Murder on the Riviera (11 page)

“Why do you have this book?!” Herculea demanded before Pedro even realized what she was referring to.

“What book?” He asked, following her eyes to the table.

His reaction was disturbingly calm and calculating.  “Oh, that book.  Would you like to read it?  It would be good information for your research project,” he said sardonically.

“Why do you have this book?!” Herculea repeated hysterically, remembering again the strange mango juice she had drunk just hours earlier.  “Did you slip something into my drink?”

“Yes, a little rum,” Pedro admitted.

“How dare you?” She burst out.

Herculea didn’t understand why he had felt the need to spike her drink with rum.  If he wanted to get her intoxicated and into bed, he could have easily done so in San Francisco.  They didn’t need to fly halfway around the world for him to seduce her.  Something wasn’t adding up.

“I don’t know what kind of head game you’re playing with me, but I am going to ask you this one more time.  Why do you have that book?” Herculea stood with her hands curled into fists at her sides, waiting determinedly for a truthful answer.

Pedro stood for a long, pensive moment staring at the floor.  He shoved his hands into his pants pockets and nodded his head resolutely.  Herculea sensed that whatever he was about to say would be devastating.

On a shaky intake of breath, he admitted, “I have that book because I am immortal too.  Just like the Silver Goddess.”

Herculea stopped herself from interrupting, although her heart began palpitating as the import of his words took effect.  He continued in a sorrowful voice.

“Long ago, at the beginning of the twentieth century, I was a happy man.  And I was in love.  Mathilda---the Silver Goddess---and I had been together for a few years, since we were about your age.  When we got into our forties, she started to fear growing older.  And so did I.  When we were traveling through Brazil, we found that book.”

He pointed menacingly to the tome that sat on his coffee table.  “The spell promised eternal life, and foolishly we let ourselves be bewitched.  We lived for a while on the Island of Vinova.  But things were never the same again.  It just wasn’t natural.  Our love died, and one day she banished me from the island.  I have never been back since then and cannot ever return.” Pedro hung his head in misery.

“Yes, the Silver Goddess,” Pedro muttered maliciously.  “She was my sweet Mathilda before we conducted the spell, but after we became immortal, she chose silver as the paint of her eternity.”

“The paint of her eternity? What does that mean?” Herculea asked, confounded.

“I don’t know.  And I don’t care now.  All I know is that I am doomed to live forever.  No reprieve.  No oblivion.  Just endless days ahead.  It’s enough to drive a man insane.
The Immortality Abyss
warned of misfortune, but I didn’t believe it.  I thought eternity would be perfect.”

Pedro twisted his fingers into locks of wavy hair and yanked masochistically.  The nurturer in Herculea wanted to comfort him, but she was too afraid.  Reeling with the information he had given her so far, she felt like he still had more to say.

“Is there anything else?” She asked expectantly.

He looked at her with the same brazen intensity that had first captivated her in California.  “Yes.  I want you to spend eternity with me.”

Herculea backed away in horror as he continued, “Please don’t be scared.  I know you didn’t directly consent.  But I think you will understand my predicament.  I cannot possibly spend eternity alone!  For almost a century, I have been searching for a woman to convert to immortal status and be with me forever.  Herculea, you are that woman!  I will not search for another hundred years, or another hundred days!  You are the one.”

For all of her adult life, she had dreamed about hearing a man tell her she was the one.  But it sounded grotesque under these circumstances.  His words were hollow to her ears, like air escaping from a stray seashell.

Clinging to the last thread of her composure, Herculea looked unblinkingly into Pedro’s eyes and asked, “What have you done?”

He averted his eyes towards the coffee table where the book rested, but said nothing.  Herculea would not tolerate his silence.

“What have you done?” This time, she asked the question through gritted teeth, refusing to take her eyes from his face.

She would stare him down like an animal all day and night if that’s what it took to extract an answer from him.

“Tell me!” She shouted.

Pedro squirmed under her gaze and continued to focus his eyes on the book.

“It was in the juice,” he whispered.

“What was in the juice? The rum?” She asked slowly and deliberately.

“The mixture!  The herbs and spices!” He said, exasperated.

“What are you talking about?  What herbs and spices?”

“The same herbs and spices that the Silver Goddess blends in her wine every day.  The same herbs and spices that made me immortal when I drank the wine with her. The same herbs and spices that I put in your mango juice so you will be immortal with me!  That’s why you can’t go after the Silver Goddess now!  No other woman is allowed on the island.  Now that you are immortal, and my lover, she will see you as her enemy and try to harm you!  I only told you about her back in San Francisco to see what your reaction was.  All along, I knew that I would make you immortal once I could get you alone here in Brazil.”

Herculea flinched and gasped audibly.  Indignant tears welled up in her eyes, and she blinked to prevent them from rolling down her cheeks.

“So, you fixed some kind of a diabolical potion and presented it as an innocent glass of juice?  And that witch’s brew has now made me immortal?  Is that what you are saying?”

Herculea knew the answers to her questions, but she asked them anyway.  She had to hear him admit it.  Instead of a verbal reply, Pedro merely nodded his head affirmatively.  His eyes remained fixated on the book.  She had to get out of there somehow. But not without that book.

Trying not to raise Pedro’s suspicions, Herculea walked casually over to the table and picked up the book.  She caressed the dusty front cover and examined the weak binding.  The book was a relic and obviously falling apart.  Herculea would have to be very careful with it and manage to get it back to the hotel in one piece.  She could not afford to lose a single page of the book.  The lettering on the cover looked back at her mockingly.

He looked over at her solemnly and spoke.  “Be careful with that book.  It is very old.”

“Why is it so important to you?” Herculea prodded.

Suddenly, Pedro looked at her in alarm, as though reading her mind.  Instantly, Herculea knew that she had gone too far.  He would not answer any more of her questions, at least not truthfully.  As he took long strides towards the table, Herculea pressed the book to her heart and bolted for the door.  Herculea had trained athletically for nearly all of her 36 years, and she felt confident that she could outrun most adults.  Perhaps she wouldn’t be able to speed past a marathon runner, but Pedro was certainly not a marathon runner.  Nearly a decade younger than he was, she had stamina on her side.  In a cold sweat, she reached the front door and pulled it open, running breathlessly outside.  She could hear Pedro’s heavy footsteps behind her.

She ran onto the deserted dirt road.  All she could see were hills and mountains in the distance.  Without pausing to get her bearings, Herculea ran west, in the direction where the sun was starting to set in earnest now.  She dared to toss one look over her shoulder and could make out Pedro’s figure still chasing after her.  If she maintained her speed, he would never catch up to her.  Her lungs struggled to take in more oxygen and her heart beat like a steel drum.

Ignoring her physical discomfort, Herculea accelerated her pace and braced herself for a steep hill.  Ready to faint by the time she reached the hill’s summit, Herculea sighed with mild relief when she surveyed her surroundings.  Cars and trucks cruised by on the paved road.  A little soda shop stood at the corner.  Pedestrians walked by with grocery bags in their arms.  Signs of civilization.

An elderly woman in a pleated skirt and rose blouse passed Herculea on the street.  Carrying a loaf of bread in her arms, she gave Herculea a peculiar, almost disapproving look.  Herculea glanced down at her dress and saw it was dirty and grass-stained.  There was even a slight tear at the hem.  In the next instant, Herculea also realized that she was carrying nothing but the book.  She always kept her cell phone on her person, but it was missing.  Wracking her brain and retracing the events of the day, she came to the conclusion that she had carelessly left it in the hotel room.  Why had she let Pedro lead her astray?  She should have had a relaxing breakfast with Kent and then set off on her own for the rest of the day.

Trying not to panic, Herculea looked around for a friendly face.  In her tattered condition, who would want to help her?  Herculea walked a few more blocks, contemplating her limited options.  As she approached a red light, a truck screeched to a halt.  It was a livestock truck that carried several cages of chickens in the back.  If Herculea hurried, she calculated that she could jump onto the back of the truck before the light turned green.

Darting into the street, Herculea clung to the bumper and took a powerful leap onto the truck as her skirt lifted to her stomach in the early evening breeze.  A young boy across the street whistled appreciatively, but she didn’t hear him.  All she could hear was the drone of the engine and the incessant clucking of the hens.  She squeezed herself onto a makeshift seat and rode along next to the cages.

The truck traveled for countless miles as Herculea scanned the scenery for familiar sites.  It would not be likely that this farm vehicle would stop in Rio de Janeiro, but Herculea hoped it would at least pass through en route to another rural region.  That way she could jump off and somehow find her way back to the hotel.

Queasy after hours of riding on the back of the truck, Herculea looked up hopefully.  For the first time since embarking on her ill fated trip to Brazil, Herculea felt that the stars had aligned for her.  The truck rolled past a busy boulevard in Rio that Herculea recalled seeing on the taxi ride from the airport.  She estimated that the hotel was about a mile away.

Heart pounding, Herculea clenched her fists, hoping desperately that the truck would stop.  But the truck sailed through several green lights and seemed to actually pick up speed.  The chickens flapped their wings in the cages, causing feathers to fly into the air and whip Herculea in the mouth.  Fighting back tears, Herculea realized that she might have to jump from a moving vehicle.  Either that or she would risk getting off the beaten trail and becoming completely lost.  Pedro’s insolent command, “Get lost with me” echoed bitterly in her mind.  Soon, it would be dark, and she could not gamble with her safety.  To be alone, half-dressed and filthy, in a foreign city with no money, identification, or phone would be far more perilous than leaping from a moving vehicle.

Mercifully, the truck began to slow down as it approached a yield sign.  Herculea knew the truck would likely not come to a complete stop, so as it rolled along steadily, she gathered all the courage she had within her and  sprang to the ground.

Chapter 7

Landing on her buttocks on the concrete, Herculea scraped her elbow, causing the book to eject from her arms and land in the middle of the road.  She braced herself to stand, trying to get her balance, wiping the filthy gravel off her skin.  The ample flesh of her buttocks had prevented serious injury, but her lower back felt sore from the impact.  Loose gravel dug into her bare flesh, but she ignored it, running into the street and grabbing the book.  It appeared to be intact, although its cover was now covered in dirt rather than dust. As she made her way to the curb, a drop of blood from her arm smeared onto the book.

“Damn it.” Herculea rubbed the book, but only succeeded in setting the blood stain rather than wiping it off.

Rio de Janeiro was beginning to hum with nightlife.  Bright street lights and an eggshell white crescent moon replaced the sun.  Reminding herself that all she had was her ingenuity, Herculea surveyed the surroundings and tried to conjure up an image of the hotel.  The bustling bistro across the street looked completely unfamiliar, as did the three story bookstore to the left.  But when she looked beyond the bistro, Herculea could see an intersection that looked as though it could lead to the tourist area of the city where her hotel was situated.  Following her instinct, Herculea hobbled towards the intersection, immediately recognizing the boulevard she had seen from the back of the truck.

Herculea walked briskly towards the hotel, ignoring the stinging pain in her elbow and dull ache in her lower back.  She felt fortunate to have escaped any debilitating injury after leaping from that truck.  Pedro may have made her immortal, but harm could still befall her.  She grimaced in fear and anger, thinking of how atrociously he had violated her.  There had to be some way to reverse the curse, and she would not return to California until she found it.

Nearly fainting with relief, Herculea emerged from her thoughts to find the hotel right before her eyes.  The building looked warm and comforting.  The thought of reuniting with her few belongings and seeing Kent again filled Herculea with gratitude.  She ran into the lobby, dodging the spot where Pedro had accosted her that morning and rushing to the elevator.

When she reached her floor, Herculea bolted out of the elevator and strode directly to Kent’s room.  Her hand trembled as she knocked on the door.  There was no answer.  Herculea knocked again.  And again.  After a few minutes of waiting for Kent to answer, she accepted the fact that he wasn’t there and walked, shoulders slumped, across the hall to her room.

Tossing her key card onto the desk, Herculea noticed that her cell phone was blinking.  There was no message from Kent.  But there was one from Pedro.  Herculea fought her impulse to delete the text message without reading it.  As she read his words, a new chill ran down her spine.

Herculea, this separation is temporary.  I have all the time in the world.  And now, so do you.

Herculea screamed indignantly, hurling the phone onto the bed and shoving it under the pillow.  How dare he?  The deception Pedro had committed against her was unfathomable.  But not as unfathomable as the concept of immortality.   This trip had begun as an impromptu research assignment that would hopefully yield her a bestseller in her field.  But after a devastating twenty four hours, the trip had morphed into a quest to reclaim her life and break the spell of immortality.

Tears stung Herculea’s eyes as she walked over to the bathroom.  Turning on the faucet to douse her wound, Herculea tried to devise a viable plan to reach the Island of Vinova.  She was certain that the island held the key to unlock this horrid curse and return her mortality.  Fuzzy ideas formed in her exhausted mind, and Herculea was certain of only one thing: She would not attempt this journey alone.  She had rejected his help before.  But now, an ocean of pride could not stop Herculea from enlisting the help of her trusted friend, Kent.

*****

Starlight beamed into the dark, still room.  Breathing steadily, Herculea slept as a soft breeze from the open window poured in and enveloped her under the sheets.  Even in the middle of the night, the Brazilian heat did not rest, and the room felt damp.  The breeze caressed Herculea in her sleep, and she stirred in the bed, murmuring gently.

A heavy knock at the door instantly yanked Herculea from her peaceful state of slumber.  She jerked her body up and back against the pillows as her eyes flew open.  The knocking sounded again as she glanced at the wall clock.  It read 3:45 AM.  Herculea stiffened in the bed, fearing that Pedro was at the door.  Terrified, she listened intently and heard a shuffling sound at the doorknob.  Someone was trying to open the door!  The knocking resumed followed by a male voice.

“Herculea, are you in there?  Please answer if you are.”

Herculea scrambled out of bed, tears of relief flooding her sleepy eyes.  It was the unmistakably tender voice of Kent Rossing.  Not caring that she was dressed only in pink tee-shirt, she tore the door open and impulsively gave him an enormous hug.  Wrapping her arms around his waist, she pressed her face into his chest and resisted the urge to start sobbing.  Instead, she held onto him tightly, as he responded by folding her closer into his embrace and caressing her wild mass of raven hair.

“Are you okay?  Where have you been?  I’ve been all over this city looking for you,” Kent said in a hoarse whisper as he pulled her even closer.

She looked up at him in confusion.  “You’ve been looking for me?  Why?” She asked.

“I came by looking for you this afternoon and noticed that your door was open.  So I walked inside, but you weren’t there.  But your cell phone was on the nightstand.  The whole scene made me very worried.  And I’ve been trying to find you ever since.”

Kent’s sapphire eyes were brilliant against the backdrop of the moonlight.  Herculea struggled to find the words to communicate.  She didn’t know where to even begin.  And, for the moment, she wanted nothing more than the uncomplicated comfort of being held in his protective arms.

“I’m sorry you were worried,” she whispered.  “I had a horrific day.  But I can’t talk about it right now.”

Kent suddenly noticed the abrasion running across the length of her arm.  Even though Herculea had sterilized it, the wound was deep and would probably take weeks to heal.

“Did someone hurt you?  Was it that man, that Pedro, who you went with?” Kent asked, unable to restrain the anger that was boiling inside him.

He didn’t trust that man one bit.  It was not pure jealousy, Kent now realized, but an accurate gut instinct that had made him positive that Pedro was a threat to Herculea.

Herculea brushed off Kent’s concerns with a wave of her hand. “It’s nothing.  Don’t worry.”

“Your entire arm is bruised and bloody.  Please tell me what happened to you.  Were you assaulted?”

Not physically, Herculea wanted to reply, but mentally, spiritually, and emotionally, she had been pulverized that day.  But she simply was not capable of discussing it right now.

“I was not assaulted.  I jumped off a truck,” she replied honestly.

“What?!” Kent thundered.

“Shhhh,” Herculea hushed.  “Everyone in this hotel is probably asleep.  The last thing I need right now is to get in trouble for disturbing the peace.  I promise I’ll explain everything tomorrow.”

“It is tomorrow, Herculea.  It’s almost dawn.  And I’m not letting you out of my sight again.  You can protest all you want, but your stubbornness will have no effect on me.  Consider me officially immune to your stubborn nature!”

Herculea’s lips broadened into a genuine smile.  Not only did she not have the strength to argue with Kent, but she also did not possess the will.  He was her ally, and she would need him by her side every step of the way as she searched for a way to reverse the curse of immortality that Pedro had cast on her.  Besides, Herculea felt like a wind-up doll that had been twisted out of control.  There was no way that she would fall asleep again now.  Her body was exhausted, but her brain was reeling.

“No need to scold me, Kent.  I’m not going to try to get rid of you.” Herculea swallowed nervously and hesitated before adding, “I need you.”

She turned and walked back into her room, gesturing for him to follow.  Herculea switched on the lamp on the nightstand, illuminating the book that sat there.  Kent’s eyes automatically traveled to the gleaming cover.

“
The Immortality Abyss
.  What is this, Herculea, some sort of occult tale?” Kent frowned in deepening concern.

Herculea glared at the book.  Too tired to delve into the book before bed, she had vowed to wake at the first light of morning and read it cover to cover.

“Sit down, Kent.” Herculea pointed to the armchair that faced the television set.

Kent sat down and braced himself for what he sensed would be a disturbing story.

“Remember when I told you about the Silver Goddess and the Island of Vinova?” She began, and he nodded in response.

She took a deep breath and continued.  “Pedro is the one who told me about the whole story.”

Kent grasped the armrest and pursed his lips tightly to stop himself from interrupting her.  He was disgusted, but not surprised, to hear that the crazy idea had originated from Pedro.

“Anyway, I…today…we…” Herculea faltered.

She did not want to tell Kent that she had been intimate with Pedro.  Perhaps she could omit that unflattering detail and tell him everything else.

“Well, when Pedro and I left the hotel this morning in the middle of that awful storm, he took me to his house.  He has a house in the country, past Sugarloaf Mountain.”

She stared at Kent, trying to gauge his reaction.  The moonlight revealed a tight expression glued onto his face, but the darkness masked everything else.

“I was so hungry this morning.” She shook her head regretfully.  “I should have eaten breakfast with you.  But Pedro offered me some refreshments, and I couldn’t say no.  It was just some fruit…and a pitcher of mango juice.  The next part of this is going to sound crazy, so please just listen, Kent,” she pleaded, frightened that he would launch into one of his pragmatic diatribes.

“I’m listening, Herculea,” Kent said gently.

Herculea gave him a trembling smile.  “Pedro mixed some kind of alcohol into the juice, and some herbs and spices as well.  He said the combination has made me immortal! “ She shuddered violently as she uttered the unbelievable words.  “Immortal like him,” she finished.

Kent was sorely tempted to shake Herculea by the shoulders and attempt to impart some much needed logic into her fantastical mind.  But he resisted this urge, as some unknown force tugged at his heart and made him feel as though he had just heard the truth.  As ridiculous as it sounded, Herculea’s story bore the distinctive ring of truth, and Kent found himself staring at her gape-mouthed.  Pedro was a dark character, some sort of vampire or warlock, Kent could feel it in his blood even as his brain disagreed.

“I know you, Kent.  And I know you think this sounds like lunacy.  I wish it were.  But I have reason to believe that it is the truth.”

Herculea walked a few steps to the nightstand and picked up the book that lay there, its embossed title glittering ominously in the eerie moonlight.

“I haven’t read this book yet, but I think it may hold some of the answers I need.”

Herculea sat on the edge of the bed and motioned for Kent to sit beside her.  She opened the book to the first page and began reading the first two verses, followed by:

Stolen Mortals on the rise

After evil in disguise

The deceived ones shall gain retribution

Against the one who forced immortality

The Secret Keeper holds the key

In his cottage trapped is he

Old before his time,

Young again he shall be

The Stolen Mortals have a choice

Reign over the Island of Vinova

Or renounce immortality

For natural life

Drink the antidote, touch the Golden Orca

And the evil one shall be old forever

---Verse Three of
The Immortality Abyss

“Kent, can you believe this?” Herculea asked, spellbound.

Kent shook his head disgustedly.  “Damn, this really is something out of a science fiction movie.  Or it ought to be.  And what is this rubbish about a golden orca?  Those whales are black and white.”

“I don’t know how to explain the part about the Golden Orca.  But I do know that I am one of the Stolen Mortals and Pedro is ‘evil in disguise!’”

“It also says that the Goddess’s authority may be challenged.  You may have the right to rule over the island now.” Kent’s voice sounded foreign to his own ears.  His intellect still battled for control.

“I don’t want to rule any island!” Herculea exclaimed.  “I just want my natural self back.  And it sounds like the Secret Keeper needs the same thing!  ‘Old before his time.’  A young man has been forced into an old man’s body.  And look at the last line.  It says the ‘evil one’ will be old forever.  I don’t even want to contemplate what that means.” Herculea shuddered.