Jungle of Deceit

by Maureen A. Miller

  Exhaustion and confusion staked claim on her brain. Alex glanced at the digital clock beside the bed. 2:15. Did AM and PM even exist down here?

  She felt the steady drum of Mitch’s heart beneath her palm, a beguiling pulse that drew her close as she stretched her body alongside his, feeling so small in comparison. She inhaled his scent, a combination of soap and detergent and some rugged element that made her tremble.

  Her eyes closed and soon the limbo of hell enticed her. She entered the cave−the path to Xibalba. How far down must she travel until she reached the demons−the rulers of the underworld? The trials and traps of the Mayan death lords awaited her. They called out to her. They wanted to play a game.

  Could she win?

  ***

  A slender woman with long black hair cascading down her back stooped over a youthful version of herself. The young girl possessed the biggest brown eyes he had ever seen and they searched humankind with ardent curiosity. Even now they were locked on him, unblinking. Though he grinned, they did not react. They kept staring as if taking a scan of his face and storing it in a drive inside her mind along with other images she must have copied there. The woman looked up from her child and saw him and offered a hesitant smile.

  He took the picture. A camera would fail to capture this beauty, but he took the picture for himself. To remember this moment.

  The image faded and night befell him. He stood before a wooden barn, light streaming from its gaping planks in a strobe effect across the frost-covered turf. He could hear the crunch of his boot on the gravel path as his steps slowed on approach. Repulsed by the frozen handle of the barn door he was nonetheless drawn towards it−compelled to open it.

  A golden halo poured onto the grass around him as he hauled open the door and the light pierced his eyes.

  Mitch shouted and vaulted upright. Disoriented in the dark, he was aware of a bed beneath him−a far cry from the gnarled roots of a few nights ago. What was more shocking was the warm female body tucked up against his. With the help of the diffused light, his sight gradually acclimated. The female body hoisted up next to him.

  “Are you okay?”

  Until he heard the voice, Mitch had feared it was the black-haired woman next to him. But she wasn’t there. Neither was the beautiful child with the eyes of an owl−capable of ingesting his soul.

  It was Alex.

  “Yeah,” he swiped a hand over his face to try and brush away the ghosts.

  Alex touched his hand and brought it down to rest on his thigh, with her fingers still meshed with his. “Monsters hunt you at night, don’t they?”

  Dammit. He stared at the union of their bodies in those joined hands. The effects of the nightmare wore off much more quickly tonight, but he could still see the little girl. She stood in the corner, just outside the ring of light. Watching him. Always watching him.

  “I−” He was hoarse and coughed to clear it. “I don’t sleep well.” He looked at the clock, evading her question. “But believe it or not, that was a pretty powerful nap. Thank you for not taking advantage of me.”

  Persistent, Alex didn’t seem to buy his diversion. She kept a hold of his hand, preventing him from rising. He wanted to throw a blast of cold water over his face.

  “I watched you,” she whispered. “Dreams are only supposed to last for seconds, and yet they seem to assault you back to back with no relief. No wonder you don’t sleep well.”

  Mitch tried not to dwell on the fact that she was watching him while he slept. It made him feel vulnerable−or coveted. Which?

  “Look−” He swung his legs off the bed so that his bare feet hit the carpet. “We have to get going. Aren’t we supposed to meet up with the Pastorellis and get a tour of this hell hole?”

  Alex scooted up onto her knees and arrested him with firm hands. “Mitch, your nightmares are bad. They scared me and I’m not even in them.” She waited until he looked over his shoulder and then asked in a hushed voice, “What is it that torments you?”

  His throat clenched. He shook his head, like a dog trying to rattle a toy, only he was trying to discard the images and cast off the sincerity in Alex’s voice.

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Alex, okay?”

  Her hands fell from his shoulders and she sat back on her heels. “Okay.”

  Dammit. Her concern was a precious gift he sensed was not often bestowed. To reject her now when their lives were on the line would be a slap greater than that of his deception. And besides, wouldn’t it be a relief to share the black-haired angels that lived just outside the realm of consciousness?

  He leaned forward avoiding eye contact. “I was stationed in Kosovo.” Feeling her settle next to him, Mitch continued, “The US had troops there for stability in the Balkan region. Kosovo was declaring its independence from Serbia, and Serbia feared that the Albanian government was going to physically force Serbs from their homeland.”

  He sat up and looked over his shoulder. “Aww hell, you don’t want a history lesson.”

  “I spend most of my time in the field, Mitch, but I’m not ignorant to world politics. I can’t be. I can’t narrow my knowledge to just Central America.”

  “Okay.” He grinned halfhearted, but lost it once the memories returned.

  “They called it the Forgotten Front,” he started. “Everyone was consumed with the political strife in the mid-east, but battles were still being waged. Even though the war was long over, Serbs and other minorities were still being threatened by Albanians. The US soldiers that stayed behind were there to play peacekeeper−and I was assigned to the location. I drove to the Serbian village of Silovo where the locals were poor, but peaceful. There was a US military camp set up across the street from a Serbian church that I wanted to take pictures of. They were both on a hilltop, and I went up there, and in front of this church stood a beautiful woman with long black hair…” he hesitated because there she was, in the corner of this subterranean room, watching him, “−but her beauty was completed in the face of her daughter. The girl was a mirror image. The daughter stared at me with the biggest brown eyes. Soulful eyes. She didn’t move. She didn’t listen to her mother leaning over her, talking. She just stared at me. And I−” he coughed into his fist, “I took her picture.”

  “That was your job,” Alex offered. “They sound striking. You captured an image of their beauty for the whole world to see.”

  Mitch shook his head. “It was the first time I ever felt that I had photographed something I was not privileged to.” He turned to face Alex. “Explain that. Can you explain that?”

  Alex opened her mouth to answer, but sensed that he wasn’t looking for one. He wanted to continue.

  “That night I returned to the village, and to that church. I don’t know if I was looking to reflect on the images from earlier in the day, or just to capture a picture of the historic building under the light of a nearby bonfire. Regardless, I never quite made my destination. I parked the car and started up the hill, but a barn close by caught my attention. It was the noise. There were shouts coming from it, and light poured out of the cracks in the wood like lasers, and well…” he nodded, “−in my field, recklessness is heralded.” He looked at her, “So I approached that barn, and I slid open the door.”

  It had almost been easy up to this point−easy to spill it all to Alex’s patient ears. But now memories of the military debriefing in Montenegro plagued him. After the treatment he received, he had vowed to never again voice the story.

  “Mitch.” Alex touched his shoulder. “I understand if this is too personal. I didn’t mean to meddle, but you are in so much pain when you sleep−”

  He reached up and covered her hand with his. “No, let me do this.”

  It was easier to become the journalist and distance himself, reporting it like a documentary. “Inside that barn were a group of soldiers. American soldiers. They were−they were raping the woman with the long black hair. One of the soldiers had a hold of the little girl. Her eyes were so w
ide. She stood there and watched it all.” His voice caught. “And then those eyes turned towards me, and she just stared and stared. I didn’t want to break that contact. I wanted her to keep looking at me. Don’t look away. Look at me.” Mitch swallowed hard.

  “I couldn’t do anything. I had no weapons and there were about ten soldiers. They saw me and started after me. I used the only weapon I had and I started shooting pictures, all the while trying to lock the little girl’s eyes.”

  His head dropped. “They got me. They destroyed the camera. I was sent to Montenegro to be debriefed−” he smirked, “translation−fired. And I was sent home.”

  Beside him, he heard Alex’s trapped air release. “Do you know what happened to them?”

  He knew she spoke of the woman and her daughter. “No. But they’re with me. Not every night, but most nights.”

  “Mitch, you probably saved them just by interrupting the act. Do you understand that?”

  He nodded, his throat too swollen to speak.

  “They are not ghosts that are tormenting you. They are probably alive and well now. And those soldiers−although you were fired and their violence seemingly went undisciplined, I am sure it was addressed by someone internally. That is what they do.”

  These were the arguments he tried to convince himself of, but nothing stopped the little girl from staring at him from the shadows. No amount of logic or mental negotiation would deter her.

  “Well, there you have it,” he said.

  Alex crawled to the edge of the bed next to him, and laid her palm against his cheek−against the bruise, leaning forward to press her lips onto that injury. Her hand felt warm, her lips felt soft. He ached from both because he knew that distrust still lingered there and he could not assuage it. Mitch shifted into that caress so that his mouth collided with hers, and with his kiss, he conveyed his gratitude for her understanding.

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  “I’ll get it,” he warned, preparing for an attack. “Stay there.”

  From the shadows, Alex watched him with wide eyes.

  Chapter Ten

  “It’s almost three.” Gwen Pastorelli stood in the doorway, her face pinched by nerves. “I would love to let you guys sleep, but we don’t have much time.”

  Alex stepped up beside Mitch. She still reeled from the brutality of his tale, but she was staggered by the kiss they had shared. It wasn’t like the others, filled with heat and hunger. It was an exchange of emotions and spoke of a bond−and it terrified her. Despite his admissions in the dark, Mitch had deceived her, and there were too many unanswered questions.

  Dark and intense, he stared down at her right now as she said in hoarse voice, “We’ll be right out, Gwen.”

  When the door closed, she was left to look up at the daunting man and deal with the overwhelming emotions he inflicted.

  “I see it, Alex.” His voice was husky. “I see the doubt there. Just know this…at all costs, I will protect you.”

  “No.” Alex cast his pledge aside. “I am not the woman from the barn. You can’t save me, Mitch. I am responsible for myself.” She went so far as to tap her chest and then felt that was a bit dramatic so dropped her hand.

  “Yeah, I get it. You are responsible for yourself, responsible for your men. You are responsible for peace in the Middle East and you are responsible for the drop in stocks on Wall Street.”

  His frown mirrored her own. A silent face off.

  “If you want responsibility, Alex,” he whispered softly. “Take responsibility for what you’re doing to my insides…my stomach, my chest, my−I don’t know what the hell is going on with them right now, but you’re responsible.”

  Alex looked away. She needed to get out of here. She opened the door and hurried down the hall. The skin at the back of her head tingled and she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before stepping into the dining room.

  When she opened them again, Gwen was standing before her.

  “They supply us with aspirin here−if you have a headache?”

  “No, no. I’m fine. I’m ready to see this place.”

  “Me too.” Mitch said from behind and she could feel the warmth of his body as he drew in close.

  Joseph Pastorelli was on the couch, his legs propped up on the beige cushions.

  “Joe.” Gwen went over and tapped him on the shoulder. “We have to go. We have to get ready for tomorrow.”

  “Screw them.” His speech was garbled. “I’m too tired.”

  “You have to go, Joe.” Gwen pleaded.

  He waved her off and closed his eyes, mumbling, “I’ll catch up in a few minutes.”

  Sensing Gwen’s distress, Alex stepped up and touched her shoulder. “Start us out, Gwen. Your husband will join us shortly, right Joe?”

  “Yeah,” he muttered with his eyes shut.

  Visibly relieved with Alex’s offer, Gwen moved to the front door. She opened it and wiggled her nose in disdain. “Don’t you just love that they put our quarters back with the public restrooms.”

  The word public seemed preposterous. Public implied a facility frequented by the external population−not a handful of affluent criminals.

  As they stepped out of the alcove, Alex finally had a moment to digest her surroundings. Earlier she had been overwhelmed and a bit lightheaded, but now there was time to scrutinize the magnificent construction. The interior of the temple was a tiered atrium lined with cherry wood balustrades, revealing three levels of glass-encased exhibits. Above the third floor, the ceiling soared into a conical shape that from the outside would have represented the pyramid’s funerary shrine. Mayan pyramids were often foundations for the temple at the top. Irrationally she wished this gutted core was not a subterranean museum, but rather the authentic temple chambers.

  “Do you know anything about how they built this?” she asked Gwen who was moving at a swift pace.

  Tempted by each exhibit, Alex struggled to keep up, but she had the attention span of a child unleashed in FAO Schwarz.

  To her left, atop an illuminated marble embankment sat a box deftly carved from volcanic stone which she estimated to be well over a 1000 years old. Intrigued, she paused before it, recognizing the symbolic figure of one of the gods of the underworld.

  Gwen backtracked to stand beside her.

  “This piece is stolen.” Alex was indignant.

  A weary laugh escaped Gwen. “They all are.”

  “I mean−I know this specific piece. It was looted from a cave near Cancun.”

  Mitch stepped up on her other side and reached out to touch it. Alex swatted his hand away. “Don’t!”

  “Ouch.”

  “It dates back to around 250AD.”

  “So do I,” he rubbed his hand. “Some days.”

  “Joe and I don’t have the depth of knowledge that you do,” Gwen said. “I think that we’re only here due to process of elimination. The others tried to leave−and as I said, we haven’t seen them since.”

  Alex snapped her fingers. “Logan Campo. Logan Campo from the University of Utah. I attended some post-grad classes with him. He was one of the first archeologists reported missing in this region. When I heard about it, I thought he had been bit by a snake or something.” She looked to Gwen expectantly. “Was he here?”

  Gwen nodded. “That was before Joe and I got here, but we heard that he was.” Her eyes revealed disappointment when she glanced back down the alley to find it empty, with no trace of her husband. “I know that more people were abducted than what made it down here. As this was only a monthly gig, the ratio of patrons to exhibitors was too great−sometimes the big man would come out and talk.”

  “The big man?” Mitch looked up. “Solis?”

  “No. This man is an older fellow. I never actually met him, but I gather by the way Miguel acts like a pathetic troll around him, that he’s his boss.”

  “Is this man Latin as well?” Mitch asked. “What does he look like?”

  Gwen frowned, but was still distracted wi
th the expectation that her husband would emerge at any moment. “No, not Latin. I’ve only seen him from a distance. Solid white hair. That much I could tell you.”

  Alex gasped, and Mitch muttered, “Son of a bitch.” They nodded in unison and said, “Nicholson.”

  “Who is Nicholson?”

  “He is the director of the Museum of Historical Arts and Antiquities in New York,” Alex explained and tried to keep the anger out of her voice. She hated the fact that yet another person she trusted had lied to her. Was she that gullible? “He secured my grant to come down here, and he’s also responsible for Mitch being here.”

  Gwen nodded, but it was more like the incoherent motion of a bobble-head doll.

  “Dammit.” Mitch clubbed his fist on a display railing. “Does he attend every one of these soirees?”

  “I think so, but like I said, I don’t always see him. And of course, we’re too busy at the time. It’s like you have to be at five different exhibits simultaneously. If you lose a sale−”

  “My God.” Alex felt heat rise to her cheeks. “What happens if you lose a sale?”

  “Well…” Gwen’s eyes shifted from the vacant alley to meet hers, “−those are the ones that disappear.”

  “Christ.” Mitch opened his fist and swiped his palm over his face. “We have to get out of here.” He looked around and Alex followed the pitch of his head.

  Inside this temple pyramid she lost perspective. She couldn’t analyze their options. She needed to get out into the courtyard for a better handle on their predicament. Initially, when she had walked in with Solis she was too stricken to examine the surroundings with anything more than astonishment. Now she was ready to kick into gear and get them out of here.

  “Gwen, are we allowed outside the temple? Back out in the courtyard?”

  “Oh yeah, yeah. They know you aren’t going anywhere. And besides, they want you to be familiar with the grounds for the opening ceremonies. There are artifacts outside as well.” Her eyes shifted down the aisle and an impatient sigh escaped her lips before she met Alex’s gaze. “Joe wasn’t always like this, you know. They have enabled his drinking. All our supplies are delivered on a weekly basis, and they always throw in a few bottles.”