Preservation

by Charles Lemoine

  Putting the phone back into the plastic bag, she shoved the whole mess back into her purse. A flash of light drew her attention to the street out front. The sun glared off a limousine that had just arrived. A man holding a white sign got out and stood facing the hotel. Could that be my driver?

  Mariska pulled her bag behind her and exited the building. Sure enough, the sign read Preservation. Theresa knew exactly the right thing to show the limo had been for her. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have known if it was a setup or not. She hurried over to the driver and said, “You’re my ride.”

  He looked her up and down. “Candace?”

  “No, Mariska Stevenson.”

  He smiled. “You don’t look like the description I was given.”

  Mariska pulled off the wig and hat. “Perfect,” he said. “Let me help you with your bag.” The man opened the trunk and put the suitcase inside and then closed the lid. He hurried over to the back door and pulled it open for her. He was very eager to please.

  “Thank, you.” Mariska tossed her purse inside and got in.

  The man closed the door behind her and hurried around to the front seat and got in, started the engine, and pulled away from the curb.

  He looked back at her in the rearview mirror. “I have instructions to take you to the airport. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.” She looked behind her. No one appeared to be following them. “According to the map on my phone, there are two ways to the airport. Can you take the less traveled one, please?”

  He immediately nodded. “Yes, the route that takes us down by the water is longer but less traveled.”

  Mariska took out the plastic bag and took out the wallet. “Here,” she handed him some cash. “I really appreciate you accommodating me.”

  “I’ve been compensated; money isn’t necessary. Would you like some music?”

  “That’d be great, thanks.” Mariska looked out the window as the man turned off the main roadway. An old Ricky Martin song came on the radio. Funny, she only spoke English, the song was in Spanish, and they were in Denmark, and yet she recognized the song. Music truly was an international language.

  The driver stopped at a stop sign and made a right turn. “We should be there soon, ma’am. Feel free to sit back and relax. I’ll give you some privacy.” He rolled up the glass divider between them.

  Mariska looked up at him and smiled. She fiddled with her purse for a couple minutes. She opened her wallet and flipped through the pictures of her parents. They were so happy, with big smiles, posed perfectly for each shot. The last picture was of Jane. Mariska’s heart ached for the woman that helped raise her. Emotions threatened to break her, and she couldn’t let that happen. Not now, she still had a job to do. Putting the wallet back in the purse, she zipped it closed. The phone and passport went into the plastic baggie and then into her front pocket, along with a wad of cash. The driver had been so nice, and she planned on giving him a generous tip once they arrived at the airport.

  Something caught her attention out the side window. She turned just in time to register the grill of a truck as it ran through a stop sign. Without slowing down, the truck slammed into the side of the limo. Mariska saw as the front passenger door, imploded, sending the car careening across the street. She was pushed up against the door and then flung across the backseat to the opposite side. Her head hit the window with a thud. The sound of squealing tires and crunching metal filled the vehicle.

  The car hopped over the curb and slammed into the short stone wall that lined the roadway above the Danish Straits. Mariska lifted her head from the backseat and looked around the inside of the car. A motion-sick feeling made her feel dizzy and nauseous as the car slowly moved back and forth—teetering on the edge of the drop off into the water. She tried to pull herself up from the footwell of the back seat and climb further back to help tip the car toward dry land. But the more she moved, the car tipped further toward the water.

  A moment later, the feeling of free-fall was cut short by the impact of the car hitting the water and Mariska’s head slamming against the glass divider. Her face seemed stuck to the glass, and her body felt like it was made of lead. She struggled to move her arms and legs, but they were too heavy to lift. Her vision began to fade, but when she saw a trickle of blood trailing across the glass, she knew it was her own. Coughs wracked her body as she tried to take a deep breath. The impact had pushed all the air from her lungs, and it seemed impossible to refill them. A sob, erupted from deep inside and the last thing she heard was the sound of her own painful moans. It was then that her world went black.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Piercing cold water rushed into the vehicle and tore Mariska away from her unconscious state. She coughed out the mouthful of salty water as she gasped for air. She was face down against the glass divider separating the front and back halves of the limo. Picking up her head, she tried to orient herself to where she was and how she got there. It all came flooding back, much like the water that was continuing to fill the vehicle.

  The driver.

  He wasn’t moving. The water had almost completely filled the front seat, and his head bobbed around, face-down, as the turbulent water continued to deepen. Mariska started banging on the window.

  “Wake up.” She didn’t know his name. “Hey, wake up.” The glass was thick and shatter resistant, no matter how hard she pounded, there wasn’t a single crack. “Please, wake up.” Mariska watched in horror as the last bubble of hair floated to the top of the front seat, and out a crack in the side window.

  There wasn’t anything she could do for him now. She needed to get out of the car, or she’d suffer the same fate. With all her might, she pushed herself up away from the glass divider and scrambled to the door. Pulling as hard as she could, the door didn’t open.

  Locked inside a sinking car.

  The water was now waist deep and rising fast. Pounding with her fists against the side windows, she felt the skin of her knuckles split. Each punch, each bang, she left a little more blood behind on the glass. She went for the door on the other side, but with no avail. The door wouldn’t budge, and the window was solid.

  Shit. What would mom tell me to do? Nothing came to her. Hadn’t her mom told her stories? Hadn’t her mom shown her how to survive?

  There was not time to panic, but that’s what she did. Screaming for help, begging someone to save her, and pleading with God to intervene, all with the same result.

  Nothing happened. No one came to her aide.

  The water continued to rise, now up to her neck. Mariska’s head was pressed hard against the back window; she looked outside at the ledge far above her. It had grown dark outside, but she could still see the outline of two people standing on the edge, watching her. Watching her drown.

  Were they the killers? Was that, David?

  She screamed again and started pounding on the back window, begging for help. The two figures didn’t move, they weren’t on the phone calling for help, they did nothing, but wait for her to die.

  The water was now inches from the top of the car, a mere bubble of air left to sustain her. But for how long? Mariska knew she only had minutes to live and her heart raced with the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She was going to drown, and there wasn’t a fucking thing she could do about it.

  Mariska puckered her lips and pressed them to the back window, breathing in the last little bit of air, and started to sink back down into the seat. Eyes wide open, they burned from the salty water, but that was nothing compared to the burning in her oxygen-starved lungs.

  Suddenly a memory flashed into her conscious mind. Her mom in the back seat of their car and she was showing a young Mariska the best way to cut a seatbelt with a Swiss Army knife.

  The headrest.

  Mariska blinked and brought some clarity back to her vision. She reached for the backseat headrest and pulled up, hard. It didn’t budge. Fiddling as quickly as she could with the release mechanism, she tried again. This time the headres
t came free. With a renewed sense of hope, she brought the metal prongs to the side window. Pressing the prongs against the surface of the glass, she pulled back, before slamming the metal into the glass with every last ounce of strength she had left.

  A cracked formed and spread across the glass like a spider web. One more hard strike was all it took. The window fell away leaving a large empty space for Mariska to swim through. Popping up to the surface, she sucked in air, but immediately coughed and gagged, causing her head to sink below the surface once again. Kicking with her legs, she resurfaced and wiped the water from her face.

  She heard voices from up above. It was now too dark to see who was speaking, but she thought she recognized David’s voice. “Go down to the water and find her.”

  “Sure, thing, boss,” the other man said. “What do we do with her, Caleb?”

  “Kill her, you idiot.”

  There was a pause. Why did the guy call him Caleb? Was it really not David? Her head sank underwater, and she gasped when she brought her head back up. Water seeped into her lungs, and she began to cough. Their conversation stopped, and she knew they heard her.

  That asshole betrayed me. If I get out of this alive, he’ll pay for what he’s done.

  Fearing that they might come and find her, she slowly started swimming back and away from the car, whose trunk and back bumper still stuck out through the surface. Mariska managed twenty or thirty feet away from the wreckage when she heard a whistling sound. She turned back and saw something plop into the water between her and the car, accompanied by the same whistling noise. Looking up at the street, the two figures stood, partially illuminated by a streetlamp above them. They were holding something in their hands. Another whistle and plop, this time a bit closer to her.

  They were shooting at her. Or, at least in her general direction. They must not be able to see her, but figure if she’s alive they will minimize their risk of her survival by shooting her. The shock of it all had started to wane. David had once been her best friend. They’d nearly been, lovers. Why did that guy call him Caleb?

  Mariska turned and swam quietly away, putting as much distance between herself and the kill-zone. Allowing the water-current to help, she drifted downstream until the crash site disappeared around a bend. After a few more minutes of passive movement, she kicked her way into shore. Seconds later, she pulled herself up out of the water and collapsed onto the muddy bank.

  Lying on her back and looking up into the night sky, she gave herself a minute to catch her breath and come up with a plan. Despite being in a large city, she was able to view the stars and moon with so much more clarity than she could from Los Angeles. Or, was it a new appreciation of things she’d once taken for granted?

  She identified the Orion’s belt and a cluster of stars she’d known as the Seven-sisters. She smiled and thought once again of her parents. Had it not been for her mom, she’d never have made it out of the car alive. She’d be at the bottom of the Danish Straits, dead and bloated—fish-food. She shivered. The trauma she’d endured, the pain of betrayal, watching a man die in front of her, and the cold water and chilly air was taking its toll.

  Constellations. The artifacts.

  Mariska sat up and pulled the soggy woven pouch from the front pocket of her slacks. After opening it, she poured the contents into her hand. As she suspected, the water had no real effect on the tooth or bead, but the pouch might not be salvageable. No, matter. She put them back into her pocket when she felt her other pocket vibrate.

  The cell phone was still working.

  Retrieving the plastic baggie, she took out the phone and read the incoming text message. It was from Badger, and it said: New flight information. Tonight 11:05 pm. American Airlines. Unless you need to delay the flight, just say the word.

  Delay the flight? Better not to question, how. She typed a message in reply: Please delay the flight. I will get there as soon as I can.

  She had an hour and a half to get there, check in and get to the gate. Under normal circumstances that wouldn’t have been a problem, but she was lying wet and muddy on the banks of the Danish Straits. Would a cab even stop to pick her up?

  “Only, one way to find out,” Mariska said to herself as she pushed up from the ground and tried to wipe away as much of the muck as she could.

  It was a steep climb up to street level, and Mariska had fallen to her knees more than once—further dirtying her clothes and wasting more time she didn’t have. Once she managed to get to the top, she took a deep breath and brushed off her jeans which were still sopping wet.

  The street was pretty desolate at this hour, but not completely dark. The dim street lamps that allowed for star gazing did less than a good job keeping the shadows at bay. Each alleyway, each darkened corner near a closed business, made Mariska nervous. There was no telling where death was going to jump out and try and take her.

  A set of headlights came around the bed and was steadily making their way in her direction. Was it a cab? Or a nice citizen that wouldn’t mind taking a filthy, wet, stranger to the airport? As the car approached, she saw the markings on the side indicating it was a car for hire. She stepped off the curb, a foot into the street, and waved both hands hoping they would stop.

  It was her lucky day. The car slowed and pulled over to the curb a few feet past where she stood. Mariska started mussing with her hair trying to make herself look less homeless and less like a possible threat in hopes that Cabbie would let her in the car. As she approached the driver, he rolled down the window and said something to her in Danish.

  She shook her head and smiled. “I’m sorry, I only speak English.”

  His eyes grew wide, “You’re American?”

  Mariska nodded.

  He got out of the car and opened the back door, “Here, get inside, you’re going to catch your death of cold.” The man didn’t have an accent like she expected.

  “Are you an American?” Mariska asked.

  The man was in his mid-sixties, heavy around the middle, and was wearing a golfer’s hat. He was adorable, in a grandpa sort of way. “I sure am. I moved here when I retired. It’s so much safer being a cab driver here in Copenhagen than my hometown of Chicago.”

  She needed a hug and was tempted to ask for one.

  He motioned once again for her to get inside the car and so she did. He got into the front seat and turned around. “Where are you headed?”

  “The airport. I need to get home tonight.”

  “Where’s home? If you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Los Angeles. I know I won’t get home until tomorrow, but I need to get out of here.” She looked away.

  He didn’t say anything for a moment. He used the turn signal and pulled out onto the street, “I’m not one to judge, but is everything, okay? You look like an absolute mess.”

  Mariska shook her head. “I will be…once, I get back home.” She fought back the tears and swallowed the lump in her throat.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Not unless you have some clean clothes.”

  As he continued to drive, he reached down to the front seat passenger floor and pulled out a duffle bag. “I can’t guarantee how clean any of it is, but I keep all the clothes that get left in the car, in this bag. You’re more than welcome to take a look.” He tossed the bag into the back seat next to her.

  This man had to be her guardian angel.

  She unzipped the bag and began rummaging through the clothes. There were bras, panties, even a random shoe, but not a lot that she felt comfortable utilizing.

  “I don’t think…” Mariska started to say. “Oh, wait.” She pulled out a light pink sweater and a pair of soft flannel pajama bottoms.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “Those were left in here last weekend. A girl and her guy got into an argument on the way to the airport. They were throwing things at each other in the backseat. I suspect the clothes are relatively clean.”

  Mariska gave the items a onc
e over. No stains. Nothing sticky or crusty. A quick sniff test told her they smelled stale, but no body odor.

  “These’ll do nicely. Thank you so much.”

  He smiled. “I knew they’d come in handy one of these days.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind keeping your eyes up front, I’m going to change my clothes back here.” Mariska started to pull her arms out of the sleeves.

  “No problem.” The driver moved the rearview mirror, so it was facing out the front window.

  The flannel pajama pants had an inside pocket that the bead and tooth fit in, along with her passport and cash, but she’d have to carry her cell phone. Which was fine. She’d probably buy some things inside the airport anyway and that included a bag to keep everything in.

  They pulled up to the airport, and the driver said, “Here you go. I hope you have a safe flight home. Say hello to America for me.”

  “I sure will.” Mariska handed him twice the regular fare. “Thank you so much for everything.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Mariska got out of the car and hurried across two drop-off lanes and into the airport. She had thirty minutes to get to the gate, but when she looked up at the departure board, it said her flight was delayed an hour.

  “Thank you, Badger,” Mariska said.

  Plenty of time to get her shit together and go home.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Mariska stepped off the plane in Los Angeles and felt the sweet relief of being back on familiar ground. Realizing she was single-handedly holding up the rest of the plane, she stepped aside and found a seat to sit on in the terminal. She needed to regroup both physically and emotionally.

  Her shoes had not fully dried, and her toes felt disgusting in the damp socks. She pulled out her phone and turned it back on—waiting a few seconds hoping someone had sent her texts, voicemails, or anything else that showed someone that cared about her while she was gone.