Chapter 2 - The Escape into the Storm
The narrow service staircase was pitch black, slippery with humidity, and cold. I carried Sophie in my arms, taking the concrete steps two at a time, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Behind us, heavy boots echoed down the shaft.
"Search the ground floor!" Hector’s voice boomed down the stairwell. "Do not let that woman leave the estate premises! If she speaks to anyone outside these walls, we are all finished!"
Sophie pressed her face into my shoulder. I could feel her small fingers signing against my back, rapid and precise in the dark.
Two men. Heavy steps. Coming down.
Even in total darkness, her sensitivity to the vibrations of the building gave us an advantage. She knew where the heavy footfalls were striking before I could even hear them over the roaring storm outside.
We reached the basement level near the laundry facilities. I slipped into the dark linen storage room, pulling the heavy steel door shut until it clicked softly. I collapsed against the wall, breathless, holding Sophie tight.
In the dim light of the emergency exit sign, Sophie looked into my eyes. She didn't cry. She didn't scream. She reached up, touched her pink hearing device, and turned it off completely to conserve its battery, then raised her hands to sign.
Old man in bed. Poison in pills. The liar man has a gun.
"Yes, baby," I signed back, my hands shaking uncontrollably. "The liar man wants to hurt us. We have to get out."
Sophie shook her head. She pointed up toward the ceiling.
Old man is dying. The rhythm in his chest... stopping.
I froze. As a housekeeper, I had spent three years fearing Leon Montenegro. He was a ruthless man whose name made local law enforcement look the other way. But in that bedroom, when he saw my daughter, he hadn't let Hector shoot us. He had thrown himself into the line of fire to give us a chance to run.
Suddenly, the steel door of the linen room shuddered. Someone was turning the handle from the outside.
I looked around frantically. Above the industrial washers was a high, narrow delivery chute used for dirty linens, leading directly out to the rear service court.
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"Up, Sophie! Quick!" I whispered, lifting her toward the metal opening.
She scrambled into the chute like a tiny shadow. I grabbed an iron laundry cart, wedged it under the door handle to buy us thirty seconds, and pulled myself up into the narrow chute behind her, crawling into the freezing Texas rain.
