“Yes, sir.”
“You’ll wait there for Arturo and another passenger. I’ll be sending Dr. Wilson with you. Your discretion will be of the utmost importance.”
“Yes, sir.” The pilot’s voice sounded more clear and alert now. “Sir? Anything else?”
“No. Just don’t waste any time. Thank you.” Brant ended the call and headed down to the kitchen.
María sat at the table, stirring a tiny silver spoon in a white teacup. “Buenos días. Can I get you a cup of té?”
“How did you know?” Brant paced the kitchen.
“You’re awake at four.” María got a cup down from the cabinet.
“Well, you’re awake too,” Brant countered.
“I know.” María waved his observation aside. “I had a dream. Mija came home.”
“She is coming home. Arturo is bringing her today. She should be back late tonight, if all goes well.”
“Eso es bueno, but something was very troubling about my dream that I can’t figure out.” María shook her head.
Brant knew that María tried to be a strict Catholic, but her Indian roots ran deep. She had gifts that tapped into her Warao Indian heritage. “Oh?”
“She was holding the Delphne Star, clutching it to her chest. She was soaking wet and running from death. She was trying to save something, but I don’t think it was the flower.” María placed a cup of tea in front of Brant.
“She’s not well. Arturo thinks things are a bit dodgy in the States. The cartel might have found her.” Brant began sipping his tea. A tear escaped the corner of his eye. He hated to show weakness, but when it came to her, he was just too darn weak. “Everything is completely knackered.”
“Oh, mijo.” María pulled him into a motherly embrace. “You’ll see. I will get her fixed up in no time. The cartel doesn’t know where we are, either. She will be in the best place in the whole world here.”
“I know.” He smiled. “But I can’t figure out how to convince her parents to let her come. I should’ve just manned up and told them from the beginning. I’m a bloody fool.”
“Sí, but that would have put them in danger too, and how do you expect to tell them about being the Guardian? You did what you thought was best at the moment.”
“María, I’m so glad to have you here with me. I know you’ll make everything better.”
“That’s what mamacitas are for.” She patted his hand, and her face brightened. “I have so much to do!” She clapped her hands gleefully. “Mija is coming home.”
Chapter 4
This night will be different, Chrissie told herself as she slipped her thin frame between the cool sheets on her bed. She began dreaming almost immediately. A blurred face handed her a beautiful rose made of crystal. The rose slipped through her fingers like water. Her heart sank with the feeling that something vital had been ripped from her being. She sobbed uncontrollably, not waking until her pillow was damp. The actual nightmare wasn’t all that scary, so why would it bother her so much?
Chrissie had grown up in her parents’ cozy Texas home until she had gone away to college, and living in the same room with her ballerina wall paper she’d had as a child made her feel adolescent. She wasn’t well enough to return to her own apartment, even though it was only ten minutes away. The doctor said she had to gain back fifteen pounds and not have a headache for two days straight before he would release her to live on her own again.
She had lost twenty-five pounds since becoming seriously ill with a mysterious illness in Venezuela.
She couldn’t remember a large chunk of time from her year-long humanitarian trip to Venezuela. In fact, she could only remember the first six months of the experience and the carnival in the streets of San Cristobal, and then waking up in a Dallas hospital.
Getting out of bed, she stood to close the bedroom window. The white curtains billowed out from the breeze. The cool air chilled her through her sweat-soaked nightgown.
Ah, man. Another fever?
Being ninety-five pounds didn’t afford her much insulation against the cool night air. The beads of perspiration made her blonde hair stick to her face. While she closed the window, she saw a shadow scurry out of the moonlight on the roofline, causing her to take a second look. It looked like a gargoyle perched on her roof. Nobody was there, from what she could see. The creepy feeling of being watched sent chills up her spine.
She brushed off her trepidation and turned to get back into bed.
Chrissie heard a tapping sound. She slowly turned toward the sound to find Arturo standing at her window. Her head began to spin.
He should be at the mercado in Venezuela, at the base of the mountain selling his produce. My dear friend—why is he here?
Chrissie tried to open the window, but she was too weak to lift it. The old man helped her lift it the rest of the way and clambered in.
“Are you okay?” His thick Spanish accent sang the words. “Come home. You will be better there.”
“I am home.” She felt utterly confused, to say the least. “How did you get here?” It seemed like an eternity since the last time she’d seen him.
“He sent me to check on you. I see you sick. I bring you home. You get better there.” Arturo led her toward the window.
“No, Arturo. We have a front door.” Chrissie pulled her hand back. Her head started to pound, and the room spun. She sat down on the edge of her bed and rested her head in her hands. “I can’t come with you.”
“Come, por favor. You will die if you stay here,” Arturo pled.
“Chrissie? Are you okay?” Chrissie’s mother called from down the hall as the sound her footsteps drew closer.
“Yes, Mom. Will you come here please?” Chrissie tried to keep her voice calm to prevent panic from filling her words.
There was nothing Chrissie would love more than to go back, but she physically couldn’t, and she shouldn’t be leaving out the window. This moment was so strange. She couldn’t seem to make it right in her head.
Arturo immediately backed into a corner, removing his straw hat, bowing his head. Dianne entered the room.
“Arturo!” Chrissie’s mom exclaimed. “When did you get here? I’m so happy to see you!”
“Sí, Señora. Good to see you.” Arturo kept his eyes to the floor.
“I’ve told you before, you should call me Dianne. We’re old friends now.” Dianne pulled Arturo into a hug.
“Mom, how do you know Arturo?” Chrissie asked. Her mom had to be completely insane to be okay with Arturo being in her room. Maybe it was because he was older and completely non-threatening.
“He was at the hospital in Caracas when we came for you. He was the one who brought you to the hospital in the first place. He never left your side.”
“Sí, Señorita. She speaks the truth.” Arturo lifted his eyes and searched Chrissie’s.
Chrissie sifted through, her memory for Arturo at her side in the hospital but nothing was there in the dark, empty hole that consumed her. As much as she loved Arturo, seeing him in her room in the middle of the night made her feel out of sorts. Not to mention the fact that he had been watching her from her rooftop.
“Arturo, she doesn’t remember half of her stay in Venezuela.” Dianne patted Arturo’s hand.
Arturo sucked in air as he said, “Muerte.”
“She does look like death. We hope she gets better real soon.”
“No, Señora. She will die if I don’t bring her back. This is muy grave.” Arturo pulled out a cell phone, a stark contrast to his humble farming attire. His Spanish flew into the phone in a hushed tone. “Un momento, por favor.” He thrust the phone at Dianne.
Dianne took the phone. “Why should I believe you? Uh-huh. I understand. I’ll start packing now.” She nodded while she spoke. She closed the phone and handed it back to Arturo. Her face, no longer bright and cheery, was now puckered with worry.
A heavy blanket of fear fell upon the room.
What was said on the phone that changed
Mom’s mood?
“Wait right here.” Dianne left the room in a hurry and came back with a wad of cash. She pressed the bills in Arturo’s hand. “Take her back and heal her. I trust you, Arturo. This should be enough for a plane ticket for the both of you back to Venezuela.”
“Mom! What are you doing? That’s …” Chrissie’s voice trailed off, as she was too weak to argue.
“Shush! You’ll wake your father, and then you will never be able to leave,” Dianne scolded.
“She won’t need any dinero, Señora. All expenses have been paid. Keep the money. When she is better, you can come down and see her.”
Dianne gave the money to Chrissie anyway. “Just in case, sweetheart.” She patted Chrissie’s hand full of dollars.
Maybe I should yell for my dad. He would be the logical person here.
She took Chrissie’s face into her warm hands. “Western medicine isn’t making you better. I can’t just sit back and watch you die. If Arturo believes he can heal you, I have to believe him. We have no other options here. You know it as well as I do.”
It was true—a sea of orange medicine bottles had taken residence on Chrissie’s nightstand. “Mom, I can’t travel. I don’t think I’ll be able to make it.” She began to cry.
The trip would last for many hours in a plane, with at least one layover. She hadn’t been out in public yet, and the thought of making a long trip filled the pit of her stomach with anxiety. She could hear her pulse pound in her ears.
Dianne pulled a suitcase out from under Chrissie’s bed and began packing clothes. Chrissie lay back on the bed, too weak to move and too confused to put the pieces together.
Why is my mother so trusting in Arturo? Why is she letting me travel back to where I got sick?
“Un auto has been sent and will take us to the avión.” Arturo nervously glanced out the window.
“Mom! What are you doing?” She can’t be sending me away! It doesn’t even matter that I’m ill. Is she that tired of taking care of me?
“Saving your life.” Dianne pulled Chrissie into a warm, motherly embrace.
“The auto will be here in five minutes.” Arturo picked up Chrissie’s suitcase from the bed and headed noiselessly out of the house to wait for the car.
“I can’t do this. As much as I loved being in Venezuela—what parts I remember—I feel like this is too much for me to handle.” Chrissie’s tears picked up pace and slid down her face unchecked.
“Something happened down there.” Dianne held two fingers in front of Chrissie’s face. “You need to find two very important things while you’re there—your missing six months, and your health. After that phone call, I know it’s imperative that you go back and be healed. You’ll be in good hands. A medical team has assembled to aid your recovery.”
“Who was on the phone, Mom?”
“All he said was he was a friend with a possible cure. My gut is telling me to trust him. If he is a friend of Arturo’s then he is a friend of mine.” Diane helped Chrissie dress in some comfortable yoga pants, a hooded sweatshirt, and tennis shoes. Chrissie drowned in her normal clothes.
“I hope that the next time I see you, you’ll be a much healthier version of yourself with some meat on those bones.” Dianne smiled reassuringly and guided Chrissie to the front door, supporting her elbow, just as car lights turned into the driveway.
This is happening too fast. I thought I was going to sleep, and now I’m flying back to Venezuela.
“Mom?” Chrissie glanced back, panicked.
“Arturo never left your side for two weeks. Your father and I got to know him very well before we were able to fly you out. His wife is María—she loves you like a daughter. I got a stack of letters from her asking how you were doing. You’ve told me how much you love them too. Go with it, honey. I don’t have any other ideas. They’re the only ones who have a plan, other than you wasting away.” Dianne rubbed Chrissie’s back. “Everything will be okay. We all need to put faith in this process.”
The black Cadillac with tinted windows idled as the driver loaded the suitcases. He returned to escort Chrissie to the car while Arturo climbed in on the other side of the backseat. The driver’s tuxedo and the smell of a new car made sitting next to humble Arturo seem out of place. She glanced out the window to her twelve-year-old Toyota Corolla.
Am I stuck in some sort of twisted nightmare? Leaving any type of normalcy for the small glimmer of a cure to only die along the way?
The car backed out of the driveway as her mom waved tearfully from the porch. Chrissie laid her head back and closed her eyes. The bass drummer in her head began to pound. “Arturo, who is the ‘he’ you referred to?”
“No puedo decir, mija.”
“I know you can speak better English than that, Arturo.”
“I’m under instructions not to say. Lo siento.”
Chrissie sighed unhappily as she watched the landscape outside her window whiz by. She should really be watching the road straight ahead to avoid any motion sickness. “My time in Venezuela seems so long ago, but it has been only a month since I got back to the States. How is María?”
María made the best tortillas on her hot black griddle. One day when she had her appetite back she would like to relish María’s cooking. It will be good to see María, if I make it there alive.
“Ella está bien. She misses you. María is very happy you come back. You stay with us so she can get you better pronto.”
“I can’t do that. I would be too much trouble.”
“It would break María’s heart if you didn’t stay with us. She misses you so much.” He paused and pursed his lips as he thought. “I didn’t mean to scare you earlier. I was sent to make sure you were okay, and I didn’t want to wake your parents.” The cell phone buzzed in Arturo’s pocket, and he pulled it out to answer.
Chrissie tried to eavesdrop to distract her from the brick sitting in her stomach. It was a male voice—deep and authoritative. His Spanish was mixed with the ancient Indian dialect from the mountains. They were saying something about a flower and something being very bad, but at this moment the brick moving up to her throat seemed like a more pressing matter.
The movement of the car wreaked havoc on Chrissie’s stomach. “I’m going to puke.” Since the impeccable car had nothing for her to be sick in, she reached up to the front seat and grabbed the driver’s hat off his head before vomiting in it.
The driver kept his eyes on the road and gave no indication that he noticed his hat had been used as a sick bag.
“Adiós Señor.” Arturo ended the phone call just as Chrissie laid her head back and closed her eyes. The black car pulled up on the tarmac of the local airport, where a private jet was waiting, already fired up and ready to go.
“A private jet?” Her breath was ragged, like she had run a mile. It took so much effort just to breathe.
“Ah sí, Señor didn’t want for you to be tired out by crowds.”
“I’m guessing he’s rich? Rich enough to hire a jet? Whatever… I don’t care anymore. The whole dang thing is weird.”
“Sí. This will be better for you, and muy rápido to go home.”
“Will I be able to meet him?”
“No se.”
“Why won’t he let me know who he is?”
“Most likely for your safety, Señorita. It’s very dangerous to be close to the Señor right now. You might meet him. For now, we get you better and keep my María happy, sí?”
“Yes, Arturo. We’ll keep María happy.”
The driver opened Chrissie’s door and helped her out of the vehicle. She put the hat on the roof of the car. “Sorry.” She shrugged at the driver. Arturo was right by her side to help her into the jet. Halfway up the stairs, she paused for breath. The cream-colored interior looked new and expensive. A twin bed sat near the back.
“Señorita, we put you to bed now. You sleep to Venezuela. In the morning, we will be home.”
“Home.” She sighed. It was such a short time
ago that she had been there, and she didn’t even remember half of it. Arturo tucked Chrissie snugly into the crisp, clean bed. “I don’t feel at home in Dallas anymore. Maybe Venezuela is where I belong.”
A familiar face came from behind the partition. “Hello there. Long time, no see.”
“Dr. Wilson? How did you get mixed up in this?” Chrissie admired her clinic’s head doctor. He had been an influential teacher at the humanitarian health clinic. She would serve those beautiful people forever and learn much more under Doctor Wilson’s tutelage if she was well.
“I jumped at the chance to care for you on the way back home. I had to fight off five other nurses and Dr. Jones to do it.” He patted Chrissie’s hand. “So, on to the why I’m here. Let’s get you all prepped for the flight.” He gave Chrissie a quick exam and administered a shot of pain meds for her headache to help her sleep as they traveled. He sat right next to her bed so he could keep a close eye on her during the flight.
She drifted off to sleep just as the jet picked up speed down the runway. Arturo sat by the foot of her bed and Dr. Wilson was to her left, but she was totally unaware of anything else as the heavy feelings of medication began to take effect.
* * *
Brant watched as Dr. Wilson and Arturo wheeled the gurney through the French doors of his kitchen at four a.m. His eyes paused on the face he fell in love with not so long ago. The ghost who slumbered under a white sheet was a whisper of the girl he longed for. Dark gray circles hung under her closed eyes, and her cheeks were sunken and gaunt. She looked so frail as they wheeled her past him. Her hair was stringy and dangerously patchy-thin as it lay dull across her pillow. She’d only been gone for six weeks; she was supposed to be getting better, not worse.
“Is she dead? I can’t even see her chest rise and fall with breath.” Brant helped lift the gurney up the steps to the top floor.
“She is alive, but barely,” Dr. Wilson said. “She will sleep deeply for a few more hours. I didn’t want her body to become stressed from travel. I’ll keep her on the IV until she wakes up, and then we will reassess.”
“Mija!” María wailed as she caressed Chrissie’s face.
Guardian of the Fountain Page 3
