Elizabeth White - Sounds Of Silence

Mercedes gasped when Lupe reached down and yanked her to her feet. She could tell Lupe was upset, moving her red lips in patterns too sloppy to follow, without trying to sign with her hands. Repeating herself, she shook Mercedes so hard her head snapped back.

No! Mercedes signed, jerking out of Lupe’s hands. That hurts.

Lupe’s kittenish face crumpled, tears streaking her makeup and leaving black mascara tracks under her eyes.

Get out, Lupe signed. Danger.

Mercedes shook her head. I don’t want to—

Lupe suddenly shoved Mercedes to the floor and glanced at the doorway. The beads swung as something bumped against them. Lupe’s face wrinkled in panic, and her lips moved—“Run!”

She turned to peer through the curtain.

Mercedes was pretty scared, but curiosity won over fear. Better to keep an eye on things than to run away like one of the chickens behind Hector’s bar. She crept toward Lupe on her hands and knees, feeling odd, thumping vibrations through the tile floor.

Kneeling beside her sister, Mercedes blinked against the sudden light of the neon signs above the bar. As her eyes adjusted, she scanned the scene. In the center of the room, surrounded by empty tables—it must be close to daybreak if there were no customers—two men were fighting. One was Pablo, dressed in tight black trousers and a black silk shirt. A sneer curved one side of his handsome mouth. He had both fists knotted at the throat of a tall, skinny Americano man whom Mercedes had seen a couple of times. She didn’t know the white man’s name, but figured he was rich. He gave Lupe money for soft drinks and cigarettes, and he’d bought her the black leather skirt.

Mercedes sucked in a gasp. The gringo was about to stick a pearl-handled switchblade into Pablo’s gut.

Then the fight quickly ended when Pablo reached down and yanked the knife from the other man. Twisting it, he thrust upward. The gringo sagged as Pablo stepped away.

Lupe grabbed Mercedes, who watched in horror as Pablo calmly wiped the knife clean and folded it shut. But as he stooped to lift the victim’s body under the arms, the knife slipped out of his hand and fell to the floor. Cursing, Pablo dragged the body outside, leaving the door open.

Shuddering as if she might fall apart, Lupe pulled Mercedes to her feet. Run! Danger! Lupe signed. Through the hole. I’ll be right there. She tried to shove Mercedes toward the back wall of the tiny room.

Mercedes started to obey, but when Lupe darted into the empty barroom, she followed. She watched through the beads as her sister snatched up the knife with the tail of her blouse. Nearly mowing Mercedes down on the way back, Lupe grabbed her by the arm and shook her roughly. Go through the hole! she signed. Hurry!

Frightened by the knife still clutched in Lupe’s other hand, Mercedes started to cry. Come with me, she signed. I’m scared.

Lupe calmed a bit, and Mercedes could see she was thinking hard. Getting down on her hands and knees, Lupe reached under the cot and found a plastic grocery sack. She dropped the knife in it and knotted the handles. I’m right behind you, she signed. Go!

Mercedes nodded. Maybe it would be all right.

Taking a deep breath, she scrambled under the bench against the wall, which was made out of a splintery two-by-four and a couple of cinder blocks. Behind the bench was a loose flap in the tar paper wall, which she used in the middle of the night when she needed to visit the outhouse.

She was about to go through the flap, when she felt heavy thumping footsteps against the floor. Pablo. He was coming. Peeking from under the bench, she saw his expensive shoes and Lupe’s red sandals. They were grappling hard, almost like a crazy kind of dance.

Mercedes’s heart jumped when the bag holding the knife fell to the floor right in front of her face. Without stopping to think she grabbed it and pulled it toward her. Obviously Lupe didn’t want Pablo to have it.

She should leave now. But what about Lupe? Was there anything she could do to help her sister? Flattening herself against the floor, she looked up and saw Lupe’s trembling knees, the flashing jewels in her ears. And Pablo’s evil face, contorted in rage. He had Lupe by the neck, choking her.

A wrenching silent scream tore her throat muscles.

Pablo flung Lupe to the floor just as Mercedes dove for the opening in the wall. She wriggled through head first, and had made it out to the waist before she felt Pablo toss the board aside.

She crawled madly, gashed her knee on a loose nail, and the pain stopped her.

Mistake. Pablo grabbed her heel.

She jerked her foot out of his fingers, pulling off her shoe, and shoved her hands hard against the wall. She burst into the open night air, tumbled down the rocky hill, and sat up when she reached the bottom.

Bruised and panting, she scrambled to her feet clutching the bag with the knife in it. Pablo would come after her, but it was a moonless night, and she knew the alleys of the colony better than he did. She had hidden herself many times when necessary.

She knew a place to hide that he’d never think of.

Mercedes took off running toward the hill where the Americans had built that big tin building last summer. She dodged from building to building, zigzagging so that Pablo couldn’t follow her.

Looking up, she saw the cross on the church at the top of the hill. Funny that it glowed so brightly, as if it were lit from within. No other light anywhere. The shape of the cross eased her fear.

She’d be safe when she got there.

Eli Carmichael was doing the Chicken Dance in a Mexican orphanage when God got his attention.

Encircled by children, he spun around with little Dulce Garcia clinging to his back. Despite two noisy floor fans, sweat was dripping off his nose and his T-shirt stuck to his chest. It was about 10:00 a.m. on this Cinco de Mayo morning, and impressive drafts of sunshine poured through the open windows onto the concrete floor. Had to be around a hundred and twelve degrees in here.

Even courting heat exhaustion, Eli knew what he’d seen: a mop of long black hair and two big dark eyes peeking around the doorway of the half wall between the dining hall and the chapel. As an experienced Border Patrol agent, he was used to noticing details. Furtive movements. Odd sounds and smells.

Eli blinked when he came around again. The little girl had disappeared.

The children dissolved in giggles as Dulce pointed over Eli’s shoulder at his younger brother Owen, who was in the kitchen flirting with the pretty young housemother, Bernadette Malone, better known as Benny.

“O-wen! O-wen! O-wen!” the children chanted, clapping and stomping in unison. Eli grinned, set Dulce down and headed toward the kitchen.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” But Owen good-naturedly allowed himself to be dragged into the game. As the children held hands and skipped, Eli watched his brother execute a barely recognizable Macarena.

“Who’s that little girl hiding back in the chapel?” Reaching around Benny, who was drying dishes in front of the sink, he snagged a bottle of water out of the refrigerator.

“What little girl?”

“About this high.” Eli measured at his waist. “Long black hair and big brown eyes.”

Benny gave him an amused look. “You just described every girl in the room.”

“I didn’t get a good look at her. She ducked when she caught me looking at her.”

Benny turned to count the children. “Ten,” she finished aloud. “They’re all right there, Eli.”

“I guess I was mistaken.” But he knew he wasn’t. Something fearful in those eyes made him ease back into the dining hall.

Skirting his brother and the circle of children, Eli slipped down the side of the Quonsetlike building. He ducked below the chest-high partition, beyond which rows of old-fashioned wooden theater seats faced a homemade lectern.