When Lies Unfold

Chapter 27

Later that night

I’m a horrible person.

Even so, I still carry out the plan I’ve been preparing for.

Alma whispers in the dark, giving my hand a squeeze. “Thanks for snugglin’ with me and for paintin’ my nails so pretty.”

“Anytime, love.”

My heart twists while my guilt grows tenfold. I adore spending time with this sweet child—I do. It doesn’t mean I won’t hesitate to take advantage of this situation if—when—I need to, however.

I’ve tested the range of the mounted surveillance cameras throughout the compound under the guise of “exploring my new prison.” I believe I’ve pinpointed the discrepancies in the angles of range for most of them.

Tonight, I’ll discover whether or not it will all be successful.

“You can come and go as you normally would…” Gordo’s words echo in my mind. While that’s a step in the right direction, it’s still not freedom.

Once Alma’s breathing evens out, I press a light kiss to her forehead and roll over, edging toward the other side of the white four-poster bed—enormous in contrast of such a little girl.

I’ve brought my small bag with the three different colors of nail polish I own under the guise of painting her nails tonight.

If I wasn’t already certain I was going to hell, I would be after this.

Using one of Alma’s pillows to make it look like I’m still burrowed beneath the covers, I ease off the bed. This far side of her room is what I believe is the main blind spot of the camera.

Now, I swing my bag’s strap across my chest, securing it over my body. Drawing in a deep breath, I prepare myself for my next moves.

It also helps that I’ve nudged the cameras’ positions a few centimeters while I’ve been in her room. When she went to the bathroom, I used her stick unicorn “riding” toy that’s approximately three feet long to make the “adjustments.”

She prefers to sleep with her windows open, her gauzy curtains tousled with the breeze. Multiple ceiling fans work in lieu of air-conditioning since Alma informed me it was because “I never had fancy air-conditionin’ before, so I’m savin’ my daddy money on ’lectricity.”

Bless her sweet soul. She’s concerned about the high cost of electricity when her father makes millions upon millions.

I pull myself up and over the sill and wait a moment to see if my movement has been detected. When nothing happens, I gingerly plant my bare feet in the grassy section alongside the compound.

Bordering the steep jungle ravine, beams from the security spotlights leave this fraction of space mostly untouched, likely because it’s unnecessary. If someone attempted to breach the premises from here, they’d have to climb up the steep ravine. There aren’t many that determined or willing to risk falling to do so. You’d have to have a death wish or be supremely stupid.

I suppose I’m a little of both, because I’m used to traversing the jungle with the barest of supplies and attire.

The cicadas accompany the usual evening sounds spilling out from the dark, dense jungle while I carefully replace the window screen before venturing toward the outer railing of the steep ravine.

At this higher elevation, the breeze dances around my legs bared by my cotton shorts, delivering a cooler reprieve from the usual heat and humidity. Allowing a brief moment for my eyes to fully adjust to the darkness, I brace my hands on the railing and stare into the pitch-black night.

This is it. This will be the actual test.

I swing one leg over the railing, then the other, planting my bare feet on the cool metal surface. Then I find my footing, one careful step down onto each large rock held in place by concrete.

One incorrect move means I fall roughly seventeen feet. If I don’t die on impact, I’ll become prey and die in other ways. The jungle will accept me as a sacrifice.

Focus. I clear my mind of nothing but the nighttime sounds and each descending movement I make.

It feels like it takes a century before I arrive at the bottom, but I know it’s nowhere near that long in reality.

Sinking my feet into the lush ground, I exhale a heavy breath and withdraw my small flashlight from the zippered pouch on my bag.

With a simple click, I now have a red beam of light illuminating my path ahead. Red light is better for seeing at night and enabling peripheral vision, and I need as many advantages as possible.

One more deep, fortifying breath later, I enter the thick of the jungle.

“You literally look like you just came outta the jungle, young lady.” Surveying me as I step inside his house, Esteban’s eyes crinkle at the edges.

“Sorry.” Glancing down at my bare legs and feet, which are now smudged with dirt and mud, I grimace. “I had to take the long route to get here.”

He grabs a large, clean rag from the stack near his pantry and holds it beneath the faucet, wetting it. His easy saunter over to me tells me his gout has subsided and the wound on his leg no longer bothers him.

When he hands me the damp cloth, I accept it with a thank-you and clean myself as best I can.

“You’re the only person I know who chooses to venture through the nighttime jungle.” He tsks fatherly-like, eyes sparkling with affectionate humor. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a little crazy, but I know you have a kinship with nature.”

A weak laugh falls from my lips. A little crazy? I surpassed that benchmark long ago. As far as having a kinship with nature, I don’t know if that’s entirely true.

The jungle’s darkness calls to me. It’s where all my lies and truths collide, leaving me in a unique solitude with creatures who mostly view me as a foe.

Once I drape the rag over the edge of his laundry basket, I return to find him waiting for me in his usual wooden chair. It’s one he handmade years ago.

He rolls up his pant leg for me to inspect his foot and the healing gash on his leg.

I bend my knees to get a closer look at his lower leg and foot. His big toe is no longer swollen, and when I gently prod and manipulate it, he doesn’t hiss in pain.

A patch of fresh pink skin decorates the top of his shin, and it’s a wonderful sign. There aren’t any indications of infection, either.

My eyes lift to meet his. “Everything looks great, Esteban. I’m pleased with how it’s healed.”

He winks at me. “All better, thanks to you, young lady.” His expression softens. “Don’t want to think what might’ve happened if we hadn’t crossed paths that day.”

Esteban may be in his early seventies, but he still works like a man in his twenties, using his machete to cut back the jungle overgrowth from interfering with village roads.

He injured himself while working and was limping home, his leg wrapped in a makeshift tourniquet, when we crossed paths. I’d been on my way to the store when I spotted him.

He didn’t have to let me help him. I was a stranger to him then. But he gave me a chance. For that, I will always be grateful.

Like me, he’s very much a loner, lives alone, and doesn’t let people get too close. I suppose kindred spirits tend to find one another wherever they go.

It’s my turn to wink at him. “Call it fate.” I straighten and slide my hands in my pockets. “Let me know if anything changes.”

He lowers his pant leg. “Of course.” When he hesitates, I bristle, knowing what he’s about to say next. “Rumor has it you’re not at home much these days.”

“It’s…complicated.” That’s all I can say without giving anything away and opening myself up to intrusive questions.

He chuckles. “I’d gathered that much.” Sobering, his features take on a thoughtful expression. “If I were to believe those rumors, that you were living with Santiago Hernández, I’d be concerned.”

A pause lingers as he surveys me with curiosity. “In fact, I’d be downright confused since you’ve shown to have a good head on your shoulders.”

I hate that I can’t just be open with him, but disclosing anything could put him at risk. It’s why I change the subject with a glance at the clock mounted on his wall. “I need to go.”

He doesn’t bother to hide his worry, but he nods. “Be careful on your way back.”

“I will.”

He rises from his chair and walks me to the back door I entered through. When I hover, hesitating at the threshold, he gives my shoulder a gentle pat. “I’ll be fine, young lady. I promise to let you know if anything changes.”

I nod with a small smile before descending the few steps of his small porch. When my feet sink into the grass, his voice carries over to me softly.

“Be careful.”

It doesn’t take long before I arrive at the far property line for my casita.

I put away my flashlight, because I don’t need it. I could traverse this area of the jungle with my eyes closed. My spine relaxes once I approach the large Ojoche tree, which serves as an unofficial demarcation of where the jungle begins a few meters away from the casita.

Carefully, I place my hands along the trunk on the southern side. When my fingertips encounter the slight indentation disguised by thick fern-like vines, I breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

Nothing’s been disrupted. It’s safe.

As soundlessly as I arrived, I descend back into the jungle, blending with the shadows.

I’m not looking forward to climbing back up that wall, but it’s the only way back in now. If I show up at the front, I’ll have to answer too many questions. Any knowledge Santiago could gain would be used as leverage against me.

Not only that, but I refuse to give away my newfound intel on how to escape and reenter.

I learned many devastatingly painful lessons from my past. But the one that stands out above all others is one I’ve achieved tonight.

Always have an emergency exit strategy.