by C. L. Stone
When he returned, he carried two plastic water bottles, grinning ear to ear like a sly cat.
“Apparently, he snuck out the back door earlier,” he said. He dropped one bottle in the cup holder and passed the other to me.
“You traded him for water?”
He chuckled. “She wanted to give me $20. I was going to just say no but...circumstances.”
“I didn’t even see him,” I said. “He’s the same color as the road.”
“Good thing I was the one driving. I’ve got hawk-like vision.”
I took the bottle he handed me, drinking all of it except for a splash I put into my hand to wipe at my face.
I stole glances at Ace as he drove. It was tempting to ask a few questions, but I’d promised to be quiet. Despite his craziness, I desperately appreciated his assistance. I wanted to know his real name so I could send him some sort of thank you later on, but respected his privacy enough to let it be. He wasn’t a bad guy, rather nice and thoughtful.
Nothing to do now but wait for him to drop me off somewhere.
The dusty road went on for miles. I settled back into the seat, staring out the window. Eventually, all the green and bright blue day blurred and was too much for my senses, so I closed my eyes.
Ripped
A ripping of my skin woke me.
My cheek burned, and when I moved my head again, it caused another very sharp ripping. I stopped, afraid to do any more.
I moaned and opened my eyes. I opened my watery eyes. Everything blended into a dark gray haze around me. Where was I?
The more I moved to sit up, the more my skin pulled away from the seat. Pain radiated through my body.
It took me a moment to remember the Montego and realize that it was inside a garage. I was still parched and sunburned, and a layer of sweat had dried on me, making sticking to the leather worse. Maybe I should have accepted the coat to sit on.
Ace was nowhere I could see.
The car was still making noise, as if it had just been shut off. The air was still cool. He hadn’t been gone long.
I moved to open the door, but found myself without energy to pull my arm away from the seat and push open the heavy metal door. The discomfort was doubled as the sunburn already pained me.
I readied myself to try and climb out despite the pain. I was tempted to fall back asleep; my body wanted to.
“Ace?” I called out, but my throat was so dry my voice was nothing more than a raspy whisper. Where had he run off to?
I closed my eyes, knowing sitting up would hurt and dreading it.
The door opened next to me, and an unfamiliar face loomed in.
It was hard to determine his age. Asian features. Hard lines. Angled jaw. Unique but handsome. His dark hair was clipped short to his skin, except for at the top of his head, which stood up, stylishly brushed to one side and sticking up in places. He had a beard that only followed his jawline and was topped with a mustache. The look accentuated the thinness at his cheeks.
His dark clothes blended in with the darkness inside the garage. For a moment, he looked like he had a floating head. He looked over my body and then up to my eyes, hovering but not touching. He squinted at me. “Are you hurt?”
“She needs water.” Ace’s voice floated over, but echo-y, and then the sound of a water bottle being shaken. “Give her this.”
A bottle materialized in front of my lips, held by the man beside me.
“Drink,” he said in a hushed tone. He had a deep, non-native accent, but it also sounded more British than anything Asian. My muddled mind found it hard to place.
I did, reaching for the bottle to grasp myself so I could gulp. The water rushed over my extremely dry throat. I coughed hard as it itched which launched my body into shifting around the seat, tugging my burned skin against the leather. I stiffened, moaning my complaint. I shouldn’t have slept. It made everything worse.
“Easy,” he said and tugged the bottle away. “Small sips.”
“We need to get her inside,” Ace said. “But if she’s able, let’s walk upright and quickly so hopefully the neighbors don’t notice.”
“I should probably call a doctor,” the man said. He brought the bottle back to me and offered it. “Small sips,” he said, softer this time.
I nodded and took it easy, even though I wanted to drown myself in the water. I managed to get my throat moist enough to speak, my voice scratchy. “I was just overheated. I think I’m okay.”
“What should we do, Soma?” Ace asked.
Soma? Like the brand? Did I hear that right?
“Stay here,” Soma said to Ace. “Help me get her out of the car.”
Soma angled himself out and Ace appeared. His glasses had been removed, and he kept a stern frown on his lips, his blue eyes focused. He reached in and tugged me by the elbow, urging me to stand.
Too fast. He was pulling and I was moving so he wouldn’t put too much pressure on my burned skin, causing my skin to peel from the leather. I sucked air through my teeth sharply, letting go of the bottle to grip the seat. Pain and heat seared my skin and I stiffened to try to stop it. Water spilled over my lap and down my legs.
Soma caught Ace by the elbow. “Stop.”
Ace hovered, a hand waiting to support me but not wanting to touch me. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Sorry. What do I do?” He moved away from me, groaning and pulling back his upper lip. “You said to get her out.”
“I apologize,” Soma said, his voice firm but level, and motioned for Ace to get out of the way. “We can’t tug people like dolls.”
Ace grunted, took a step back. “I wasn’t treating her like a doll.” He looked again at me. “I’m sorry. I’m trying. I’ll be gentle. Once you’re out, you should be okay, yeah?”
“It’s fine,” I said through clenched teeth and teary eyes, not wanting to have them argue over an accident. After all, they were trying to help me. “Just give me room to get out.” I was just going to have to stand up and take it. Staying here longer was making it worse; I kept reattaching to the leather every time my skin touched it.
Soma backed away and Ace held the door for me, offering a hand. I balled my fists and forced myself to stand. I used Ace to pull myself out of the car.
Every bit of my back burned madly as I peeled myself out of the chair. My thighs were the worst, radiating pain, a rash forming. My tears clouded my vision.
Soma was instantly by my side. He was tall, but it was all I could see through my watering eyes. He offered an arm for me to take. “Let me bring you inside. Hold on to me if you need to.”
“I’ll stay here,” Ace said, looking over the inside of his car.
The longer I stood, the better I was; my skin started to cool. I studied my arms, touching where they were the reddest, checking for any blistering, testing to see how bad it was.
When I didn’t take his hand, Soma put a hand at the base of my back— not touching, but I sensed him— encouraging me to hurry along.
The garage was long, three spots were taken up by cars, another possible parking spot appeared empty. The garage door for the Montego was closed, and a normal human door next to it was partially open, letting in daylight.
He guided me to the small door. I was slow, forcing my legs to work and also not wanting to have my clothes on my body any more, as those felt heavy. However, the more I moved, the easier it got. By the time I stepped outside, I was eager to use what energy I had left to find more water.
Outside was a small garden dotted with short magnolia trees and hibiscus bushes. There were cobblestone walkways weaving around a couple of bubbling birdbath fountains. The garden was surrounded by a low stone wall, teamed up with boxwood hedges. Both the wall and hedges stopped at the waist, allowing anyone passing by a view of the gardens.
That was a problem if anyone was looking at us now, especially if Ace had recently escaped two crazy women filming him. It made sense now why he was hesitant to have me in open view of the neighborhood. How would it appear if he h
ad a red and dingy woman going into his house? But I hadn’t asked to come here.
We hurried through to the back door of a three-story house. It was painted yellow, with white craftsman trim. The back porch was wide, wrapping around the house, and further exposed us to the street.
I didn’t get much of a chance to note the details as Soma rushed me inside. My eyes were still watery from pain, so I focused on trying to collect myself.
Once we were inside, Soma closed a heavy wooden door behind me. He threw the latch and turned to me. His large, dark eyes scanned my face, studying my features, and then drifted down over my body. “Are you dizzy at all? How bad is that burn? Maybe I should call a doctor to come over.”
He was locking Ace out? I waved a dismissal at him. “Please, don’t,” I said. “If Ace is worried about some reputation, a doctor making a house call is weird enough. I think I’m just sunburned and dehydrated. Nothing lotion and more water can’t cure.”
“Health trumps what anyone else might think, rumors... Ace would agree with that.” His hand drifted toward my face, hovering over a cheek, but he paused. “Do you mind if I take a look?”
“Go ahead.” I braced myself. Part of me worried I really did need a doctor. How badly had I damaged myself? I slept in the car, but had I passed out from heat exhaustion? I didn’t feel nauseated, at least.
My streak of bad luck would become overwhelming if I had to pay heap loads of medical bills on top of everything else.
With care, he brushed fingertips over my forehead and cheek, feeling. It hurt like a burn would but nothing too notably painful. He followed up with touching my shoulders, the worst parts. “How bad does this hurt?”
“Not as bad,” I said. “The leather was worse because it was sticking to my skin.”
He stopped, lowered his hand and nodded. “If you aren’t feeling ill, then let’s get your body cooled off. We can treat the irritation. Perhaps a light rinse in a shower?”
Was that a good idea? “Perhaps.” I tenderly touched my forearm. It paled for a second and returned to a deep red in the next instant. I didn’t want to make water bubbles under the dead skin. Still, I was stinky, and gross and it was probably better to at least rinse that off. “I do need to clean myself and a good lathering of aloe.”
I studied the entry way, temporarily distracted by where I was. The hall had dark wood flooring with white molding and yellow wallpaper. The style seemed to accentuate the fact that it was an antique house. There were portraits on the walls of people in outdated clothing, and expensive-looking vases on pedestals and alongside tables, some filled with mixes of fresh flowers: some roses but a lot of dahlias and allium, large-ball blooms of color. The nature of the house had me struck with confusion after being in fields most of the heated morning.
“I’ll get everything you might need.” He took a few steps down the hall, his hard-soled shoes echoing until he stepped onto a carpet runner. He became silent after, stopping to look back, indicating I should follow.
I wiped my eyes to clear the watery blur, pondering trusting him further and asking myself what I was getting into. Soma was tall, with narrow hips, appearing even slimmer in his dark pants that were folded up at the ankle. He wore a light cotton, long- sleeved black shirt, a loose crew neck, slightly form fitting. No brand labels I could see to identify, but the material seemed a good quality. It resembled the garments I often wore while working: low key, professional, unassuming, a comfortable blend, breathable and flexible for a lot of bending and crouching. I took it to mean he was some sort of assistant to Ace.
As I hesitated, he tilted his head and his expression changed from stoic, becoming softer. His eyes were beautiful, with dark lashes I was envious of and he had an inviting, calming smile. “Would you prefer if I call in a woman to assist further?” The English accent became more prominent the more he spoke.
“No,” I said quietly, wondering if there was someone else in the house... and how many someones, exactly. Perhaps the fewer people who saw me, the better. I was the one asking for help when they didn’t have to offer any. Ace could have just as easily dropped me off at a gas station. I was just wondering if I shouldn’t say thank you and leave. The tension seemed high here. I was a lot of trouble and I didn’t wish to remain where I was a burden.
A motor started. It sounded like a car in the garage behind us. It stayed for a minute but then quickly drifted away. Ace decided to leave? Didn’t Soma tell him to stay?
Soma’s face returned to hard lines and rather unreadable. The tension radiating from him was suddenly apparent to me. Was he irritated with Ace for leaving or with me continuing to hesitate?
He returned his gaze to me. “Are you afraid?” he asked. “Are we making you nervous? I assure you, you’re in no danger here.”
“No, it isn’t that,” I said politely, willing to make things easier. “But if I’m so much trouble, would it be better if we dropped me off somewhere else? I understand Ace probably doesn’t want attention right now and this seems very risky.”
Soma’s face again changed from stoic to something softer, gentle and soothing. “Perhaps it would have been, but it’s more for your sake than our trouble, I assure you. But you’re here now, and I’ll do everything in my power to help heal your body and get you back where you need to be as soon as possible. And I promise you’ll leave here unaffected by anything.”
I was sure if they knew about me, they’d disagree and kick me out right away. Only, I now thought perhaps I’d take their help, give myself a moment to shower and cool off and figure out next steps. The sooner I left, the sooner they could go back to normal and I wouldn’t have to worry about muddying their reputation.
I hurried down the hall, as light as I could in broken sandals. Soma stepped quickly up a flight of stairs. I trailed behind him, listening for signs of anyone else in the house and hearing no one. I could only hope I wasn’t making things worse for my rescuers.
Dubious
(Ace)
Ace crossed Broad Street, following King into the heart of downtown Charleston. The full bloom of the late summer months meant tourists were crowding the streets.
The air conditioner blasted his face, keeping him awake.
As he drove, doubt seeped in. Maybe he should have dropped her off at a gas station like she’d said, but that seemed cruel somehow. His house was probably the first place they’d look for him. Maybe he should send her and Soma to a hotel. If they were out of his house, Soma could treat her better and get her sent on her way and by tomorrow morning, everything would be put back to normal.
As normal as life was for them.
The corner of his mouth twitched, instinctively wanting to frown. He kept correcting this, trying to appear indifferent to anyone looking in on him from the sidewalks.
He turned the Montego onto Market Street, slowing through crowds of vacationers passing on foot. When he caught a lucky open parking spot closer to where Market met with Concord, he pulled in, shut off the engine.
He scanned the inside of his car and noticed a wallet and phone in the floor on the passenger side. Emily’s?
He scooped both up and ejected himself from the car. The phone he tucked in with his own into his pocket. The wallet was too wide, so he kept it in his hands. He locked up and stuffed his keys into his front pocket.
The City Market took up the middle of Market Street, and stalls sold sweetgrass baskets, candy, postcards, whatever else people on vacation buy. He crossed the street, avoiding cars and pedestrians, and headed south along Market, into the heart of gift shops and restaurants. The sidewalks were cluttered with benches, displays and menu boards.
He ducked into a brown brick building with a white door and windows that may have once been a house in the past, but now was Lowcountry Bistro.
He waved to the harried hostess, who was talking to a quad of elderly tourists about who had what allergies. She noted him, recognition setting in quickly. She pointing to the bar and waved him on. Ace politely excuse
d his way through.
“Enjoy your lunch,” he said to the women as he passed. “And have a very lovely day.”
“I love how polite everyone is,” stage-whispered one of them to the other.
Ace fought a desire to smirk, although it crept in a little. Yankees always seemed impressed by everyday common courtesy.
The bistro’s lunch crowd was fairly noisy, with a fair amount of glass and silverware clinking from around the bar, the customers talking over each other and beyond into the kitchen. Wood floors and brick walls added an echo, and the sound of sliding chairs and chatter from the second floor’s additional seating reverberated overhead.
Ace found the bar and took a stool at the very end. He angled himself so he could watch the door. He drew out Emily’s phone, setting it down with her wallet. It was safer in here with him than sitting out in the car, a temptation to be stolen, especially when her case was so glittery. Were those rhinestones?
He flipped the phone over, checking it out, testing the button. It appeared as dead as she’d claimed. Grains of dirt and sand clung between the stones in the case, some of it getting under the case itself. Not a great case if it was doing that.
How long was she out there?
Taking out his own phone, he typed a message. He needed an extra hand.
ACE: At the Lowcountry Bistro. Come find me.
That was all. The guy lived two blocks away about, so if he was at home, it wouldn’t take him long to get here.
Ace ordered food from the bartender, and while he waited, he opened Emily’s case to clear away the dirt as best as he could, to idly pass time.
Half a sweet tea and two bites into a club sandwich later, Diego Ramirez sat down on the stool beside Ace. His dark hair was combed back, wet like he’d showered earlier. His Hispanic features were distinct. He wore a dark pants suit, white shirt and black tie. He ordered a ginger ale— heavy on the ice— before addressing Ace.
