He pulled further, bowing the old metal. He was so close, so close. It was coming free, the metal pulling away from the concrete and–
All at once the grate snapped free. It came with a loud metal reverberation, so sudden that Luis almost fell off the chair. One of the sharp metal edges of the grate sliced his fingers as he gripped it too tight.
He hissed, stepping off the chair, heart thundering. He shoved the grate in a nearby box and checked his hand.
Three fingers on his left hand were bleeding, but the pain hadn’t yet registered. He stumbled over to the box he knew had napkins and grabbed some to press to his fingers.
If anyone walked in right now, he’d be fucked.
The ticking clock drove him back to the window. It was pitch black beyond the glass. There was a small latch at the top of the window, rusted and unused, but he unlatched it.
And discovered it was a venting style window that opened in a V, not enough for anyone to crawl out of.
Luis wanted to scream.
Of all things, the throbbing pain of his fingers focused him. Okay. This was just another problem. A problem he just had to solve.
He took a deep breath, and turned his attention to the latching of the window.
It turned out to be an easy solution. The window was old, and with the cot blanket and a careful application of pressure, Luis was able to crack the hinge and free the window from the frame.
He pulled that in and put it too in a box before scrambling back up on the chair.
Cool air was pouring into the room now, and Luis shivered. He was sweaty, bleeding, and so exhausted his muscles were shaking, but there was no time to stop. His arms protested as he reached through the window frame to start pulling himself up. He was well past the limits of his normal endurance, but adrenaline pushed him on.
Luis scrambled up and through the window, the ledge abrading his skin as he did. His shoulder hit one edge hard as he pushed through, and he backburnered the pain.
Somewhere along the way he lost the napkins for his fingers, and ignored it. His bloody hand sank into the grass and dirt as he clawed his way through. No pain mattered as much as escaping.
Then the bulk of him was through the window. He scrambled to his feet.
The window was at the back of the church, but his eyes darted around the dark, looking for anyone who might be keeping watch.
But he was alone.
He took a breath, then another. He needed to run to the car, couldn’t stop now. Luis had to put as much distance between himself and here before they realized what had happened.
Luis crept around the side of the building. It was quiet, and that unnerved him. When he got to the edge of the parking lot, he spotted his car just where he’d left it. There were still a few other cars in the lot, but not his mother’s. People were still here keeping guard, but less than before.
Luis eyed the distance. The stretch between the building and parking lot was well lit, and if anyone were looking, they’d see him.
He didn’t have a choice. He could take off on foot, but then what? He had no phone, no money. He couldn’t even walk home because his mother knew where he lived. He needed a car. Needed to be able to drive to Julien and Karim’s. It was the only place he might be safe. He couldn’t make it to Cassie on what was left in his tank.
He could do this.
Luis ran for the car.
Seconds stretched into what felt like minutes as he sprinted over to his car and slipped his hand up under where he knew his spare key to be. He grabbed the key, then threw himself into the driver’s seat, hardly breathing.
He got the key in the ignition and tore out of the parking lot.
Luis sped down the street, then took a sharp right, then left. There was no rhyme or reason to it at first, other than to make sure no one was following him.
He drove and drove, glancing every few seconds in the mirror to check. He made random turns, always heading away from the church and vaguely in the direction of Julien and Karim’s place. The clock on the dashboard said it was almost two in the morning.
When he was certain no one was behind him, Luis pulled into a nearby neighborhood to stop the car and give himself a moment. He was sick and shaky; the blood and dirt still caked on his hands. In the mirror he looked wild, like a different person.
Had that all really just happened?
