“Emma, please, baby. Come back.” The voice carried on the wind. It was my mother, I finally realized, but I didn’t want to leave.
Just then, a low hum tumbled down the hills like an invisible avalanche and began sifting into the air around me, vibrating like a swarm of angry bees. The noise roared inside my head.
I cupped my ears and doubled over, but the sound only amplified. My skull quaked with pain as the buzzing burrowed deep inside and settled in my bones, causing me to collapse into a quivering heap. I could have stayed like that for minutes, hours, or days. Who knows. But when that luscious voice came crashing through the layers of crippling noise, I clung to it like a life raft. It was a voice so soothing, so deep and hypnotic that every cell in my body fluttered with euphoria.
Then the voice began humming, a message embedded in the melody, “Please, my sweet, do not leave me. I’m sorry.” The voice repeated the same message over and over again, yet never paused from the melody.
Wait. I recognized that song. It was—it was from…Madam Butterfly!
“Oh, God. No! Go away!” My eyes flew open. I wanted to scream, but tubes were wedged in my mouth and throat. I gagged and clawed then heard ear-piercing beeps and screeches.
My parents, with ghostly pale faces, hovered over me, yelling for the nurse. I was in the hospital, and not just any hospital, but the one where my parents practiced. The powder blue walls were unmistakable.
“Emma! Baby!” My mother slid the tube from my mouth, threw herself over me, and sobbed with joy.
I winced as someone flipped on the blinding lights directly above. “What happened?” I managed to croak.
My mother’s bloodshot brown eyes told me it was something catastrophic. “You were hit by a cab, honey,” she said as she smoothed the hair back from my forehead. “The driver said you just…came out of nowhere.”
Oh. That. “I was distracted…” by an evil, disembodied dictator who’s hijacked my head, I wanted to say.
“Yes, Doctor Keane?” the nurse entered the room through a panel of pale blue curtains and gasped, her eyes wide. She immediately scrambled to my side and began prodding while my parents moved aside and began hugging each other, crying.
“How long was I out?” I grumbled to the nurse who began checking my vitals.
She gave me a nervous look before she flashed a light in my eyes. “One month.”
One month? I’d been out one whole month? I wiggled my toes under the beige blanket covering my lower legs. My body was stiff and sore, but nothing felt broken.
“Blunt head trauma with no signs of brain activity. You were in a coma, but you beat the odds, young lady,” the nurse elaborated, checking my IV drip. “A true miracle.”
The word “miracle” jarred me. Was it truly? Was getting hit by a cab and being in a coma the magic key to get rid of Guy? I remembered the dream I’d had before waking up, but it could have been just that, a dream.
I mentally held my breath, hoping the universe had taken pity on me while the nurse spent the next few minutes observing me like a lab rat before she turned to my still sobbing parents who were alternating between hugging each other and making calls on their cells to family.
“Can I speak with you both outside for a moment?” the nurse asked. “I need you to fill out some paperwork.”
Frantic, they each kissed me on the forehead. “We’ll be back in two seconds, baby,” my mom sputtered. “I love you—oh, thank God you’re okay. We—I, we just love you so much, honey. We’ll be right back.”
“I love you guys, too,” I mumbled.
They disappeared behind the curtain out into the hall. The heavy door made a loud thug! as it closed behind them.
“Emma?”
Crap! I jumped. “Holy Virgin of Guadalupe. Not you.” I covered my face with my hands.
“We have some unfinished business to discuss, you and I.”
“Go away,” I mumbled with a raspy voice. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”
“In fact, no. I cannot, nor do I truly wish to.”
“Why did it have to be a cab?” I croaked. “Where’s a red Double-Decker when you need one?”
“Please, my sweetness, do not say such things. Do you know they were ready to pull the plug and dice you into tiny pieces like a pig at the butcher? Damned organ harvesters. It took every ounce of energy I had to bring you back.”
How awful that must have been for my parents. They were both doctors. So if they’d made that choice, it was because they’d lost any hope for me. “Don’t act like my savior. You did this to me.”
There was a long pause. “And now I see that you were right…this cannot go on.”
Could he be saying what I thought? “You’re going to leave?” I whispered. A tiny part of my heart protested; the rest of me rejoiced at the notion.
“Not exactly.”
The ratio of protest to rejoice flip-flopped. “Then?”
There was another long pause, and that’s when I noticed my ears were ringing. No, they were vibrating.
“I cannot leave you, but you can free me.”
“Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
I shook my head from side to side. Maybe it was a side effect from the head injury. “Never mind. What did you say?”
“Free me.”
He was serious. I could hear it in his voice. I didn’t bat an eyelash. He was actually offering me a chance to get rid of him? To get my life back? “What will I have to do?”
“Travel south.”
“Florida?”
“Mexico.”
“Sorry?”
“Mexico. You know, that little country on the map below yours. Home of tequila and the taco.”
“I don’t understand. Why there?”
“That is where I am, physically.”
Holy crap. “You have”—I swallowed hard—“a body?”
“Is something wrong with your hearing? Yes, I have a body, and you are to go to the jungle and find it.”
Holy pickles. This entire time I thought he was some nomadic soul who’d simply glommed onto me for kicks.
My head began to spin. What did he look like? What if he was like one of those images my mind had dreamed up on hundreds of occasions? There was the one where he stood like a pillar of destruction, donning ancient armor, overlooking a cliff, the wind ripping through his wild ropes of black-as-midnight hair. Then there was my personal favorite where he lay nude across a plush velvet couch next to a fire, his abs rippling under his bronzed skin, and his golden waves of hair draping down his shoulders as he waited for me.
What was I thinking? Did I have brain damage? Was I really worrying about what he’d look like? “What, exactly”—I swallowed hard—“are you?”
“You are in no danger from me.”
“How reassuring. Really. Don’t suppose you’re going to tell me more? Species might be nice. Or, how it’s possible your body is in the Mexican jungle, yet I can hear you?”
“Those points are not open for discussion.”
Of course not. Why should I believe he’d make this easy? “You wouldn’t happen to look like a troll or have a body covered in giant warts?” At a minimum I hoped he’d be uglier than sin; it would help me end my obsession.
He sighed in that special tone, which sounded more like a groan and made my toes curl. “Not even close.”
Dammit. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me who the hell you really are,” I said.
He let out a soft, arrogance-filled chuckle, as if he already knew he’d get what he wanted without any concessions. “Rest, my sweet. You need to heal. There’ll be time later to make our plans, but I am truly sorry for this. Sorry for putting you in this position when I am supposed to protect you.”
“Protect me from what, dammit?”
Silence.
“For once, answer me!” I demanded.
“For starters, yourself.”
“I'm a grown woman. I don't need a babysitter.”
Except around bright yellow taxis.
“Heads, Emma. Frozen heads. Twenty of them in his fucking freezer. The bastard.”
“Now is not the time for a deranged haiku, Guy.” He always did have a bad, bad sense of humor.
“Not a haiku, Emma. That male you went on a date with, Jake. They found heads in his freezer. He was a serial killer.”
“I—I don’t believe you.” I cupped my hands over my mouth. I would have gone home with Jake if he’d asked. Not that I was easy, but I’d been desperate to make a stand against Guy, and Jake was too hot.
“Just ask your friend, Anne. She was here visiting and spoke of it.” His tone was smug. Too smug. “I saved your life. Twice.”
I suddenly felt sick. Not because of the heads, mind you—although, that was certainly gross. But because if Guy had been telling the truth about Jake being “off,” then he was also telling the truth about protecting me from that “something else,” he kept eluding to. I was in danger. But from what? Bastard. It was my life. Why wouldn’t he tell me what was going on? “Fine. You were right about Jake. But I don’t care if you saved my life; I’d face the fires of hell to be rid of you.”
“I do not believe that for one moment, Emma. You. Need. Me. But you might get your wish anyway, little girl.”
Chapter THREE
1940. Bacalar, Southern Mexico.
“For the love of all things big and small, which way?” The towering naked god stood alone in the middle of the dense jungle, dripping like a wet dog.
Silence. Not even the waking birds lifted a beak to clue him in.
Votan growled. He didn’t have time for petty games. Not when there was killing to do, and not when he was in a hurry to return home. Or, more accurately stated, in a hurry to get the hell out of his weak human-like form. It was nothing shy of annoying.
“Amusing, Cimil. Very amusing. Just remember, I never forget. And worse, I never forgive,” he barked into the air above him.
The goddess Cimil, who was on point as his lookout, delighted in tormenting others, and sometimes she simply went too far. Just yesterday, for example, she’d taunted him mercilessly after she had had another vision. True to her sadistic nature, she disclosed only enough information to bring about his suffering. She’d said a female would soon enter his life and emasculate him. “At this very moment”—she’d chuckled and clapped—“I’m watching the future-version of you in my head, Votan, as you grovel and pine for her.” She sighed. “Good times. Good times.”
Who was this woman from Cimil’s vision? And what sort of powers would she possess? Cimil would not say, but for any female to control him, she’d have to be a force of nature. The thought perturbed him greatly.
He’d responded by telling Cimil she was a “head case”—an odd colloquialism he learned from her—which she was, but she also struck the fear of the gods into him; everyone knew that Cimil’s visions were never wrong.
“Well,” he said aloud to himself, “one must face fate head on.”
The cloudless sky rolled with thunder in response.
“We’ll just see who gets the last laugh.” Votan placed one hand on his bare hip, tapping his fingers impatiently, his golden skin glistening with drops of water. He’d already wasted far too much time climbing out of the wet, slippery portal.
Cenotes, as the Mayans once called them, were deep limestone pools. They were also the only portals to the human world. The active ones, hidden deep in the jungle or veiled inside stalactite covered caves, were directly connected to the River of Tlaloc—an underground current of energy flowing between the two worlds. Cenotes were an extremely inefficient way to travel, but they were the only choice.
He looked back up at the sky, trying to gauge the time of day and how many hours of sunlight he had left. He sidled up to a tree trunk and flexed his hands. His new human-like body still felt a bit weak. Sometimes, it took hours for his strength to kick in after the journey, but he didn’t want to wait. No doubt, their enemies were hard at work causing mayhem. Most recently, they had found a way to shield themselves from being viewed by the gods from the comfort of their own realm. This undoubtedly meant the repugnant priests were up to their usual deadly shenanigans, like being behind a rash of missing and dead young women from the local villages.
Votan wrapped his still weak hands around a thick branch, careful not to touch the ants scrambling down one side (bugs disturbed him, too many legs) and then pulled himself up. He climbed until able to peer above the trees. Like a giant, featherless bird, he perched on a branch, looking for any signs of the priests’ encampment—usually a large smoke plume—however, there was nothing beyond the massive span of hazy blue sky and the ocean of treetops.
He shifted his weight to gaze in the opposite direction. Suddenly, the branch gave way. Tree limbs lashed at his flesh as he hurtled back toward the Earth.
Chapter FOUR
Present Day. New York City.
“Passport, my sweet?”
“Check.”
“Tickets, my sweet?”
“Check. And stop calling me 'my sweet.'”
“Do you have a good map”—dramatic pause—“my dearest?”
I rolled my eyes. “I bought a guidebook online. It’s got—”
There was a knock at my bedroom door. It was my mom. Sadly, I lived at home again after being moved out of my apartment while in a coma. No one thought I was coming back. Ever. And after hearing I was going to die, my roommates and best friends, Anne, Nick, and Jess, couldn’t stand to live there. Too depressing, they said. They’d moved out right away.
“Be quiet,” I hissed at Guy. My mother couldn’t hear him. No one could, except me. But he had an uncanny knack for provoking a response, so I was constantly covering up my seemingly absurd comments.
“Make her go away. You still have to pack, and we must review the plan one last time.”
“I’m not leaving until morning. There’s plenty of time,” I whispered.
“But you must be prepared properly, Emma. We’re not going on a picnic.”
“Don’t you have a nap to take or something?”
“Only if you’re…” He lowered his voice, “coming.”
The sexual innuendo wasn’t missed. My core fluttered with little waves of warmth. I shook my head, trying to get a grip. I couldn’t let him affect me like that anymore. I had to stay in control.
“Right, big man. Like that’ll ever happen if you’re involved. I bet you’re some kind of cave dwelling, telepathic hobgoblin. I bet you’re so ugly, even your cooties close their eyes. I bet the only way you can get a woman is by clubbing her over the head.”
“Mmm…if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were issuing a challenge. And, you know, I cannot resist those; I'm far too competitive. What's the wager?”
Oh, please. “Okay, I'll bite. What do you want?”
“That, my dear, is easy. You will become a nun, never to date again.”
“Ha! Nice try. Not in a million years. In fact, as soon as you're gone, I'm going on a slut-athon.” Not true, but I hoped he got the point: I hated him trying to control me. And since the accident, he seemed more…intense. More protective, more needy of my attention, and more flirtatious. He reminded me of a caged wolf. A horny caged wolf. Was it a defense mechanism? Was he as nervous as I was about meeting face to face?
“My sweet Emma, how you try my patience.”
“Eye for an eye, bub,” I said.
The knock at my door repeated. Christ! I’d forgotten my mom was there. That was the other problem with having Guy in my life. He always distracted me. People thought I was a space-case.
I picked up my cell from the nightstand. “Bye. I’ll call you later,” I said loudly, feigning to have just ended a call in case my mom had heard me talking. “Come in, Mom.”
The door chugged open as it collided with the heap of rejected clothes on the floor. Who knew packing to face my destiny would be so hard?
Her brown bob popped through the crac
k.
“Sorry, didn’t hear you. Was talking to Anne.”
“Emma. Just checking, did you change your mind about that ride to the airport?” she asked.
“Be confident Emma, she cannot sense your deception. The woman has been through enough already.”
Guy was right. My parents had been through a lot. First with my grandmother’s unsettling disappearance last year then with my near death. The last thing I wanted was to traumatize them further. And no, I didn’t like lying to her. But this was important. This was my life. I had to take this chance if I ever wanted to be free of Mr. Voice.
“No thanks, Mom. I knew you’d be working late tonight, so I’ve got a car picking me up,” I said. The flight was leaving at six A.M. so it was a good excuse.
“Well…Okay, if you want to do it that way,” she said.
“Hey, I’m coming back in a week.” I squeezed her hand.
The story I told my parents was simple. I had a little money saved and needed to get away. Me time. I told them I needed a break after everything that had happened, including recently graduating Summa Cum Laude from NYU with a BA in Marketing, minor in español—no easy task, but it’s amazing what people can do when they don’t have a real social life. Once I assured them I’d stay at the resort and only go out on guided tours, they’d eased up a bit on the worrying.
Now, if they had any clue I planned to land in the Cancun airport, rent a car, drive five hours toward the border of Belize, and set out to find a dilapidated ruin in the middle of the jungle, they’d handcuff me to my bed. In fact, that wasn’t such a bad idea. After hearing the plan from Guy, captivity sounded like the saner choice. According to him, he’d been following some “very bad people.” Somehow, they’d set a trap, and there he’d been ever since. Cursed.
“You mean, like, magic-cursed? They’re holding you with some voodoo spell?” I’d asked.
His only reply was that some things had to be seen to be believed.