by M. S. Parker
“I am a nurse,” Luis explained. “I stitched your head and a deep cut on your arm.” He pointed to my upper left arm.
A nurse, but he hadn’t taken me to the hospital.
I supposed if he got to work via bus or train, he could have made the argument that I couldn’t have ridden either of those when I was unconscious. Then again, it might’ve been because he was a nurse that he’d known there wasn’t any way to get me to the hospital safely, making it better for him to care for me here. It also explained how I had an IV that looked like one I would’ve been given in a hospital. It seemed like an awful lot to take on if he was going to hurt me outright.
“Your fingers are broken.”
It wasn’t until he said it that I realized my two middle fingers on my left hand were splinted and taped together. As if being aware of the injury gave my nerves permission to send signals again, my head and hand began hurting.
“You had other minor cuts and bruises,” he continued, “but nothing that needed more than a bandage. Most of them are healed. Your fingers will require at least two to three more weeks.”
As he watched, I took a few minutes to test my muscles and joints, taking stock of every twinge and ache. Most of the pain, I hoped, was from lack of movement rather than any real injury. Having two fingers out of commission bothered me more than the cut on my face, but I reminded myself it could have been worse. It could have been my right hand.
“Do you know what happened to me?” I asked. “How I was hurt?”
He hesitated before giving me an answer, making me wonder if he was merely searching for an English word, or if he was trying to come up with a convincing lie.
“You were in a car accident.”
I frowned. A car accident? That seemed like the sort of thing the local authorities would’ve gotten involved with, especially since I would’ve either been in a rental or a taxi. I couldn’t imagine a car rental place letting a vehicle go missing for a couple weeks or giving up on finding the renter who’d wrecked one of their cars.
Bad neighborhood or no, it didn’t seem likely that the police wouldn’t have followed up on it if the rental place had applied pressure. Besides, most of those cars had GPS units, and in all honesty, I doubted I would’ve rented one without a GPS. It was all too easy to make a single woman in a strange country disappear. I may have done risky things for a story, but I wasn’t stupid. I took precautions.
Which meant the more likely scenario was that I’d taken a cab. If the cab had caused an accident where they’d injured their fare, I could see how a driver might panic and flee the scene, especially in this neighborhood. There were all sorts of believable lies that would be preferred to being responsible for hurting someone.
Still, I would’ve thought that having to pay the fare out of his own pocket would’ve deterred a driver from leaving a passenger behind. Once that meter was running, I would think that erasing it posed a problem. Then again, I had no way of knowing what sort of technology the cab I’d taken possessed.
“Did you see the car?” I asked.
“No,” he said, his eyes darting to the side and then back again.
He was lying.
It still wasn’t the time to call him on it though. I filed the information away for future perusal, and then asked my next question, hoping Luis couldn’t hear the way my pulse picked up the pace as I formed the words.
“Were you able to file a police report so if anyone came in to report a missing person, they’d be able to match the two cases?”
“I spoke with a member of the police, and he assured me that no Americans had been reported missing yet.”
Again, another lie. Maybe he wasn’t actually spouting a bold-faced lie, but he was hiding things, and my gut told me that he thought he was trying to protect me from someone or something.
For some reason, that irked me more than normal.
I didn’t bite his head off for it, though. I was still too weak to fend for myself if I chose to leave as I was. I needed to be smart about this, no matter how much a voice in the back of my mind kept telling me that I was running out of time.
Three
Clay
When Brianne and I first started searching for Tess, we’d taken a map of the city and broken it into sections, spending the next two weeks taking one section at a time and going door to door, asking if anyone had seen Tess. Between being thorough and working outside the grid when it came to transportation and hospitals, we’d made far less progress than I liked.
Now, with the information Juan had given us, we’d been able to narrow our search. It was possible that Tess had been taken a different direction than she would have traveled on her own, but if we could find where she’d gone when she left that day, we might be able to find someone who knew more specifically where she went or the reason she’d left. All of this was, of course, assuming that she hadn’t been taken before she’d reached her destination, but rather at the destination or after.
I didn’t want to think about all the other possibilities. I couldn’t think about them. Not without panic threatening to take over. I’d been involved in tense situations before, times where a level head had been the only thing that kept me alive, but if I’d learned anything from the stuff that happened with Rona back in Denver, it was that I didn’t think clearly when it came to people I cared about, and no matter where things were between us, Tess would always be someone I cared about.
As I stepped out of the apartment building and back into San Jose’s warm, humid February, I crossed off the building on my map and then squinted into the sun as I tried to read the address on the building. How their postal service managed to find anyone was beyond me.
I checked for traffic, then crossed over to the other side of the street. I understood the need to be methodical about this, but that did little to quiet the voice in the back of my head saying that I needed to hurry up. The problem with my background in a situation like this was that I knew the longer we went without finding Tess, the likelier it was that we wouldn’t find her at all.
Just like I had in the previous buildings, I started on the first floor, knocking on the door and hoping that someone would be home, and that they might have seen Tess.
“Hola. Mi nombre es Clay Kurth. Estoy buscando un amigo mío. ¿La has visto?” The words rolled off my tongue with barely a conscious thought. I’d long lost count of how many times I’d introduced myself, explained that I was looking for a friend, then held out my phone with a picture of Tess, courtesy of Brianne.
The elderly woman who answered my knock this time barely glanced at the picture before shaking her head and closing the door. With a sigh, I moved on. Unfortunately, that response had been the standard. Some people had even refused to open their doors, simply yelling at me to go away, and I wondered how many times the San Jose police had dealt with the same thing.
As I walked up the stairs to the second floor, I marked down which apartments hadn’t gotten a response at all. Brianne and I were going to switch tomorrow and cover the apartments where we hadn’t talked to anyone. Maybe some of the people who hadn’t wanted to speak at all would be more likely to talk to Brianne. That was the hope, anyway.
After no one came to the door of the first apartment on the second floor, I moved on to the one next to it. I’d get the opposite side of the hall on my way back and hope a no-show might hear me knock and decide to talk to me. The second apartment owner answered before I could knock a second time.
The young man was probably a good four or five years younger than me and leaner, but only about an inch shorter. Unlike most of the other residents I’d spoken to that day, he opened the door wider than an inch, but he still braced it with his foot, as if he was worried I’d force my way inside.
“Hola. Mi nombre es Clay Kurth. Estoy buscando un amigo mío. ¿La has visto?”
His dark eyes flicked down to my phone, and for a moment, I thought I saw something on his face. A tightening of muscles in his jaw and the corners of h
is eyes. A glimmer of something in their dark depths. Before I could identify it, however, it was gone, making me wonder if I’d really seen it at all, or if I was so desperate for any sort of news about Tess that I was imagining things.
“I cannot help you,” he said, raising his gaze from the picture. “I wish you luck.”
He shut the door, leaving me to move on to the next door and repeat everything over and over again. Some of the tenants replied in English, most in Spanish. Some were polite, others rude. None of that mattered though because they all basically said the same thing – they hadn’t seen Tess.
By the time I returned to the lobby, it was nearing evening and was time for me to head back to the hotel to meet up with Brianne so we could compare what we’d each found. From there, we’d decide where to go next.
At least it wouldn’t take me long to sum up exactly what I’d found.
Jack shit.
I hoped she had better news, but my gut said that she hadn’t turned up anything more than I had. I tried not to get discouraged, but I couldn’t deny that any hope I’d had of finding Tess alive was beginning to fade.
Four
Tess
The knock on the door woke me from my nap, breaking through dreams that had seemed overly bright and loud, almost too real to be anything but reality. I heard the low murmur of Spanish voices but couldn’t make out any of the words. Still, I focused on the sounds, letting them orient my mind. My circumstances were crazy enough as it was. I didn’t need to add nightmares to the mix.
I opened my eyes but didn’t try to sit up. I felt better than I had yesterday, but sudden movements were still a bad idea. A good idea was a shower. At some point yesterday, I’d realized that Luis must have been bathing me because I didn’t have two weeks’ worth of dirt, blood, and stink on me. As embarrassed as the thought made me, I had to admit that it would’ve been worse if he hadn’t done it. I didn’t even want to think about the sort of infection I could’ve gotten in my wounds.
Besides, he was a nurse. Bathing people was part of his duties. Just because I was in his home instead of in a hospital didn’t change the scope of care he’d automatically give me.
“Did I wake you?” Luis asked as he came into the room. “I am sorry for that.”
I eased myself upright, hating how much that simple movement took out of me. “It’s all right. I needed to wake up anyway, or I’ll never sleep tonight.”
“Are you hungry?” he asked, a hopeful expression crossing his features.
“I could eat.” My stomach flipped at the thought of solid food, but I knew I needed to at least try to eat something. “Maybe soup?”
Luis nodded, his face lighting up. “I will make you something.”
As he hurried into the kitchen, I was left with the uncomfortable knowledge that Luis didn’t regard me as a patient, or at least not only as a patient. He had a crush on me. It wasn’t just a physical attraction. I’d caught him checking me out, but his attention had been more admiring than lecherous. That didn’t worry me. The shy glances and blushes were what I needed to keep an eye on. I’d heard of the Florence Nightingale syndrome where patients fell in love with their nurses, but this was more of a reverse sort of thing, where the nurse was crushing on the patient.
“Who was at the door?” I asked, pushing aside the crush business. If it turned out to be an issue, I’d address it. Until then, I’d ignore it.
“No one.”
Maybe it was a little petty of me, but that was one of my pet peeves, when people said no one or nothing when it was obviously someone or something.
“Sure sounded like someone.” I managed to keep my tone light, not wanting to irritate him.
Luis came back to the room, but stood in the doorway, arms crossed in a pose that looked more casual than I thought he actually was. I didn’t have any evidence that he was masking what he really felt, but my intuition said differently.
“It was not anyone important,” Luis clarified. “A man looking for something.”
Something…or someone?
The question popped into my head, making my heart give a funny sort of skipping beat. Was someone out there looking for me? Maybe I hadn’t come to Costa Rica alone. Maybe I’d been sent here from work along with another reporter.
“What was he looking for?”
“Un perro,” Luis said with a smile. The microwave dinged. “I will return with your soup.”
A dog. The man at the door had been looking for a dog.
On the surface, it made sense, but something just didn’t sit right with me. Why, if it was only a guy looking for his dog, hadn’t Luis simply told me that? Why had he tried to hide it? Or maybe he hadn’t been hiding it at all. Maybe he’d simply been thinking that it wasn’t important enough for me to worry about.
Besides, if someone had been looking for me, Luis would’ve told him I was here. It wasn’t like I had some crazy ex I needed to be protected from. Sure, there was a guy or two at work who could be a little sleazy at times, but if I’d been sent to Costa Rica with any of them, I wouldn’t have needed to hide from them. If they’d tried something, I would’ve just reported them to HR and laughed when they had to take sensitivity training or whatever.
I really wished I had my phone, or any phone. I needed to get ahold of work, but Luis’s only phone didn’t have the ability to call outside the country. He had only the most basic cell phone, which made me believe he was telling the truth, and considering everything he’d done for me, I didn’t feel right questioning him on it. Once I got ahold of some money…
I nearly smacked myself on the forehead. I’d asked about my phone. I hadn’t bothered to ask about my purse.
“Luis, did you find my purse when you found me?”
“Yes,” he said as he came back into the room with a bowl of soup. “I will get it.”
A rush of relief went through me. Maybe he hadn’t found my phone because it was in my purse. He seemed like the sort of guy who’d feel awkward going through a woman’s purse, especially a woman he was attracted to. Maybe I’d even be lucky enough to find something in my purse that would tell me why I was here.
I sipped a spoonful of the thick liquid and was pleasantly surprised. Chicken and rice with some spices I couldn’t place but did wonders for the hunger gnawing at my stomach. Luis had told me yesterday that he’d been keeping me fed with a liquid diet, managing to get me to swallow enough calories to stay alive, and I was grateful for that, but I was even more glad that I could actually eat again, not in the least because I felt like I was only skin and bones.
“Do you like it?” Luis asked as he came back into the room. “It has been a long time since I have had someone to cook for.”
“It’s great,” I said with a smile. “Did your mom teach you to make it?”
His expression tightened. “My mother died when I was six. My grandmother raised me, but I lost her five years ago.”
Shit. I reached out and grasped his hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
The moment went from comforting to awkward when I couldn’t figure out the best way to let go without making him feel like it was personal. I’d already fucked up by asking about his mom. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings by making him think I was rejecting him.
“Thank you,” I said as I gently pulled my hand away. I pushed myself up into a better position and reached for my soup again.
“Your purse,” he said, setting it down next to me.
“Thank you,” I said again. I didn’t want to look too eager, so I finished my soup and handed back the bowl before picking up my purse and opening it.
It didn’t take me long to confirm that my phone wasn’t inside, but my wallet was, which was at least something positive. My passport was there too, and a quick look inside told me that I hadn’t gone anywhere else before coming to Costa Rica. That didn’t really help me much when it came to figuring out why I was here, so I kept digging.
Brush. Lip gloss. B
irth control. Makeup. Phone charger. Notebook.
Yahtzee.
I pulled out my notebook and flipped it open to the last page I remembered writing. I used my phone to record interviews most of the time, but I did tend to go old-school when it came to general notes. I’d found that the best way to keep others from stealing my sources and ideas was to hide them in plain sight. Mix them in with my general observations and no one would be able to tell the difference.
I’d jotted down a few things at Christmas, and I was relieved to find that I remembered writing all of them. Then I went to the next page and didn’t recognize anything but my handwriting. Before the spark of panic inside me could turn into something dangerous, I reminded myself that I’d figure it all out. Investigation was what I did for a living. I could certainly investigate myself.
I read each line carefully, marking every note I thought could be something I was currently working on. It was tedious, not being able to remember the context for what I was reading, but it at least gave me something to do.
At some point, I found myself nodding off. Like full-on, head dropping then jerking back up, nodding off. I tried to fight it, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before I passed out mid-sentence. Maybe when I woke up the next time, my memory would be back.
The sheets were rough against my sensitive nipples, but I couldn’t stop squirming...and there was no way in hell I was going to ask him to stop. What he was doing felt too good.
His large hands palmed my ass cheeks, holding them apart as his mouth did wonderful, sinful things to me. I’d never known that something could feel this good. My entire body trembled as his tongue teased my entrance, then dipped inside for a taste. I had fire building low in my belly, and I knew an explosion was imminent.
Two fingers slid inside me, twisting and rubbing as he prepared me for what would come next. I could almost feel the ghost of him inside me, stretching me far wider than a pair of fingers could.
