slept well. Bad dream? Alejandro smiled faintly. Something like that. He did not tell her about the dreams in which a man stood beneath a flickering streetlight, blood running down his white shirt. He did not tell her about the voice that whispered the same sentence every night. You could have stopped me. For ten years, Alejandro had carried a photograph inside his wallet. It showed two young men outside a university building in Madrid. One was Alejandro, smiling with an innocence that now seemed almost offensive. The other was Denial Ortega, his closest friend. Denial had been charming, intelligent, and dangerously cruel. At university, Denial had discovered that Alejandro possessed a weakness: he hated being powerless. Whenever someone humiliated him, Alejandro imagined revenge. He pictured the perfect punishment, the moment when his tormentor would finally understand what it meant to suffer. Denial had encouraged that thought. Everyone has a monster inside, he used to say. The only difference is that some people are brave enough to let theirs out. Alejandro had always refused. Until the night everything changed. Then, years earlier, Daniel had become involved in a financial fraud that destroyed the life of a fellow student named Mateo. When Mateo threatened to expose him, Daniel asked Alejandro to help frighten him into silence. Just to scare him, Daniel had promised. Alejandro agreed. They met Mateo in an abandoned building outside Madrid. Daniel brought a metal pipe. Alejandro brought nothing but his anger. At first, he had intended only to stand there. He would watch, perhaps shout, perhaps make Mateo understand that Daniel was not someone to challenge. But when Mateo laughed at him, something inside Alejandro snapped. He grabbed Daniel’s pipe. For several seconds, he imagined striking Mateo until the laughter stopped forever. The desire was terrifying because it felt natural. His hand did not shake. His mind did not process. He could almost feel the satisfaction waiting on the other side of their single decision. Then Mateo whispered, Alejandro, please. And Alejandro showed his own reflection in the frightened man’s eyes. He dropped the pipe. Denial attacked Mateo anyways. The blow sent Mateo crashing against a concrete pillar. He felt motionless. Alejandro could have called an ambulance immediately. He could have shouted for help. He could have confessed everything. Instead, he stood frozen while Denial dragged him towards the exit. By the time Alejandro found the courage to return, Mateo was dead. Daniel disappeared within weeks. Alejandro told the police what he knew, but he concealed his own part in the confrontation. Without sufficient evidence, the investigation stalled. Alejandro left Spain soon afterward. He had never struck Mateo. But he had imagined doing it, and for one terrible moment, he had wanted to. That was the part he could never forgive. On his fifth morning in Xitang, Alejandro noticed a man standing across the canal. The stranger wore a dark coat and held a black umbrella despite the rain having stopped. His face was partially hidden, but something about his posture made Alejandro's stomach tighten. The man raised one hand. Alejandro stepped backward. When he looked again, the stranger had vanished in the narrow street. That night someone slipped an envelope beneath Alejandro’s door. Inside was a photograph. It showed Alejandro outside the abandoned building in Madrid, taken on the night Mateo died. On the back, someone had written in English. He left one thing unfinished. Alejandro read the words until they blurred. He went downstairs and asked Lin Mie if anyone had visited the house. Nobody, she replied. Are you sure? She studied his face. You are afraid of someone. No. Why do you look like a man waiting for a door to open? Alejandro had no answer. The following afternoon, he saw the stranger again near the village’s old stone bridge. This time, the man approached him. Do you remember me? The stranger asked in accented English. Alejandro stared at him. The stranger lowered his umbrella. He was older than Alejandro remembered, with deeper lines around his mouth and a thin scar near his left temple. Daniel, Alejandro whispered. His old friend smiled. You look terrible. For a moment, Alejandro could not breathe. Ten years of anger, guilt, and imagined confrontation suddenly became real. What are you doing here? Looking for you. Why? Denial's smile disappeared. Because I need your help. They met after sunset in an abandoned courtyard behind an old silk workshop. Denial explained that he had been living under a false identity in China. He had learned that the authorities in Spain were reviewing Mateo’s death after new evidence emerged. Someone had found an old recording connecting Denial to the crime. I need you to tell them you never saw me that night, Denial said. Alejandro laughed bitterly. You are still asking me to lie for you. I am asking you to protect yourself. You killed Mateo. And you stood there. The word sounds like a slap. Denial stepped closer. Don’t pretend you are innocent, Alejandro. You wanted to hit him. I saw your face. You want to do it more than I did. Alejandro felt his fingers curl into fists. Then the old, familiar heat spread through his body again. He imagined grabbing Denial by the throat. He pictured the fear in Denial’s eyes and the collapse of his arrogant smile. He imagined making him pay. Denial noticed. Go on, he whispered. Show me who you really are. Alejandro took a step forward. For the moment, the courtyard seemed to disappear. There was one Denial, the man who had stolen his peace, and the terrible possibility that hurting him would finally silence the past. Then Alejandro remembered Mateo’s frightened face. Please. He clenched his fists. No, he said. A denial laugh. You are still pretending to be good. No, I am finally admitting that I am not always good. He took a photograph from his pocket and held it between them. I want to hurt Mateo. I wanted to hurt you. Sometimes I still do. But wanting something doesn’t give me the right to do it. Denial's expression hardened. You are going to regret this. Perhaps. Alejandro walked away. Behind him, Denial shouted something in Spanish. Alejandro, do not turn around. For the first time in ten years, he had refused to let his anger decide for him. He thought that was the end. He was wrong.That night Alejandro returned to the tea shop and found Lin Min waiting at the entrance. Someone came looking for you. Denial. She shook her head. Two police officers. They also asked about a man who had been staying in the abandoned silk workshop. Alejandro’s heart began to race. What happened? They found him dead. The room seemed to tilt. Lin Mie continued quietly. He said that he was killed with a metal object. Alejandro stared at him. He had left Denial alive. He was certain of it. He remembered walking away, hearing Denial’s voice behind him. Yet he could not remember seeing anyone else waiting there. Or had Alejandro, in a moment of rage he could no longer recall, finally done the thing he had spent ten years fearing? His hand began to tremble. I didn’t kill him, he whispered. Lin Mei looked at him for a long moment. I didn’t ask whether you did. That frightened him more than an accusation would have. An hour later, Alejandro sat alone in his room. He placed the old photograph on the table and stared at the younger version of himself. There was something different about it. The photograph had shown two men outside a university building. Now the image seemed strangely damaged; the edge darkened by age and moisture. On the back, beneath the words. You left one thing unfinished, he noticed another sentence, written in smaller letters. Meteo was not the first. Alejandro stopped breathing. He had never told anyone about the first incident. Three months before Mateo’s death, Alejandro followed a man who had publicly humiliated him. He had cornered the stranger in a parking garage and threatened him with a knife. The man escaped unharmed, but Alejandro had spent years pretending the memory belonged to someone else. Daniel had known about him. Daniel had known about everything. A knock interrupted his thought. Lin Mei stood in the doorway, holding a small envelope. This was left for you. Inside was a handwritten note. You chose not to kill me tonight. This is the only reason you are still alive. There was no sign. Alejandro rushed downstairs, but the street outside was empty. Beyond the stone bridge, red lanterns trembled in the wind, their reflection breaking across the dark canal. He called the police and told them everything: the confrontations, his history with Daniel, and the note. He did not know whether his confession would save him or destroy the fragile like he had built. For once, he decided that uncertainty was no excuse for silence.