‘Where is it?’ Juan whispers in his usual creepy manner.
It must be here. It’s dark due to regular power cuts. I have not carried my torch and mobile in accordance with our plan. I run my hands on the base of the kitchen cupboard. ‘You had kept it here before you went to bed, hadn’t you?’
I frown.
He continues teasing, ‘Have you forgotten where you kept it?’
‘No, I haven’t.’
I find it. I smile and grab the knife’s handle. I bring it closer to my lips and run my fingers along its blade. “Ah, here you are,” I say in a low voice, “you Devil’s friend! Where were you hiding?”
‘Why do you have to speak out? What if someone listens? You’ll foil our plan,’ Juan scolds me.
I get angry at him. He says he is psychic and never leaves me. He knows everything about me. When I ask him how, he does not answer. He had once said, ‘Only you can hear me.’ I like him when he suggests what I should do. When he becomes authoritative, like he is now, I absolutely hate him.
‘I’d not be awake at three in the morning if I didn’t know what I’m doing. I don’t want you to command me.’
‘I wasn’t commanding you,’ he says. ‘I was just expressing my concern. You need to be careful. We selected this time to carry out our plan because everyone would be asleep. What’ll happen if they wake up—if they see you’re playing with a knife in the kitchen? Please be careful.’