Page 4 of Shadows of the Past
"I'll come back for her. Promise."
No way I won't return to help them. Even if it's stupid and I’m sure they would want me out of this house and as far away as possible from these men.
But first, I need the girls out of this house. Then I'll figure out what the hell to do.
"Please, Lupe," I plead, and finally, her tiny hand slips into mine.
Something crashes downstairs again, and I know it's time to get them the hell out of here. Who knows how long before these men realize we're upstairs.
It's about ten feet down, but the girls' room has a balcony. If I hang from it first, I could jump down and catch them after.
Okay. You can do this, Julia.
"I'll wait below and you'll jump into my arms, está claro?" I whisper, watching terror flash across their identical faces.
Honestly, I'm not sure if I can make the jump either, but right now, the alternative is too horrifying to consider.
"Lupe, you'll go first. Amalia, you'll follow. It'll be like a game," I force my lips into what must be the most unconvincing smile ever.
They don't respond, but I can't jump with them on my back. One wrong move and we'd all get hurt.
I swing my legs over the steel railing surrounding the balcony, my arm muscles burning as I lower myself down.
The moment my feet dangle into emptiness, my throat tightens. Looking down, I’d guess it's about six feet to the ground. Not deadly, but my joints won't thank me.
One. Two.Thud.
I swallow any sound as pain shoots through my ankles. But I made it. Shaking my hands out, I look up.
Lupe's already hanging from those same steel bars. Always the brave one.
In seconds, she lets go and lands in my arms, nearly knocking us both backward.
"You okay, coneja?" I ask, scanning her quickly. She seems fine.
She just nods.
When I look up, I spot Amalia frozen in the shadows, her wide eyes fixed on me.Dios mío, not now.
“Amalia,” I whisper, barely more than a breath, reaching for her and guiding her with gentle hands.
She hesitates, then slowly starts to maneuver herself behind the balcony railing. My heart twists. Lupe’s always been the athletic one; Amalia’s small and cautious, and I can only pray she doesn’t get hurt trying to climb down.
Time stretches painfully thin as she edges her way over the bars, inch by inch. Her tiny hands grip the cold steel, knuckles white.
“No puedo,” she whispers, her voice so soft and fragile it nearly shatters me.I can’t. Just two words, but the fear in them cuts straight through me.
I want to scream. I want to break down and sob. I’m asking my six-year-old sister to jump from a balcony—of course she’s terrified.
“Amalia,” I say, forcing my voice to stay calm and steady, “close your eyes and let go. I promise I’ll catch you. I’ll always catch you, nena.” I can’t let her hear the fear in me. She needs to believe I’m unbreakable, just for this moment.
"Amalia, hurry up." Lupe's voice cuts through the darkness, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Not exactly what you want to hear when you're about to drop from six feet.
A gunshot cracks through the night. Lupe lets out a small scream, and Amalia's hands slip from shock. She falls awkwardly, but I catch her, my ankle twisting underneath me. Perfect.
I'm okay. I'm okay.
I repeat this to myself because if I think about who that bullet was meant for, I'll lose what little composure I have left.
