The Most Beautiful Girl in Cuba - Chanel Cleeton Page 0,63
breathing and soft snoring.
I push back the blanket and rise from the cot, careful to keep my movements quiet, wincing as the bed creaks beneath me. I dress quickly in a dark gown that blends into the night, and move toward the window, waiting for my rescuers to arrive.
The second-story window, invisible from the street, looks out over a flat roof that covers the lower rooms of the building.
The moon seems nearly as bright as the midday sun. A large gas-lighted lamp illuminates the street below.
A sound startles me, and I whirl around, half expecting to see my jailers enter the room, to learn that this was all a ruse to further entrap me, punishment for the Americans’ attention and the notoriety I have attracted.
Instead, I am greeted by the sight of one of my fellow prisoners, Rosa, turning over in her cot. Her breaths have changed, prolonged as though she is about to speak, but she doesn’t.
I turn back to the window, my heart pounding as I wait.
Every few minutes, Rosa tosses and turns in her cot again, and I wonder if she is dreaming about the baby she sometimes pretends she is holding in her arms, if she is as haunted in her dreams as I am.
Each time she moves, a chill slides down my spine.
Suddenly, Rosa sits up and stares straight at me, and my heart nearly stops.
She opens her mouth to speak, the words tumbling out nearly indecipherable.
I walk toward her to ask her to be quiet, but before I can reach her, she lies back down, silent once more.
I turn back to the window, the urge to scream rising within me, panic bearing down on me. It’s been at least two hours now, and I’ve yet to see a sign of my rescuers. I pray to God, count numbers in my mind, anything and everything I can do to distract myself from this situation I have found myself in, from the fear of being caught. And then I see it—rising over the roof of the house next to the prison.
The shadow of a man.
I blink to assure myself that I am not dreaming, but when I open my eyes once more, he is still there, walking toward me along the roof.
Karl Decker.
We only met once, but he introduced himself before the guards cut off contact between me and my friends.
Karl crosses the distance between us quickly and puts his hand through the bars, taking mine. In a sliver of moonlight, I spy a bearded man behind him, and another man behind them.
I can’t contain the little cry that escapes my lips at the sight of them.
“Don’t be afraid. We’ll have you out of here soon,” Karl whispers, squeezing my hand in his.
I want to speak, to thank him for coming for me, but there are no words, so I release him and watch as he pulls out a saw and sets upon the bars, his friends joining him.
It’s louder than I imagined it would be when I first devised the plan, the sound of metal clashing enough to wake the dead. The acid I suggested would have been much faster and more efficient. I don’t know why they didn’t bring it, but without it, the saw’s work is unbearably slow even with both of them working as hard as possible.
For an hour, loud noises fill the room as the two men attack the bars. If they continue like this much longer, there’s no doubt someone will wake up. It’s a miracle no one has heard them so far.
I pivot from the window and walk over to my cot, grabbing a sheet and wrapping it around my body to cover myself so that if any of the other women do wake, they won’t wonder why I am dressed in my daytime clothes rather than my nightgown.
As I am about to return to the window to check my rescuers’ progress, a cough sounds behind me.
I whirl around just as Rosa rises from her bed, alert once more.
“My head hurts,” she complains.
This is it. I open my mouth to speak to her, but no sound escapes. If she spots the men behind me, if she yells for the guards—
But even as I anticipate her cry of alarm, I am greeted by silence.
Blessedly, the sawing has stopped behind me, the dormitory quiet. I yearn to look and see if my rescuers are still at the window waiting for me, but I can’t take my gaze off Rosa.