9 Ways to Fall in Love

by Caroline Clemmons

  “If you wanted me to attend, all you had to do was ask.” Her sarcastic remark hid the chill of fear creeping up her spine.

  His laughter boomed through the small hut. “Señorita, you are as charming as Dr. Martin said, and just as innocent.” He stood. “Make yourself at home. I have matters to attend.” He walked to the door and pivoted. “Do not think of leaving this hut; my boys will not allow you.” He disappeared and the heavy wood door thunked shut.

  Isabella paced from the door to the bed. How can I stop this? He has to know why Virgil brought me here. Yet he acts as if I’ve no idea about the ceremony. She pulled out her journal and read the translation. Every aspect of the ceremony was in the book. Did Virgil know this and plan to use the notes? That wouldn’t be like him. He’d have the whole ceremony mapped out and rechecked before he preformed it. What am I missing?

  On a pass by the bed, she noticed papers hanging out of a folder. Isabella plopped on the bed and picked up the folder. The familiar handwriting on the pages squeezed her chest and she gasped.

  “No!”

  This was the reason the ceremony would continue without her notes. She stared at the same information she’d discovered. It detailed the sacrifice to the moon god. The obsidian knife, height of the full moon, the chant.

  They had everything they needed to recreate the ceremony. And she was the virgin. Shudders rippled up and down her body as the images of the drawing on the chamber wall flashed in her mind.

  A cool breeze fluttered her neck hairs. Knowledge filled her mind and she knew.

  This was the real reason Virgil lured her here to decipher the tablet. She was as intimate with the ceremony as the first moon god sacrifice victim.

  Her body chilled, icy shards pierced her chest. When had they begun to concoct this? When she was in grad school? Before? How stupid she’d been to believe the great archeologist, Dr. Virgil Martin, supported her thesis. Supported her. She’d only been a pawn, first, to elicit financial support from her father and, when that dried up, to acquire financial support from Don Miguel.

  And all to resurrect a ceremony the two greedy men thought would bring them wealth. That was the one thing Virgil had wrong. The prosperity the ceremony brought would not be monetary.

  Could she convince Don Miguel the ceremony wouldn’t bring him wealth? No, she’d witnessed his exhilaration just thinking of the sacrifice. He was out for the thrill as much as the money.

  Anger shot Isabella to her feet, melting her icy center and lighting a fire of action. How dare he! She paced, anger fueling her motions. How many times had he called her naïve? So many she’d quit listening. He’d never thought of her as a colleague. She’d show him. She’d stop him.

  How?

  She choked back a sob. Only Tino knew Don Miguel had her. She had to have faith that Tino had cut himself loose by now and searched for her.

  Her chest constricted, squeezing her heart. He had no way of knowing she was in the settlement or that Don Miguel and Virgil had everything they needed. She couldn’t count on Tino. As much as she loved him, this would play out just like her life so far—she had to do it alone.

  *~*

  Tino fought sleep, waiting for Pedro to return. Where could the man be? Was he missing too? The light in the mess tent flickered and glowed. Tino shoved to his feet and moved through the cook’s quarters into the cook tent behind the mess tent.

  Pedro bent in front of the stove lighting the gas. Tino stalked behind him quietly, slipping an arm around the man’s throat, and jabbing his gun into the cook’s side.

  “Where’s Ezzabella?” he demanded, ignoring the man’s talon grip on his forearm.

  “I have been looking for you to ask you the same.” His choked voice loosened Tino’s arm.

  He spun the man around and stared into his watery eyes. “You are looking for me?”

  “Sí. You and Isabella keep company and I have los—I have not been able to find her. I am worried.” Genuine concern shone in the man’s eyes and his voice wobbled with emotion.

  “Have you seen Don Miguel?”

  The cook’s back snapped straight and his eyes hardened. “Not since his earlier visit. ¿Por que?”

  “He has Ezzabella. They knocked me out, tied me up, and sent me downriver. I believe he took her somewhere in a helicopter.” Tino couldn’t squelch the rage boiling at the thought of the man and his ratas harming Isabella.

  “I heard a helicopter fly over the compound last evening. It was headed toward the settlement.” Pedro picked up dough and rolled tortillas. “I overheard Dr. Martin tell everyone there would be a movie in the mess tent tonight.” He stared at Tino. “Why are they having a movie tonight? And when did the movie and player arrive?”

  Tino knew it was a rhetorical question, for he didn’t have an answer. He watched the cook roll out a tortilla. “What do you know about Ezzabella?”

  Pedro returned his stare. “She studies people and came here at the request of Doctor Martin. ¿Por que?”

  His fluid movements continued, but his face had grown taut. If the man did know something about Isabella, he wouldn’t tell. Tino shrugged and moved to the back of the tent.

  “I am going to find her. And when I find her, if I discover she has been harmed, I will kill everyone responsible.” Tino left the cook tent the way he entered and stomped into the jungle. He was tired of chasing after Don Miguel. He and the doctor had plans for tonight if Martin wanted everyone in the mess tent where he knew they were detained.

  Tino stared at the cave. Martin and Miguel planned to sacrifice a virgin on the full moon. His heart banged against his constricting chest. Tonight would be the full moon.

  They would perform the ritual in the chamber on the altar. Indecision weighed heavy against his better judgment. He wanted to save Isabella from Miguel, but he would waste time and possibly miss stopping the sacrifice if he went running all over the jungle when he knew they would all be in the chamber tonight.

  A large lump of dread settled in his stomach as he decided to return to his gear and try to sleep. He knew where he’d meet up with Isabella. And it would be before anyone harmed her. He wasn’t good at waiting but this was one time when more than his life depended on it.

  Chapter 28

  Isabella shoved the papers back where she had found them. After reading through Virgil’s notes and set up for the ritual, she had to go through with the ceremony. She knew the ceremonial chant, each step leading up to the sacrifice, and she knew the way to stop the men.

  Her mind wandered to the glyphs she’d painstakingly deciphered. All the pieces fit together with the knowledge Virgil had discovered. She knew the reason the woman and the moon god cried. Her heart ached for them. Two lovers sworn to secrecy because of a commitment that couldn’t be broken. Yet one that started the decline of the Mayans. The ritual had done the opposite of making the Mayans prosper because the virgin had not been a virgin.

  What would happen if tonight she couldn’t stop the two mad men from sacrificing her? She was no longer a virgin either. What kind of power or riches did they hope to possess with this ritual?

  She sank onto the sofa and plucked a banana from the bowl of fruit. Tonight. She had a little over twelve hours to figure out how to thwart Virgil and don Miguel.

  The door opened and two women entered carrying a beautiful, tightly woven, white cloth. They smiled and held it up to her as if measuring for a garment. Her mind swept the pages of books she’d read on Mayan rituals. They were making a huipil. With only the women in the room, she whispered her concerns for her safety and asked them to sew two pockets to the inside of the dress. They nodded and their faces became sober as she told them she was being kept against her will. Their fear and dislike of the man shone in their faces and whispered words.

  *~*

  That afternoon, Isabella held up the finely woven garment. Its pristine white color shouted purity. Guilt swamped her. She wasn’t pure and didn’t deserve to wear such a fine garment.

  D
on Miguel cleared his throat. “Put this on. I shall return for you in half an hour.” He placed another glass of coconut milk on the table along with a dry looking biscuit. His hand waved up and down. “And no undergarments.”

  “I don’t think that’s—”

  He cut her off. “You shall dress just as in ancient times. Only the garment and sandals.”

  Isabella scowled and nodded. She understood his need to make it correct but hated leaving her vest. Once the man left, she sat down and ran her hands over the dress. The finely woven cloth slid through her fingers like the finest cashmere. Her fingers encountered the two small pockets, and she smiled, mentally thanking the women. She extracted her journal and a thin blade from her vest and slid them into the pockets.

  Her stomach rumbled. She ignored the biscuit and unwrapped one of her energy bars. She drank half the glass of milk before a bitter aftertaste registered on her tongue.

  Isabella took off her vest, shirt, and tank, dropping the garment over her head. She stood to step out of her pants. The room swirled and everything became hazy. She plopped onto the sofa, closed her eyes, and the dark world behind her eyelids moved. The milk and energy bar swirled in her stomach. She opened her eyes to the spinning room basked in an ethereal glow. Bending to untie her boots caused her to swoon. Her rubbery arms dangled to the floor as she remained bent in half, staring at shoelaces.

  He drugged me.

  It took great effort to raise her arm and swipe the glass off the table. She didn’t want to take a chance of drinking any more.

  She leaned back on the sofa, fighting to remember what she was to do next. Euphoria washed over her, and she sat on the soft cloud and smiled. She closed her eyes and watched beautiful colors swirl and spin.

  “Why are you not dressed?” A harsh male voice invaded her tranquil thoughts.

  Her mind jerked from her serenity when rough hands yanked on her feet. She opened her eyes and watched a large man toss her boots to the side then remove her pants and underwear. Unease rippled down her back and shot a small injection of fear into her hypnotic state.

  Isabella worked to gain control of her thoughts. He’d laced her coconut milk with a hallucinogenic drug. She should’ve been more careful. She’d read about the drugging in Virgil’s notes but hadn’t expected it until they arrived at the dig. The victim is given a drug to make her malleable and obedient. She’d have to play the part so he wouldn’t give her any more. Her racing heart and the ethereal glow of the surroundings worried her. She couldn’t be incapacitated during the ceremony. She’d battle the drug’s effects and hope it wore off soon since she hadn’t drunk the full amount.

  Don Miguel held her feet and massaged them before slipping the sandals on. She didn’t like his taking liberties with her body. She forced her mind to work, but her limbs remained rubbery and of little use.

  “Dr. Martin was right. You are a fine specimen of virginal qualities. A youthful body and innocent personality.” He ran a hand up her leg.

  Her mind saw her striking out with a kick; her body remained listless as his hand moved up her leg. Filthy. The man had his filthy hands on her. Revulsion lodged in her throat.

  She opened her mouth to tell him what she thought. Only a pitiful sound escaped her numb tongue and lips. Damn the man for keeping her mind alive and her body dead.

  He grinned. The creep enjoyed her disgust and despair at his groping hands. His eyes sparked with the knowledge.

  Don’t let him go any higher. The thought of his hand touching where only Tino had touched repulsed her.

  He released her leg and tugged on her braid. “Your hair needs to be free.” He pulled off the band on the end and ran his fingers through her braid, unleashing her straight hair to fall around her shoulders. “That is better.”

  Don Miguel slipped her glasses from her face. She tried to object but nothing intelligent formed. Her world, already revolving, now grew out of focus as well with the disappearance of her eyewear.

  One of the doormen walked in. “The boat is ready.”

  Don Miguel grasped her hands and stood her on her feet. Her legs wobbled. He slid an arm under her armpit and braced her back against his arm as he half-carried, half-led, her out the door.

  The heat of the late afternoon warmed her cold extremities, but they still wouldn’t work, no matter how hard she tried. The villagers formed an alley for them to walk through. They chanted and tossed colors in their path. From the sweet scent, she deduced they threw orchids.

  Isabella tried to draw the blurred faces into focus. According to Virgil’s plan, these people thought they were replicating an ancient marriage ceremony. If they knew the truth would they help? Her body couldn’t even shudder. She’d never experienced hate for another human being, but this man had given her a first. She hated him. And hoped Tino caught the man and took him to jail.

  At the boat, don Miguel picked her up in his arms and stepped into the hull. He sat still cradling her in his arms as the other two shoved off the landing and jumped in.

  She wanted to tell the man to put her down but, again, her tongue and lips refused to work. How would she stop them from plunging the obsidian knife into her chest if she couldn’t speak?

  Refreshing air floated over Isabella as the boat puttered down the river. If only she could raise a hand to brush the hair out of her face. She still rested in Don Miguel’s lap. He didn’t treat her like a virgin. His hands wandered up and down her sides, over her breasts, and even cupping her butt when he shifted her. The other men chuckled as his hands roamed. She wanted to slap him and smack the other men’s faces.

  She hated this handling. It made her feel violated, and she feared he would discover her pockets and the journal. Her ability to speak had to come back. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to stop the ceremony to save not only her life but also the truth of the Mayan history.

  She tried one more time to utter a protest to his groping. “Get your hands off me.” The words came out as a pitiful gurgle. He laughed and squeezed her butt. Anger sparked hot. Damn the man!

  The boat motor sputtered and the wind stopped rushing by her. The two younger men stepped around her and don Miguel. Water splashed, the boat lunged, and don Miguel rose with her still in his arms.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Virgil’s worried tone brought a moment of hope to her situation.

  “She drank that stuff you gave me.” Don Miguel set her feet on the ground.

  Her legs had gained strength, but she didn’t want them to know, and purposely swayed into him.

  “You weren’t supposed to give it to her until we were in the altar chamber.” Virgil grabbed her other arm. “Where are her glasses?”

  Don Miguel patted his breast pocket. Good, she knew where to get them when she could move her arms.

  “I have the workers in the mess tent watching a movie,” Virgil said as they linked arms and carried her up the trail to the dig.

  Don Miguel’s men walked one in front and one in back. Did they know what the two older men planned? From their actions, she had a feeling they’d enjoy watching. The thought quaked her insides.

  Too soon they stepped into the compound. The sun was setting, making way for the inevitable full moon. If she could stop time as the ancients had for she and Tino in the altar chamber, now would be the perfect moment.

  “Tell your men to stand guard at the entrance. We don’t want any unwanted guests.”

  Virgil’s orders and calm presence rippled a shiver up her spine. How could she have once thought of this man as a surrogate father? His actions equaled a criminal with no heart.

  Don Miguel ordered his men to stay at the entrance. He and Virgil hauled her into the dig, through the main chamber, and into the altar chamber. Smoke and a sensual earthy scent veiled the room. Without any pretense the men walked straight to the altar.

  Isabella steeled herself for the onslaught of emotion that usually settled over her in the chamber, but none came.

  Virgil put both hands under
her arms and held her against the cold stone of the altar.

  “Go in the other room and put on your ceremonial garments. They’re set out,” Virgil said to don Miguel. The other man sauntered out of the room.

  “Isabella,” Virgil lifted her chin and stared into her eyes, “I regret the loss of your intelligence to the archeology and anthropology circles, but that same intelligence has come too close too many times to discovering the fraud that I am and I can’t have that happen. I’m too old to start over.” He set her on the altar.

  Isabella tried to think back over the years and what she would know that could prove him a fraud. But trying to think only increased her confusion.

  Virgil studied her and smiled. “And you’re the perfect sacrifice for this ceremony. You studied the ceremony, have empathy for the Mayans, and you’re a virgin.”

  She peered into his eyes and tried to shake her head. She had to make him know she wasn’t a virgin. This ceremony wouldn’t bring about what they wished. If they went through with the atrocity it would only bring about bad things just as the ceremony did thousands of years before.

  Not to mention, she wasn’t ready to leave this earth. She’d finally found a person who loved her unconditionally.

  His eyes softened. “Don Miguel has offered me something I can’t refuse. Even over the wrath of your father and the loss of a great mind.” He kissed her forehead and placed her on the altar. “Your purity is unsurpassed and will give us power and prosperity.”

  Virgil reclined her on the altar with care. Anger and frustration burned in hot tears behind her eyes. His hands fluttered her dress, and she worried he might discover her hidden treasures. He fanned her hair around her head.

  “I wish you could be by my side witnessing this miracle, but then I wouldn’t have the perfect sacrifice or be able to take care of a thorn in my side.” He picked up a small bowl, dipped his fingers into it and dotted the liquid around her face, down her neck, and between her breasts, chanting in Chol.

  Her mind rushed in a thousand different directions as she tried to remember the sequence of the ceremony. But all she could think about was Virgil, the man she’d looked up to for so long, planned to watch as don Miguel cut into her with an obsidian knife and took out her heart, a heart they believed to be pure.