Liam
ushered the three business men across the airstrip. The flight over Puyehue
National Park and the steaming volcano, had, as always, been beautiful, but
also uneventful. Were they disappointed? They’d chattered in an unfamiliar
dialect, allowing Liam only flashes of comprehension. Now, he felt a flutter of
impatience for the flock of them to be gone.
“You
will deposit us at the hotel, yes?” Juan, the guide, confirmed.
“No
problem.” Liam pulled the keys of his jeep out of his pocket. Shuttling
sightseeing businessmen to and from hotels wasn’t typically in his job
description, but since Juan’s car’s battery had died—Liam had agreed to drive
the men into the city center.
Juan
sputtered instructions in Spanish before shepherding his charges into the Jeep.
The air above the park had been blissfully clear, allowing them sweeping vistas
of the rugged mountainside, lush meadows filled with herds of alpacas and
llamas, and, of course, the steaming volcano pit, but here back on Osorno’s
flatland, coastal clouds blew in a fine mist that coated the Jeep’s windshield.
“It’ll
be kind of wet,” Liam told Juan. “If I’d have known I’d have company, I’d have
put on the roof.”
“How
could you have known?” Juan asked. “This is all my fault. It’s very generous of
you to drive us to the hotel.”
Pesos
rather than generosity had prompted Liam’s decision, but since he didn’t
consider himself a mercenary, he didn’t need to admit this.
With
the solemn-looking business men buckled into the backseat and Juan strapped in
up front beside him, Liam started the engine. The six-mile drive from the
airport to the city center and hotel promised to be uneventful—and short. Liam
had seen something he hadn’t noticed before and he couldn’t wait to consult his
maps. With his head already on tomorrow’s hike, he drove on autopilot.
“Do
you know these men?” Juan had to yell to be heard over the wind rushing through
the open roof.
Liam
glanced across Juan at the beat-up truck pulling along beside them. Carlos Hector. One of Victor Mont’s more
reckless henchmen. Carlos grinned and leveled a gun at Liam.
A
gun? Really? He couldn’t be serious.
But
both the gun and the glint in Carlos’s eyes looked very serious indeed.
Liam
pressed the gas pedal to the floor. “We’ll lose him in a minute.” Liam made a
promise he wasn’t sure he could keep, but could potentially die trying. The
wind whipped his words over his shoulder.
Beside
him, Juan clutched the edge of his seat with both hands. The three men in the
back who hadn’t broken a smile over the course of the whole trip, seemed
pleasantly surprised by the sudden acceleration.
The
jeep shot over the road, but Carlos’ truck managed to rumble up beside him.
“What
does he want?” Juan yelled through tight lips.
“He
thinks I have something belonging to him. He’s mistaken.” Liam gunned the
engine.
Carlos
swerved to sideswipe them, but Liam managed to out-maneuver the Chevy.
“Could
you just talk to him and explain the situation?” Juan asked.
“You
don’t talk to people like Carlos. He doesn’t speak our language.”
“What
language does he speak? I know five.”
“A
language of violence.”
“Aw.
That’s one language I’m poorly trained in,” Juan said. “Get off the road. I
know another way.”
Liam
shot him a glance.
Juan
pointed at a path to the left veering into the woods.
Indecision
and fear burbled in Liam’s gut. The path had been made for carts, not vehicles.
“Are you sure?”
Juan
did not look sure, but he nodded anyway.
Liam
gripped the steering wheel and peeled off the highway. Mud splattered over the
windshield when they bounced onto the dirt path. The Jeep moaned as Liam
navigated a steep and winding hill into a forest. They plowed through a small
creek. Moments later, they came to a fork and merged onto a path that looked wide
enough for an emaciated cow. After climbing steep slope, Liam caught up to man
on a bike pulling a cart. Liam braked, and the Jeep skittered through the mud.
A quick glance in the rear-view mirror told him he’d lost Carlos. His
previously stoic businessmen were now smiling and jabbering.
Suddenly,
the cart in front of them unhitched from the bike, and pitched and careened into
a patch of tall grass.
Liam
tightened his jaw. “Not my problem,” he whispered to himself and swerved around
the truck after it pulled to a stop in the grass. But when the cart slammed
into a side rail and several cages bounced to the ground and a deluge of
chickens spilled onto the road, Liam had a problem. Several problems.
“Pollos!”
Juan held onto the edge of his seat and braced his feet on the dashboard.
A
barefoot, bearded man wearing a pair of overalls and a sombrero disentangled
himself from his crumpled bike.
“He
looks like he needs help,” Liam said.
“But
not our help.” Juan flexed his fingers around the edge of his seat.
Chickens
fluttered across the road. A black and red hen with a rooster comb squawked. Carlos’s
white Chevy truck came tearing down the hill. Liam came to a no-going-back
decision and made a sudden sharp turn, not braking but accelerating, veering
off the road, away from the fluttering chickens.
“Do
you know where you’re going?” Juan squeaked.
“I
thought you did.” Liam white-knuckled the wheel as he steered down a path he
hoped would lead back onto a road. Nope. Now they were in the thick of the jungle,
chasing chittering squirrels, and dodging a trio of squalling cats.
A wooden lean-to with a corrugated tin roof
seemed to be growing out of the weeds. A bewildered woman and her indeterminate
breed dog stepped onto the back porch.
Liam
rolled down his window and waved. “Lo siento, señora!”
The
woman chased after them, shaking a rolling pin in her hand. Carlos, who had
been following close behind, nearly barreled into her.
“Someone’s
going to get hurt,” Liam muttered.
The
Jeep bucked back onto the road. Unfortunately, a few chickens had gotten ahead
of them. Liam veered around a white and tan hen and skirted past a black one.
As
they approached the next intersection, Liam worked the brakes, but nothing
happened. “Oh no,” he muttered.
“What’s
wrong now?” Juan asked.
“My
brakes! They’re out!” Liam pumped the pedal, but the Jeep didn’t slow.
“Downshift.”
It was more of a command than a suggestion.
It
didn’t help. The Jeep hurtled down the path like a steely in a pinball machine.
Liam, with his foot and the brake pedal glued to the floor, pulled to the side
and skittered along a rock wall. Metal and against stone screamed.
“I’m
sorry, old friend,” Liam murmured.
The
Jeep, as if rejecting his apology, bounced into the air and crashed down again.
Behind him, the three business men chortled with glee. Something crunched
beneath the Jeep’s tires.
“What
was that?” Juan squawked.
Please
don’t let it be a live creature, Liam prayed.
Juan
craned his neck to look out the back window. “I think it was a tomato cage.
It’s smashed now.”
Liam
peered ahead; fairly certain the highway was just through a stand of pines.
Should he try to stay on the road where he’d possibly hit another car or take a
shortcut through the swamp on his left?
“January
is the height of the summer season,” Liam muttered through gritted teeth. “I
bet it’s drier than it looks.”
“What
did you say?” Juan asked.
“Never
mind. Just hold on!” Liam called to the passengers in the back.
A
stand of cattails filled the swamp, and Liam crashed into them. The plants
crumpled beneath the car, letting off a plume of brown fuzz. He turned on the
windshield wipers but they hurt more than they helped and left a mucky smudge.
The swamp’s stench surrounded them. The Jeep sputtered in the swamp, spewing
like a fountain as it trampled tall grass and lily pads.
The
Jeep slowed to a manageable speed, and the tension in Liam’s spine eased when
they rolled back onto the road. In the distance, the hotel gates loomed.
Liam
coasted to a stop in front of the curb.
“You
lost him,” Juan said with a touch of wonder.
“Momentarily.”
Liam glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see Carlos’s white Chevy truck
barreling out of the trees any moment.
The
business men climbed from the car, bowing, grinning, and chattering. The hotel
valets came trotting over to inspect the mud splattered Jeep.
“What
will you do now?” Juan asked.
“Disappear.”
Liam thought about what he’d seen at the crest of Andes. The Lost City of
Caesar. Could he have really found it this time? And if so, how could he
keep Victor and his henchmen from following him?
#
In
the foggy lapse lying between sleep and wakefulness, DeeDee became aware of a
number of things that didn’t belong. Instead of the January’s snowy blanket of
silence, songbirds twittered above her. A warm breeze carried the scent of wild
citrus blossoms. Crickets chirped. DeeDee’s eyes flew open, and she gazed at an
eggshell blue sky. Palm fronds. Monkeys chittering in the trees. As far as she
knew, the only monkeys in Connecticut were in the Beardsley Zoo.
What
happened to her bedroom?
DeeDee
let her head fall back onto the dirt, a small plume of dust and pollen rose
like a cloud and filled her breath. What was happening? Where was she? She’s gone
to sleep in her childhood home. Mom and Hans slept two doors down. Claiming to
be husband and wife. After a separation, and hiatus of nearly 60 years.
As
if that wasn’t nightmare enough, now DeeDee was lost in her own personal jungle.
That’s
what this was. Her thoughts skittered back to the tea Mom had prepared for her
and Celia had delivered. Immediately, DeeDee knew what had happened. Mom had concocted
a brew from the Witching Well—all because DeeDee refused to believe Hans, the vagrant
off the street pretending to be Mom’s lost love, DeeDee’s father and her
children’s grandfather.
Overcome
with anger, frustration, and a touch of fear, Celia pressed her eyes closed.
She could get through this. She had battled cancer and won. She could get
through a delusional episode. As far as she knew, no one had ever actually died
or overdosed from drinking from the Witching Well.
She would not wake until the episode had
passed. She would not be sucked in to Mom’s hoo-ha. She wouldn’t be deceived
the way her mother or Celia had been. She would be sensible, for once in her
life, and she would wake up on the other end of this illusion wiser, smarter,
sturdier, and stronger just like she’d weathered chemotherapy. If there was one
thing she had learned it was that she was a warrior. And she would get through
this.
Honk!
Honk!
DeeDee’s
eyes flew open again and this time she saw a jeep barreling towards her in one
direction and what appeared to be some sort of bus coming from another. She
propped up onto her elbows and realized she was lying in the middle of a dirt
road. Dust blew around her and the jeep swung off into the weeds. The bus skittered
to the left and a couple of suitcases that had been tied on the top flew free.
They exploded like grenades around DeeDee—clothes and shoes bouncing as they
landed.
DeeDee
scrambled to her feet to dodge the wardrobe missiles.
She
watched the backside of the jeep disappear into a sea of green. It sprang over
a protruding boulder and smashed into a tree. After the horrific crash, the birds
and monkeys sent out an alarm. Steam rose from the engine. The jeep sat like a
tangled and mangled heap of metal.
Where
was the driver?
The
Jeep looked like a relic looked like a relic from a World War II museum, and
yet not as old as it should. It lacked the wear and tear a vehicle of that age
should have. For example, the upholstery wasn’t cracked or worn. She edged
closer, expecting the driver to emerge, throwing curse words and threats. After
all, in a totally unintentional way, DeeDee had caused the accident.
Where
was the driver? Surely the Jeep hadn’t just driven here by itself. Although, in
her diluted, drug-induced mind anything was possible. But then she spotted a
boot. Clearly, the driver had been thrown into the pile of weeds. Feeling
somewhat responsible and remorseful, DeeDee went to help, mindful of where she
stepped.
For
a delusion, she found the twigs snapping beneath her feet really uncomfortable.
She tried to remember if she’d felt pain in her nightly dreams. She didn’t
think so. Most of her dreams played in her mind like movies—far removed from
physical sensations. Sure, she’d experienced fear, worry, and even sexual
hunger, but actual pain—like the sort caused by stepping on a thorn? No.
She
leaned against the Jeep and propped her ankle on her knee to inspect her
bleeding foot. Easing the sliver out of her heel, she wondered how something so
small could cause so much pain. She looked up to find a man staring at her.
Tall, dark-haired, but blue-eyed. Broad shoulders, slim hips. Just the sort of
creature she’d expect to find between the pages of romance novel or
drug-induced delusion.
“Beunos
dias.” His gaze ran over her, causing her to flinch.
Strange.
She would have thought everyone would speak English in her fantasies.
“Hello,”
she returned. “Who are you?” Her gaze strayed past him and landed on the boots she’d
spied earlier on the ground.
Gun
shots rang out. Birds squawked an angry warning.
The
man grabbed her hand. “Come on, Dee,” he said in perfect English. “Unless you
want to get shot, you can’t stay here.” He hauled her out of the weeds and onto
the road. How did he know her name?
She
spotted something that seemed almost as out of place as she felt. Her bag! How
had that gotten here?
“Wait,
stop!” Her feet skittered in the dirt, creating a mini dust cloud. Ducking, she
ran to pick it up while gunshots rang over her head. She crouched over her bag,
protecting it from the unseen assailants. When the gunfire ceased and DeeDee
uncurled, stood, and gazed around, the man had disappeared.
Celia
padded into the room with a steaming teacup in her hand. “Grammy asked me to
bring you this.” She set the cup on the nightstand. “I’d let it cool, if I were
you.”
Celia
had slipped off her shoes, and her feet looked like little purple onions at the
end of her legs. Her toes swollen and bruised by the upcoming child and accompanying
water weight.
DeeDee’s
memories drifted to her long-ago pregnancies. The soft, sweet newborns. The
giggly, gurgling toddlers. The mischievous preschoolers. Her heart broke a
little bit each time her children got on the school bus, went on their first
date, and graduated from high school. And now here she was, decades later, her
baby producing a baby of her own. With Jason West as the father, no less. If
that wasn’t proof of miracles, DeeDee didn’t know it was.
Celia
plopped onto the bed and the bed the mattress shifted beneath her weight,
sliding DeeDee closer to her daughter. Celia placed her fingers, fat and sausage-like, on DeeDee’s knee and gave it a squeeze. “Oh Momma, I know you’re
struggling with Grammy and Hans.”
DeeDee
feigned surprise. She widened her eyes to look more convincing. “Nonsense. Your
grandmother is a grown woman. She’s free to…hook up with anyone she chooses.” Hook
up. She hated that saying. It made two people sound like train cars
latching together and pulling a caboose. DeeDee waved her hand as if she could brush
all of that messiness away. That man with his phony-baloney accent, ugly gray
skin, and laughing, conniving eyes. Why couldn’t her family see who and what he
really was? She tried to sweep him from her thoughts.
“Celia,
I know you and Jason had some sort of delusional episode after drinking the Witching Well water,” DeeDee said. “I get the water is tainted. I also believe
you are meant to be with Jason. He suits you and you suit him. I’m happy for
you.” She wrapped her arm around Celia’s shoulder.
She continued. “No, that’s not right. I am more than happy for you. I am over the moon for you and Jason and this baby. I could not be any prouder of the life and family you are creating. This child is so lucky to have the two of you. And Joel and Cami and Mia…” Her thoughts stuttered. She caught herself before she could add even though Mia and Brad married two years ago and haven’t spoken to each other for months. DeeDee was beginning to worry they would never reconcile, even though she couldn’t imagine either of them with someone else. Just like she could not imagine Mom in a long-term relationship with this man. Her spine stiffened. ‘Sweetie,” she said, “I can’t have this man in our home.”
“Mom,”
Celia countered, “you don’t have a say.” She kissed DeeDee’s cheek to soften
her blow. “And, technically, it’s Grammy’s house.”
“I
have to make her see she’s making a mistake.”
“She
won’t thank you for it.”
“I
think the world of Grammy. She has been there for me through two disastrous marriages.
If I can prevent her from making this mistake—”
“But
what if it’s not a mistake?” Celia gazed at DeeDee with her vivid blue eyes. “What
if everything they say is true?”
DeeDee
snorted. “Don’t you see what’s happened here? Sixty years ago, your Grammy had
an episode just like you and Jason had where she fancied she met the love of
her life.”
“Your
father!” Celia splayed her fingers on her bosom. “My grandfather.”
“That
man is no more my father than the man in the moon. And if he is, then that just
means… Well, I don’t know what it means.”
Except
she did, of course. It meant she had to go to work. She had to prove that Hans was not who he claimed he was.
Read the first 5 chapters of the Andean
Adventure here:
The Andean Adventure is not yet released, but you can read The Highwayman Incident, the first in The Witching Well series, for free in Kindle Unlimited.
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