Page 35 of The Night We Became Strangers

Valeria

A t midnight, Matías kicked the closet door open.

Just as we feared, the price for our freedom was a ruckus that would most likely give away our hiding spot.

I shivered just thinking about Toledo’s bodyguards catching us and having us arrested for trespassing.

I didn’t even want to think about what Tío Bolívar would say about having a convicted niece, not to mention the trouble poor Graciela would get into for helping me.

Matías and I ran as fast as our legs allowed through the empty halls toward the elevator. At one point, he had to come back for me and hold my hand so I would move faster. Men’s voices and fast steps followed us somewhere on the fifth floor.

They had heard us! I pressed the elevator button repeatedly while Matías explored the foyer. He pushed a door open. “Here! Come on!”

The stairs!

I darted behind him at the same time I saw the bodyguard who had stolen my camera.

“Hey!” he shouted.

Matías and I ran down the stairs, nearly tripping.

I followed him, holding on to the banister for balance.

Fortunately, he was carrying my new camera, because we both established early on that he had a better chance at escaping security, and we needed those pictures.

I shrieked when I heard the bodyguard at the top of the stairs, following close behind.

“Stop!” he said.

“Come on, Vale, you can do this!” Matías said nearly a floor ahead of me.

He had reverted to the nickname he had used for me when we were kids, and I was about to lose a game.

Earlier, I had told him not to wait for me.

The photographs and the camera were too precious.

At first, he’d been adamant. He wouldn’t let me take the fall.

But I had eventually convinced him. What would be the point of both of us getting arrested?

Someone had to save the photos. We had to make this little adventure worth it.

Somehow I didn’t feel so confident anymore. In fact, I was terrified at what these men would do to me. I didn’t want to get arrested and spend the night in jail! Mati and I had agreed that if we got separated, he would meet me outside Teatro Bolívar, which was half a block away.

It was looking more and more like we were going to get separated.

As the men were getting closer to me, I took a desperate measure: I reentered one of the floors, which according to the sign, was the third.

I darted toward the elevator and pressed the button, glancing over my shoulder every other second.

I was aware of the extreme risk I was taking, but I figured that they were going to catch me, anyway.

This way, I still had a chance to divert them as they were probably still hearing Matías’s steps.

The elevator opened, and thanks to the Virgin and all the saints, it was empty.

I got inside and pressed the button to the basement, where I had hidden earlier.

When the elevator doors opened, the floor was completely dark.

Of course, all the employees had gone home to bed already.

I hesitantly stepped out. If I remembered correctly, there was an employee exit at the end of the hall, but to which side of the elevator was it?

Maybe I should go to the first floor—there was a casino there, and maybe I could mingle with the crowd.

But what if the men were waiting for the elevator there?

What if the casino had closed already? Too risky.

At least here, the darkness would help me hide.

But I hated darkness.

As a kid, I begged my mom to let me keep my lamp on all night, or, at the very least, a candle.

But she had said I wouldn’t be able to sleep with such a bright light, and a lit candle could start a fire.

How ironic, considering the manner in which she had died.

In the end, she’d let me bring her teal Telefunken radio to my nightstand and the light behind the dial panel and the music would ease my nightly fears.

At the boarding school, I had been forced to sleep in the dark from the first night, but at least there had been other girls in the room with me, and knowing I wasn’t alone had calmed my nerves.

Well, there was no time for fears today. I had to make a decision.

I chose the darkness.

I stepped outside, and within a few seconds the elevator doors closed, leaving my surroundings pitch black.

With my arms extended, I felt the wall to my side and chose one direction, hoping it was the right one.

I shuffled forward, one hand on the wall, the other one ahead for protection.

After a while, my eyes seemed to adjust to the penumbra and things didn’t seem as scary.

Minutes seemed like hours. I kept calling Matías in my mind to come save me, but if he hadn’t been caught, he’d be at Teatro Bolívar by now.

What if he got tired of waiting for me and went home?

I shivered at the thought of walking home by myself in the middle of the night.

How would I get into the house? Graciela and I hadn’t planned for that, since the thought that I would return after midnight didn’t even cross our minds.

When the tips of my fingers felt a vertical, metal surface, I stopped. Slowly, I touched it with both hands. A door! Please let it be unlocked!

I found the knob and turned it.

Thank goodness.

The darkness outside was tinted with a bluish hue, much lighter than the basement. I’d never been happier to see the full moon in the sky. As I crossed the street toward the theater, the silhouette of a man standing by a light post came into view. I slowed my pace, bracing myself.

He turned toward me, and I made out his facial features, letting out a deep sigh of relief. It wasn’t one of Toledo’s men. Matías was leaning against the rose-colored ticket booth at the entrance of Teatro Bolívar. Behind him was the ample vestibule with mosaic tile flooring.

“There you are!” He dumped a cigarette butt on the ground and stepped on it.

Mati smoked?

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, since most men did.

“What took you so long?” he said. “I was getting worried. I’ve been waiting for ten minutes.”

My camera was hanging from his neck. In my excitement at seeing both him and the camera intact, I hugged him. He stiffened from my touch.

“Sorry,” I said, as he didn’t reciprocate the hug. I took a step back. Hopefully, the dimness of the night would hide my embarrassment.

“I’ll walk you home,” he said. And so, we did—each briefly catching up with our side of the story and how we had escaped security.

“I still think you should report them to the police to get your old camera back.”

I nodded. “I’ll show you the photos as soon as I have them.”

Something had changed in Matías. Locked in the closet for three hours, he’d been less guarded, and he’d been happy to share all the details from the infamous night when Martians supposedly invaded our city.

The streets were wet from the evening rain and the lights from the buildings cast elongated shadows on the puddles we were avoiding.

“What’s wrong?” I said, as he’d grown silent.

“I don’t like walking around here at night. It brings back memories,” he said.

We were approaching Plaza Grande, which was not far from the old Crónicas building, now housing the restored Radio La Voz and some private offices on the first two floors. I reached out for his hand, and he grasped mine. If anybody understood what he felt, it was me.

We walked in fragile silence the rest of the way and stopped in front of my uncle’s house. All the lights were off, which gave me some relief. I tried the doorknob, but it was locked.

“Graciela must have fallen asleep,” I said, glancing at her window in the second story. I picked up a small stone by my feet and threw it against the window, with such bad aim it hit the wall instead of the glass.

“Allow me,” Matías said, grabbing a stone of his own.

“Just don’t break the window,” I said.

The glass made a cracking noise.

“Oh, shit,” he said.

Lights went on almost immediately.

“Go before my uncle sees you.”

Adjusting his hat as he looked up, he said, “I think it’s too late for that.”

I followed his gaze to the window next to Graciela’s—correction, the window Matías’s stone had hit, which happened to be the wrong one.

My uncle was glaring at us through the window, his room brightly illuminated.

In less than five minutes, he was downstairs at the other side of the door, his expression graver than I’d ever seen it.

“What the hell is going on here?” he shouted, then turning to me, “Do you know what time it is?”

“It’s all my fault, sir,” Matías said. “I wanted to have a word with your niece, and she came down to talk to me. Unfortunately, the door got locked and we were trying to wake Graciela.”

“Why are you dressed like that?”

Oh, yes, the maid uniform. Small detail.

“Would you believe me if I said I got a job at a hotel?”

Matías pressed his lips together, trying to stifle a laugh.

My uncle crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Get inside!” he said. “And you, Mr. Montero, I don’t want to see you here ever again.”