One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 13, page 7

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Fírí Parızada had to get out of that chapel. Her unconscious ex-boyfriend remained motionless on the altar, and yet he loomed over her--mocking her, insulting her, threatening her.

The house was silent again. No police in the hall. The crazy old hag had gotten rid of them--just by yelling at them, apparently. Fírí hadn’t ventured far enough out in the hall to watch. But she’d seen plenty enough other doors in the hallway, so surely there’d be a place for her to hide, where neither the police nor Zhíno would find her easily.

Carrying her duffel of shoes and cash, Fírí slowly opened the secret door. The shelves full with towels and sheets swung quietly into the chapel. One last glance toward Zhíno encircled with flaming torches, and Fírí put her ear to the thin wood door that would swing into the hallway.

Except the echo of Vasataté’s ocean in her ear, Fírí heard nothing. She took and released a deep breath, then turned the knob.

She pushed open the door enough to peer out. Someone was there, coming toward her. Fírí froze. Close the door? Hold it still? And then she realized it was Vata.

Fírí sighed, relaxing. A shiver ran down her neck and arms. Who knew the old woman can walk so quietly? Fírí swung open the door and stepped into the hall, whispering, “You nearly scared me to death.”

Vata didn’t stop her hurried shuffle. She glanced down at Fírí’s feet, her face like she sucked a lemon. Glaring at Fírí, the old woman whispered harshly, “Get out of the way. I need to get the horse.”

Horse? What does she need it for?

Two meters away, Vata swiped her hand at Fírí. “Move!”

Fírí stepped aside. Wait. Is she going to sacrifice the horse?

As Vata passed the blonde, Fírí held out her hand in a feeble attempt to stop her. She couldn’t let the horse die, and yet she had to hide. Especially with Vata in the chapel, where she might wake Zhíno at any moment, Fírí had to hide.

Vata shrugged off Fírí’s hand and entered the doorway.

Sorry, horse, Fírí thought. I hope she doesn’t kill you.

Fírí took a couple steps away from the chapel toward an open door on the other side of the hall. The lights were on. She peered in and saw a musty bedroom with boxes piled in the corners and the sheets and blankets on the bed disturbed. Had the foreign kid been sleeping here? Where’d he go?

It didn’t matter. He wasn’t there now.

A yawn escaped her maw. That bed looked awfully inviting. What time was it, anyway? One, two o’clock in the morning?

Fírí stepped inside and closed the door behind her. After cramming her duffel bag behind a pair of ancient suitcases in the overflowing closet, she flipped off the lights and headed for the bed.

But no. What if Bhanar came back? What if anybody entered? She couldn’t just be sleeping out in the open.

As the police helicopter thudded in the distance, Fírí felt her way across the dark room. A miniscule amount of light crept under the door, illuminating shadows in the blackness. She circled the bed and knelt down. A half-meter separated the bed from the wall opposite the door--just enough for Fírí to lie down, hidden.

She stretched out on the dusty carpet, lying on her side. Her eyes already closed, her hand snuck into her sweatshirt pocket and removed the can of pepper spray. She clutched it with both hands in front of her chest and began waiting for sleep, Zhíno, or the police to come. Only one would she welcome, and yet it was the least likely.

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