Murder on the Riviera

by Anisa Claire West

  The moved in synch with each other’s natural rhythm, flowing in erotic circles together to the music of breathless rasps of excitement. Herculea looked up for a moment at the cloudy gray sky and felt a raindrop fall onto her tongue as she continued to press her hips upward, matching Pedro’s every thrust. He shoved his hands beneath her body, lifting her hips higher and gripping her waist as he stared down at her naked breasts and groaned again.

  A moment later, Herculea felt tremors rock her body violently, and she screamed into the fresh air and rain as Pedro pushed harder to heighten her climax. She moaned with each tremor that coursed through her and sighed in delight as she felt him reach his own intense pinnacle.

  They lay together in silence, their bodies still intertwined at every angle, sweat and rain soaking their bare skin. All that could be heard was their irregular breathing and the drift of the wind through the trees. Herculea slowly and reluctantly came back to reality, unable to believe that she was lying in the wilderness in Brazil with a virtual stranger. She looked over at him. His eyes were closed, but the continued irregularity of his breathing told her that he wasn’t sleeping.

  Affectionately, he caressed her sweaty hair, and she felt an uncomfortable twinge of self-awareness. She tried to move away, but he wouldn’t let her. Instead, he placed a hand on her cheek and leaned down to kiss her shoulder.

  “Stay lost with me,” he urged in a tone that bordered on pleading.

  Herculea fought the impulse to present him with a litany of questions that had no place there. She wanted to enjoy this indulgent sense of being lost just a little bit longer. So she again pushed her intellect aside and snuggled close to Pedro’s heart, resting her cheek on the matted hair of his solid chest.

  A halo of afternoon sun was dipping underneath smoky clouds when Herculea finally stirred again. Rubbing her eyes and pushing her bangs away from her still sticky forehead, she realized that she had fallen asleep in Pedro’s arms. It had been a deep and dreamless sleep, and she felt more like she was awaking from a coma than a nap as she fidgeted against him. He opened his eyes and squinted for a moment, then smiled as he looked over at her.

  “Good morning? Or afternoon…or evening? I really have no idea,” he mumbled in a groggy voice.

  “I think it must be close to sunset.” She conjectured, gazing at the patterns in the sky.

  “Then we should go have dinner. You must be starving.” Pedro shifted and reached for his clothing strewn across some twigs next to them.

  At the mention of the word “dinner” Herculea’s stomach rumbled. All she had eaten that day was fruit. She looked down at her partial nudity, her dress twisted around her hips. She readjusted her dress and stood up self-consciously. Now she was wide awake and painfully aware of how vulnerable she had allowed herself to be. The whole setting seemed surreal. She looked away from Pedro.

  “Your house is that way, right?” She asked, pointing east.

  “Yes, it is. Let’s go.” He zipped up his pants and took her by the hand.

  It was quite a hike to get back to the house. Herculea had forgotten how much ground they had covered earlier in the day. When they finally reached the house, Herculea felt weak and in dire need of a wholesome meal. Against her vegetarian beliefs, she found herself craving a plump, juicy steak with creamy mashed potatoes swimming in salty gravy. And a glass of full-bodied red wine. Herculea began to salivate at the succulent meal she had created in her imagination.

  She trudged behind Pedro up the staircase leading to the patio and followed him inside. The stepped into a large den. Mahogany furniture and forest green walls occupied the masculine space. There was a bar table with a decanter of what looked to be cognac. It was surprisingly dark and windowless in the room, and Herculea did not notice any lamps or other electronics.

  As though reading her mind, Pedro said, “The only electricity I have here is the freezer. It seems a waste to have other modern conveniences since I’m here so infrequently. Call me a survivalist.”

  Herculea’s head began to spin with a combination of hunger and discomfiture. She felt the need to be alone and collect her thoughts. And remember her mission here in Brazil. She did not want to spend the evening with Pedro.

  “I think I should be getting back to my hotel,” she blurted out as Pedro whipped around to face her with a stern expression.

  “Why would you want to go back to your hotel? I’m going to take you to dinner,” he said tightly.

  “It’s been a long day. And yesterday was a long day too. I think I’m jet lagged.”

  Yes. That was a revelation. The reason she had fallen asleep outdoors in broad daylight with a semi-stranger at her side was her jet lag. Well, that and the mind-numbing sex that had preceded it. But it was mainly the jet lag. It was so unlike her to let her guard down in front of someone she did not know or trust.

  Suddenly, she could taste the mango juice on the tip of her tongue. Alarmed, she recalled the slight bitterness of the drink. Maybe he really had laced it with alcohol and that’s what caused her to be intimate with him and sleep so soundly afterwards.

  “I guess we could have dinner at one of the hotel’s restaurants,” Pedro suggested, not seeming to grasp her desire to be alone.

  Feeling violated, but not wanting to discuss it, she protested, “I’m just so tired. And this is a business trip for me, after all. My time in Brazil is limited, and I have to get some strength back to do my work.” Herculea spoke decisively, not caring at the moment if she offended Pedro. She was not his prisoner.

  “Oh, yes. You are going to interview some capoeira artists?” Pedro asked with a hint of condescension in his voice.

  Herculea hesitated before replying. She did not want to go into detail about her search for the Silver Goddess, but she would see if Pedro could at least point her in the direction of Vinova.

  “Actually, there’s been a change of plans. I want to find the Silver Goddess and observe her life on the Island of Vinova. I’m planning a research project.”

  Pedro’s face froze in visible shock. “Are you crazy?” He boomed.

  Confused by his reaction, she simply exclaimed, “What?!”

  “You cannot do that. You don’t know how dangerous she is. And you cannot reach her island by ordinary means. It’s impossible.” Pedro spoke quickly and irrationally.

  “You’re the one who told me about her! And you told me to try to find her! I’m an anthropologist, a scientist of humans. If this woman really exists, I am going to find her and study her,” Herculea said stubbornly.

  “Do you know how ridiculous you sound?” Pedro snorted cynically.

  In that insulting moment, Herculea shut down. She would not tell Pedro anything else about her plans. She just hoped he would drive her safely back to the hotel. They were in the middle of nowhere, and she would not be able to hail a cab. Hitchhiking would be the only option to get back to Rio, and that was far too dangerous.

  “Please take me back to the hotel,” she said quietly.

  “I don’t understand what’s wrong with you. You could have a romantic stay in Brazil with me. I can show you the best this country has to offer. Instead, you want to go on some wild witch hunt.”

  Pedro shook his head angrily, as Herculea heaved an impatient sigh. Before Herculea could open her mouth to argue with Pedro, a golden glimmer caught her eye from across the room. Sitting on a coffee table was a thick hardcover book decorated with gold calligraphy. Intuitively, Herculea knew it was somehow important. She walked a few steps towards the table so she could read the book’s title. As soon as her brain processed the words, she gasped in horror: The Immortality Abyss.

  “Why do you have this book?!” Herculea demanded before Pedro even realized what she was referring to.

  “What book?” He asked, following her eyes to the table.

  His reaction was disturbingly calm and calculating. “Oh, that book. Would you like to read it? It would be good information for your research project,” he said sardonically.r />
  “Why do you have this book?!” Herculea repeated hysterically, remembering again the strange mango juice she had drunk just hours earlier. “Did you slip something into my drink?”

  “Yes, a little rum,” Pedro admitted.

  “How dare you?” She burst out.

  Herculea didn’t understand why he had felt the need to spike her drink with rum. If he wanted to get her intoxicated and into bed, he could have easily done so in San Francisco. They didn’t need to fly halfway around the world for him to seduce her. Something wasn’t adding up.

  “I don’t know what kind of head game you’re playing with me, but I am going to ask you this one more time. Why do you have that book?” Herculea stood with her hands curled into fists at her sides, waiting determinedly for a truthful answer.

  Pedro stood for a long, pensive moment staring at the floor. He shoved his hands into his pants pockets and nodded his head resolutely. Herculea sensed that whatever he was about to say would be devastating.

  On a shaky intake of breath, he admitted, “I have that book because I am immortal too. Just like the Silver Goddess.”

  Herculea stopped herself from interrupting, although her heart began palpitating as the import of his words took effect. He continued in a sorrowful voice.

  “Long ago, at the beginning of the twentieth century, I was a happy man. And I was in love. Mathilda---the Silver Goddess---and I had been together for a few years, since we were about your age. When we got into our forties, she started to fear growing older. And so did I. When we were traveling through Brazil, we found that book.”

  He pointed menacingly to the tome that sat on his coffee table. “The spell promised eternal life, and foolishly we let ourselves be bewitched. We lived for a while on the Island of Vinova. But things were never the same again. It just wasn’t natural. Our love died, and one day she banished me from the island. I have never been back since then and cannot ever return.” Pedro hung his head in misery.

  “Yes, the Silver Goddess,” Pedro muttered maliciously. “She was my sweet Mathilda before we conducted the spell, but after we became immortal, she chose silver as the paint of her eternity.”

  “The paint of her eternity? What does that mean?” Herculea asked, confounded.

  “I don’t know. And I don’t care now. All I know is that I am doomed to live forever. No reprieve. No oblivion. Just endless days ahead. It’s enough to drive a man insane. The Immortality Abyss warned of misfortune, but I didn’t believe it. I thought eternity would be perfect.”

  Pedro twisted his fingers into locks of wavy hair and yanked masochistically. The nurturer in Herculea wanted to comfort him, but she was too afraid. Reeling with the information he had given her so far, she felt like he still had more to say.

  “Is there anything else?” She asked expectantly.

  He looked at her with the same brazen intensity that had first captivated her in California. “Yes. I want you to spend eternity with me.”

  Herculea backed away in horror as he continued, “Please don’t be scared. I know you didn’t directly consent. But I think you will understand my predicament. I cannot possibly spend eternity alone! For almost a century, I have been searching for a woman to convert to immortal status and be with me forever. Herculea, you are that woman! I will not search for another hundred years, or another hundred days! You are the one.”

  For all of her adult life, she had dreamed about hearing a man tell her she was the one. But it sounded grotesque under these circumstances. His words were hollow to her ears, like air escaping from a stray seashell.

  Clinging to the last thread of her composure, Herculea looked unblinkingly into Pedro’s eyes and asked, “What have you done?”

  He averted his eyes towards the coffee table where the book rested, but said nothing. Herculea would not tolerate his silence.

  “What have you done?” This time, she asked the question through gritted teeth, refusing to take her eyes from his face.

  She would stare him down like an animal all day and night if that’s what it took to extract an answer from him.

  “Tell me!” She shouted.

  Pedro squirmed under her gaze and continued to focus his eyes on the book.

  “It was in the juice,” he whispered.

  “What was in the juice? The rum?” She asked slowly and deliberately.

  “The mixture! The herbs and spices!” He said, exasperated.

  “What are you talking about? What herbs and spices?”

  “The same herbs and spices that the Silver Goddess blends in her wine every day. The same herbs and spices that made me immortal when I drank the wine with her. The same herbs and spices that I put in your mango juice so you will be immortal with me! That’s why you can’t go after the Silver Goddess now! No other woman is allowed on the island. Now that you are immortal, and my lover, she will see you as her enemy and try to harm you! I only told you about her back in San Francisco to see what your reaction was. All along, I knew that I would make you immortal once I could get you alone here in Brazil.”

  Herculea flinched and gasped audibly. Indignant tears welled up in her eyes, and she blinked to prevent them from rolling down her cheeks.

  “So, you fixed some kind of a diabolical potion and presented it as an innocent glass of juice? And that witch’s brew has now made me immortal? Is that what you are saying?”

  Herculea knew the answers to her questions, but she asked them anyway. She had to hear him admit it. Instead of a verbal reply, Pedro merely nodded his head affirmatively. His eyes remained fixated on the book. She had to get out of there somehow. But not without that book.

  Trying not to raise Pedro’s suspicions, Herculea walked casually over to the table and picked up the book. She caressed the dusty front cover and examined the weak binding. The book was a relic and obviously falling apart. Herculea would have to be very careful with it and manage to get it back to the hotel in one piece. She could not afford to lose a single page of the book. The lettering on the cover looked back at her mockingly.

  He looked over at her solemnly and spoke. “Be careful with that book. It is very old.”

  “Why is it so important to you?” Herculea prodded.

  Suddenly, Pedro looked at her in alarm, as though reading her mind. Instantly, Herculea knew that she had gone too far. He would not answer any more of her questions, at least not truthfully. As he took long strides towards the table, Herculea pressed the book to her heart and bolted for the door. Herculea had trained athletically for nearly all of her 36 years, and she felt confident that she could outrun most adults. Perhaps she wouldn’t be able to speed past a marathon runner, but Pedro was certainly not a marathon runner. Nearly a decade younger than he was, she had stamina on her side. In a cold sweat, she reached the front door and pulled it open, running breathlessly outside. She could hear Pedro’s heavy footsteps behind her.

  She ran onto the deserted dirt road. All she could see were hills and mountains in the distance. Without pausing to get her bearings, Herculea ran west, in the direction where the sun was starting to set in earnest now. She dared to toss one look over her shoulder and could make out Pedro’s figure still chasing after her. If she maintained her speed, he would never catch up to her. Her lungs struggled to take in more oxygen and her heart beat like a steel drum.

  Ignoring her physical discomfort, Herculea accelerated her pace and braced herself for a steep hill. Ready to faint by the time she reached the hill’s summit, Herculea sighed with mild relief when she surveyed her surroundings. Cars and trucks cruised by on the paved road. A little soda shop stood at the corner. Pedestrians walked by with grocery bags in their arms. Signs of civilization.

  An elderly woman in a pleated skirt and rose blouse passed Herculea on the street. Carrying a loaf of bread in her arms, she gave Herculea a peculiar, almost disapproving look. Herculea glanced down at her dress and saw it was dirty and grass-stained. There was even a slight tear at the hem. In the next instant, Herculea also realize
d that she was carrying nothing but the book. She always kept her cell phone on her person, but it was missing. Wracking her brain and retracing the events of the day, she came to the conclusion that she had carelessly left it in the hotel room. Why had she let Pedro lead her astray? She should have had a relaxing breakfast with Kent and then set off on her own for the rest of the day.

  Trying not to panic, Herculea looked around for a friendly face. In her tattered condition, who would want to help her? Herculea walked a few more blocks, contemplating her limited options. As she approached a red light, a truck screeched to a halt. It was a livestock truck that carried several cages of chickens in the back. If Herculea hurried, she calculated that she could jump onto the back of the truck before the light turned green.

  Darting into the street, Herculea clung to the bumper and took a powerful leap onto the truck as her skirt lifted to her stomach in the early evening breeze. A young boy across the street whistled appreciatively, but she didn’t hear him. All she could hear was the drone of the engine and the incessant clucking of the hens. She squeezed herself onto a makeshift seat and rode along next to the cages.

  The truck traveled for countless miles as Herculea scanned the scenery for familiar sites. It would not be likely that this farm vehicle would stop in Rio de Janeiro, but Herculea hoped it would at least pass through en route to another rural region. That way she could jump off and somehow find her way back to the hotel.

  Queasy after hours of riding on the back of the truck, Herculea looked up hopefully. For the first time since embarking on her ill fated trip to Brazil, Herculea felt that the stars had aligned for her. The truck rolled past a busy boulevard in Rio that Herculea recalled seeing on the taxi ride from the airport. She estimated that the hotel was about a mile away.

  Heart pounding, Herculea clenched her fists, hoping desperately that the truck would stop. But the truck sailed through several green lights and seemed to actually pick up speed. The chickens flapped their wings in the cages, causing feathers to fly into the air and whip Herculea in the mouth. Fighting back tears, Herculea realized that she might have to jump from a moving vehicle. Either that or she would risk getting off the beaten trail and becoming completely lost. Pedro’s insolent command, “Get lost with me” echoed bitterly in her mind. Soon, it would be dark, and she could not gamble with her safety. To be alone, half-dressed and filthy, in a foreign city with no money, identification, or phone would be far more perilous than leaping from a moving vehicle.