Page 95 of When Lies Unfold

I emerge from the bathroom, rushing to pull on clothing and grab my bag when something catches my eye.

At the end of the bed, a large tray sits with a silver-covered dish.

Regarding it warily, much like I’d treat a venomous, coiled terciopelo?1, I edge hesitantly toward the tray.

My mind flashes back to when I was lucky enough to be granted a meal, fixed on a simple tray that couldn’t serve as a weapon for me to fight back.

With hesitance blanketing my movement, I reach for the lid and set it aside. Sitting on the plate is a slice of maracuya pie—the dessert I wasn’t able to partake in due to Andro’s shenanigans earlier tonight.

I sink the spoon into the pie and lift a small portion to my lips. A moan climbs up my throat when it hits my taste buds. With the perfect amount of creamy texture, it bursts with citrus flavor combined with the sweet, thin crust.

But it turns bittersweet, knowing what I need to do.

I lower the spoon to the tray as a plan forms in my mind. Furtively eyeing the camera mounted at the far edge of my room, I estimate how much time I’ll have. I cast a regretful look at my boots, knowing I’ll be better off without them: less noise and decreased odds of tracking me.

Gathering my bag, I grab my hair tie off the bedside table and enter my bathroom, closing the door behind me. My heart gallops wildly as I loop my bag’s strap across my chest and secure my hair low at my nape.

Nervous agitation courses through me, violently colliding with the potent grief rising to the surface. I drag in a deep breath in an attempt to quell it, but it’s no use. “I can do this,” I whisper. “I have to.”

I climb upon the vanity and carefully slide the narrow bathroom window open. As I inspect the opening, I ignore the ribbon of dread unfurling inside me.

“I have to.” My muted voice seems like it echoes within the confines of the bathroom.

I survey the small window; it’s clear that no one can slip through it—unless they’re petite and determined as hell. Undoubtedly, it’ll be a tight squeeze even for me, but I’ll make it.

I need to be careful since there isn't much area for me to land safely. This part of the house is on the very edge of the terrain reinforced by steel beams. With only a thin, narrow strip of grassy section, if I miss my footing, I’ll fall down the ravine.

I plant my feet atop the granite vanity. This is it. With a fortifying breath, I brace one hand against the stone shower wall and grip part of the windowsill with the other.

It takes all my upper body and abdominal strength to hold myself in place while I carefully feed my legs through the opening. Little by little, I ease more of my body outside and ignore the window’s track digging painfully into my skin.

With a slow exhale, I let gravity pull me the rest of the way down. My bare feet drop onto the narrow, mostly grassy section, but my left foot lands in the strip of gravel.

Sharp edges of the small rocks dig into the sole of my foot, and my mouth parts on a silent cry as my eyes water from the pain. Fuckfuckfuck!

It’s eerily quiet, aside from the echoes of the howler monkeys. I hope they’re not chattering about an upcoming storm that’s about to hit. The fact that no one’s rushed toward me with a loaded weapon means I’ve gone undetected.

So far, at least.

Forcing my pain to the wayside, I tiptoe around the narrow perimeter, avoiding the various mounted cameras’ angles. When I slip past a familiar set of windows, I slow even though I know I shouldn’t. Time is not on my side.

Even so, I trail my fingertips over Alma’s bedroom window as I’m bombarded by the sensation of a lasso drawing tight around my heart. The whispered words fall free before I realize it.

“I’ll miss you, sweet girl.”

The dark abyss of the jungle beckons me to hurry, and I know I’m already short on time. I sprint toward the wider, grassy section bordering the concrete rock wall.

I sure as hell don’t look forward to descending this damn thing again, but I have to. At least Mother Nature’s helping by giving me dry conditions, because there’s no telling how slippery it would be if it were raining.

My hands grip the metal railing as I prepare to descend the concrete wall. It’s eerily quiet out here while my heartbeat continues thundering in my ears.

I have one leg over the railing when all the tiny hairs on my arms stand on end. My body wars with whether to freeze or launch myself the rest of the way over.

It isn’t until something impossibly soft nudges at my hand and a low purr reaches my ears that my tense shoulders relax a fraction. My eyes focus on the black panther who’s now standing at my side.

It’s impossible, but I swear an amalgamation of sadness and confusion emanates from her. My whisper is barely audible. “Lo siento, amor, pero necesito ir.”

I’m sorry, love, but I need to go.

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