Page 1 of When Lies Unfold

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LOLA ARIAS

Bajo Chontales, Costa Rica

Friday

Thump.

The unexpected sound breaking through my music has me going stock-still as I pass the laundry room.

With all the lights off, powerful beams of the full moon stream through the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows. What had felt ethereal as I did my last walk-through now gives way to an ominous sensation.

No one should be here. The renters aren’t due to arrive until tomorrow morning.

Karol G’s “Cairo” still pumps through my earbuds, but I remove them to listen carefully, only to be greeted with silence.

Maybe it was just the background music of that song?

Normally, I partner with Sabrina for cleaning assignments, but she’s sick with a terrible cold. While I don’t mind cleaning solo, this place is an enormous luxury estate that’s taken far longer than usual to finish by myself.

Nestled amidst part of the jungle and away from prying eyes, this place overlooks the Pacific Ocean. The rear part of the home is on steel pilings built into the side of the steep landscape while sleek railings border the space.

High-end furnishings and appliances inside pair with the expansive outdoor area. In addition, an infinity pool suspended over the steep ravine makes this a prime example of luxury and opulence for wealthy vacationers.

Just as I’m about to replace my earbuds, another thump sounds, and I realize it’s the sound of the front door closing.

Unfamiliar male voices carry throughout the otherwise empty house. They’re definitely not the gringos?1 arriving at the rental earlier than planned. Not with the fluent way they speak Costa Rican Spanish.

All the tiny hairs along my arms and the back of my neck stand on end as an invisible fog of potent threat fills the house. It’s what has me ducking inside the nearest bedroom and frantically silencing my phone before stuffing it back in my jeans pocket.

“Why’d you tell me to meet you here?” The man sounds calm and easygoing, but an underlying wariness is threaded through his voice. “You decide to get your own place?” He lets out a curt laugh. “Finally movin’ outta your uncle’s house?”

“Fuck you.” The second man’s voice sounds younger, a piercing vehemence in his tone. “I told you to come here ’cause we gotta get somethin’ straight.”

“The fuck are you doin’? Get that goddamn gun outta my face.”

“You’re spreadin’ lies about me. Tellin’ people I ain’t got what it takes to be in charge.”

A beat passes before the first man responds, his tone arctic. “I already told you the truth. I’m not talkin’ to anybody. If people are sayin’ you don’t got what it takes, maybe you should do somethin’ about it.” He lets out a grunt of disgust. “Now, get that outta my face before I shove it down your throat.”

Arrogance drenches the younger man’s voice. “You’re a fuckin’ liar! What’d you think? You’d rat me out and take my place?” He lets out a derisive sound. “You forget that I’m smart and powerful.”

“Fuck off, Andro.” Voice saturated with disgust, the man sounds like he spits at the younger man. “Now, get that damn gun outta my face— Sonofabitch!”

Sounds of a scuffle ensue, growing louder as if they’ve ventured closer to the hallway. Chair legs screech across the tile floor while their grunts indicate the extent of their struggle.

When a deafening boom reverberates through the air, immediately followed by a pained groan, all oxygen leaches from my lungs.

A dark rumble of laughter sounds before the younger man speaks. “Like you a hell of a lot better this way.”

An invisible tether pulls at me, urging me to cautiously peek out the doorway and down the hallway that leads to the main living area.

My feet lock in place at the sight that greets me. Fear knots my muscles while my heart thuds wildly.

Clad in dark jeans and a gray button-down shirt, one man stands with his back to me, his gun aimed at the other man, who’s now sprawled on the floor.

1 People who are not Hispanic or Latino

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