Fear of Heights Page 3

  “Come on, let’s go get our key. Those guys will sleep in the Jeep.”

  I reluctantly follow her to the reception. There, Edwin, the stockier of the two men, who seems to limp favoring his right leg, hands us a key. It’s a real metal door key attached to a wooden block with a painted room number.

  “Mañana, nos vamos temprano,” Julio says. Janinie gives him a nod and a quick kiss on the cheek. Her interactions with these men are neither friendly or familiar. I’m beginning to doubt her proclamations of “uncle.”

  I follow Jaylee’s little sister through the parking lot to the door of the room we’ll be sleeping in. Under the roof awning is a light covered in a blizzard of insects, all of them buzzing and vying for a spot. My head swims as I stare at it and I feel like I might faint.

  “I think I’m coming down with something,” I tell her.

  “Are you sure it’s not just the heat?”

  Janinie falls asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow. I wander around the small, musty room, trying not to cry at the obviousness of my mistake.

  There is only a ceiling fan, which barely moves the stagnant air in the room. I step outside the door to get a breath of air and I notice that Julio and Edwin have pulled the Jeep right up in front of the room. Julio looks at me without smiling and I realize it’s the only car in the lot. I consider how isolated we are, as our only neighbors appear to be mangroves and the drum of a million insects. I approach the Jeep with caution and Julio rolls the window down.

  “¿A qué hora nos vamos mañana?” It’s all I can think to say. I could care less what time we’ll be leaving.

  “Lo más temprano posible,” he replies without much emotion.

  “¿Y por qué no nos quedamos en Santo Domingo?”

  “Dangerous,” he replies in English, and I can tell he wants me to shut up.

  I nod and turn to go back to my lumpy bed. I feel like these men resent me. Maybe I’m a pain in everyone’s ass. I really wanted to ask him how far are we from a hospital, but hopefully this illness is something I can just sleep off.

  I toss and turn endlessly, tangled in a sheet that gets soaked with my own sweat. I hear Janinie’s measured breathing, and I’m glad at least one of us is getting some sleep. I listen to the hum of the ceiling fan and the insects bumping into the tin shade that surrounds the outdoor light. I can’t lie in bed anymore like this. I’m worrying myself out of my mind.

  I rise from the bed and I’m drawn to the door again. I leave the room in a short nightgown and bare feet, stepping outside into the dark, lush humidity. Neither of the men are in the Jeep this time, but my eyes sense movement at the edge of the parking lot where the streetlight is swallowed up by deep mangrove thicket. I wander to the border somehow pulled by the allure of losing myself in its tangled embrace.

  At the shadowed edge where all light disappears, I can feel his presence close to me. I can almost hear the soft rasp when he speaks.

  “Señora!” the men shout, and I take off running. I can hear the gravel crunching loudly under their feet.

  The forest is thick with vines and dense undergrowth. It’s so black I can only see the filmy white of my slip as it halos out around my body. I run like I need to get away from them. But I can’t put my finger on the threat.

  I can feel him as he firmly takes my hand. My heart spins knowing that he’s here with me. Thousands of bubbles begin to pop in my chest. I’ll run with him—I’ll go wherever he takes me. He holds my hand as he guides me swiftly through thick forest, and low-lying branches tug at my hair and my dress.

  When we stop, we’re both panting from running, trying to swallow the burn in our chests. He leans me up against the trunk of a tree and I stare as black swampy water creeps over my feet. I watch them disappear as I sink ankle deep in cool mud. I can feel roots and stones in the soup around my feet. I bat away the bugs that fly at my face. He slips his arm around the back of my waist, and yanks me forward against his hips. I press my pelvis into his and nuzzle my face into his neck, on my way to his lips.

  His response is fevered and hungry: he fucks my mouth with the depth of his desperate kiss.

  He slips my panties down to the middle of my thighs, then thumbs my straining nipples through the thin cloth that divides us. His hand slides between my legs, and his palm picks up the rhythm of his mouth. I’m wet and swollen with wanting him, my hormones in overdrive from separation and need. I rub up against his fingers shamelessly and moan, crying out into his kiss. I’m so close to orgasm that I’m blind to everything around me. I can’t stop the cascading tremors of my bliss-filled body.

  I don’t hear their approach: not their footsteps or their breathing. I only hear the hiss of a discharge that sounds like an errant firecracker. Then I hear a pop. And Jaylee’s body jerks forward as his weight crashes into me. I fall with him to the black forest floor.

  “No!” I cry out, as my eyes fly open and snap me awake.

  I’m greeted with the glare of the cold, tile bathroom floor. My hand is between my legs and covered in moisture. Aftershocks of terror and orgasm vie for command of my traumatized mind.

  I raise my wet hand and see there’s blood on it. It takes me a second to realize it’s not Jaylee’s—that the blood came from me. I’m gasping for air because I can’t quiet my own breath. Tears roll down my face as I put together some semblance of reality. I’m in a rundown hotel somewhere in the Dominican Republic. Jaylee isn’t here, he’s in jail—on Rikers Island. Even in sleep my body can’t stop craving him.

  I’m bleeding.

  I’m sick.

  I think I may have lost consciousness.

  I must have hit my head when I fell on the floor.

  There’s a huge water bug in the corner by the toilet, and I watch as he moves his long feelers. He creeps cautiously from the floor to the side of the wall. I stare at the rust crusted on the toilet bolts. Every part of me hurts.

  I can’t shake the taste of Jaylee’s mouth on mine as I try to come to terms with what’s going on. Eventually I pull myself off the floor, using the bathtub as leverage. I try to orient myself to stand up on my feet. I’ve got a gruesome bump on my head; I can see it in the mirror. The skin has broken just the tiniest bit. It’s swollen, and a nasty bruise is already starting to show. I splash cold water on my face and stare at the bright pink bar of soap, lying unwrapped in the soap dish. I consider for a moment making myself vomit, but instead, I turn off the light and make my way back to bed.

  We leave early in the morning. Julio and Edwin are somber, they greet us without saying much of anything. Janinie is more enthusiastic than usual; she’s eager to reach the beach. She’s wearing flip-flops and a long dress, her long black hair reaching to the middle of her back. We climb into the Jeep, and now in the daylight, I can clearly see that both men wear holsters. I whisper to Janinie about the bleeding and she informs me that in Miches, we’ll see the doctor. I can tell I have a fever and I know that I should probably turn back and go home. But I’m so scared of Robert forcing me to give up this baby that all I want to do is run.

  I weave in and out of consciousness as we travel down a decrepit highway that’s full of potholes and occasional rocks that have gone astray. The vehicle bangs and shakes as if we’re off-roading on rocky terrain. Anxiety has seized my mind, and it’s hard to tell if I’m awake or asleep. I can’t shake the sense that both the baby and I are in danger. I brush my hand across my stomach to tell him that everything is okay.

  When Julio pulls off the highway and maneuvers the Jeep down an unpaved, steep incline, I start to shake in fear.

  “We’re stopping for lunch. Edwin says this place is the shit,” Janinie says enthusiastically.

  Oh, we’re stopping for food. This isn’t the end of the line for me.

  The restaurant is modest, someone’s house made into a rest stop. They’ve got plastic signs for Brugal rum and Coca-Cola nailed right into the building’s walls that face the parking lot. Janinie helps me out of the Jeep, finally ackn
owledging that I’m not well. We sit at flimsy tin tables lined up on a porch. Janinie and I are together, the two men sit apart from us.

  Mangy dogs come toward us, begging for food and affection. A few tropical birds squawk in cages, and on the ground chickens wander aimlessly. Julio and Edwin order full meals and drink Coke out of glass bottles. Janinie orders us picadera, but I’m doing all I can just to hold my head up. I manage to drink a fresh fruit juice. It’s a startling bright orange-pink, with papaya and other mysterious acidic flavors that spread across my virgin tongue.

  The last leg of the trip is fraught with inclines, their edges drop off into a raging blue ocean. There are miles of cliff side covered in craggy rock, with the occasional silver palm tree springing out, as if reaching for the sea. I put my head on Janinie’s shoulder, close my eyes, and tell myself to breathe.

  Janinie has been gone for over forty-five minutes, and I’m starting to wonder if there’s even a pharmacy in this town. Maybe she had to make the trek all the way back to Santo Domingo to get me a safe fever-reducer as well as something for the nausea. I’m wishing too now that I’d asked for a stronger painkiller. I’m not sure if it’s food poisoning that has me so out of it, but I doubt I’d be able to walk more than a few steps without her help. My condition is swiftly declining. I’m going nowhere, slipping helplessly into a deep, black hole.

  There are three men left in the house with me; another man was here when we arrived. Frankly, I don’t like the look of any of them. I know they’re supposedly here to protect me, but honestly, I’m scared of them. They are strangers to me and I’m as good as lost at sea. I have no phone reception here, no cash, and really not a clue where I am. I wish Janinie would hurry up. I run through our journey so far, trying to pinpoint when and where things went south. My memories are all fractured, fragile victims of fever.

  I can’t believe now that we left the way we did. What at first appeared reasonable, if spontaneous, now seems totally irrational. More evidence for Robert that I can’t make responsible decisions. Was I seduced by the idea of the sun and the beach? What responsible adult runs away like that? I stole from my sister and probably terrified my daughters.

  I wanted to escape my husband and his judgmental eyes, but Robert has every right to be angry. He’ll never forgive me. I came because it was easier than allowing him to make decisions that would make me forever hate him.

  I made it to paradise, only to contract an infection from hell.

  The meanest-looking guy in the house, the one I’m guessing is in charge, has tattoos covering both of his hairy forearms. Mostly black outlines, little shading, and no color. His hair is close-cropped, his dark eyes spaced too far apart. He nods with his chin for the other two to check on me periodically while he plays some sort of hand-held video game. Are they keeping me safe or am I their prisoner?

  There is a pile of sweaty blankets underneath me. Janinie tossed them onto a bare mattress that was in the middle of the floor. They smell of mildew and mothballs. Possibly months of dampness, humidity, and darkness. A tropical closet.

  I drag my drifting mind back again to the beautiful drive here. The smell of the ocean, both familiar and revitalizing. A winding road with tall silver palms, then sharp rocks. A descent that ran toward a ferocious and churning blue.

  What strange comfort Janinie brings me now, her gestures, her voice, even the smell of her shampoo. She has become so familiar so fast, and yet she’s still fascinating to me. A small heroine wrapped up in a tough package. She fights for me, in place of her brother.

  What do you do when you’re only sixteen years old, you’ve brought a pregnant woman to a foreign country, and she gets frighteningly sick? You call for backup. You call your people. If those people have guns, that’s normal when you’re the descendant of big-time drug dealers. My mind can create all kinds of excuses to make this seem normal.

  It occurs to me, lying here consumed by fever, that what was once a family beach bungalow has now become a Trinitario safe-house, maybe even a center of operations.

  Hours later, the sickness is making me want to crawl out of my own skin and drag my burdensome body to the sea. I’ll drown myself to put out the fire, anything to stop this heat. I repeatedly tell myself that I’m waiting for Janinie. She’ll bring me something to relieve this. She knows what she’s doing. Janinie is important—these men respect her. For all intents and purposes, she is the acting Trinitario in the family now—the ringleader. And I am in her charge.

  I’m lucid enough to know that my disorientation is caused by a very high fever. There are the telltale shivers and the soaking sweat. The bone-numbing chill despite the rich, humid heat. Heat so thick I can smell it, taste it.

  I came here to make decisions, to escape the reality of what I’ve done. But how can I even think through the burn of this tropical fever? On the way here, there was a gentle breeze blowing off the ocean. In this empty beach house, the air is still, and the heat is transcendent in its intensity.

  Jaylee’s sweetness is here with me too. I imagine him as a boy, exploring. Playing on the dusty roads that run around the property. I see him swimming in this daunting sea. His hard brown body cutting through the endless azure. He alone is solid among my feverish thoughts. Jaylee comes to me strong and clear. Always. He is all I have to hold on to, as both thoughts and memories float away from me.

  Someone places a palm on my forehead, and my eyes open up to the blur of a stranger’s jawline and rough stubble. Dark eyes assess me. What can he tell from my temperature, the inferno raging in my head? I want to let him know that I’m suffering from much more than the physical symptoms. This sickness runs deep—I was foolish to try to escape it. But then he’s gone. Swallowed up in the dark sauce that is the air I breathe.

  There are certain things we can forgive ourselves for, no matter how reckless or ruthless. It may take long bouts of agonizing self-reflection to reach acceptance. But there are also dark things that are unforgivable, that lurk forever, casting shadows over everything we do, over everything we touch.

  Is love an absolution? Or is love a cage, a seductive trap?

  How do I go on when I’m attached to this weight? Though it is love, made only of light, its load is more than I can bear….

  I love him. It’s not my fault.

  Maybe I am that dark thing—that unforgivable force.

  Janinie’s voice lacerates my protective bubble. She’s shouting orders, her voice rising and falling, distorted through the concrete rooms of the house. Her heels clack on the pink tile floors. Through a barely opened eye I register a syringe and a glass vial. A determined Janinie grabs the flesh at my hip and jabs me with a needle. She has a cell phone that she shouts into. Then her caramel-colored eyes—so like Jaylee’s—tear into me.

  “Look at me, Kate! Don’t shut your eyes!”

  A dazzling warrior princess. She’s here to take care of me. Then her voice falls off again, and I welcome the blackness.

  When I resurface, the light slants through the windows in a lazy late-afternoon haze. There is one man in the room, standing with arms crossed, smoking. A semi-automatic rifle is slung over his shoulder like an afterthought. His smoky exhales tangle with the dust in the air.

  Janinie is sitting slouched against the wall, a flamingo-pink nail-polish bottle in front of her turned-in toes. She paints carefully, in deep concentration, occasionally batting away the cigarette smoke as if it were thick enough to obscure her vision. There is a lone portable IV stand that I take in from the top, a liquid-filled pouch leading down to a sizeable needle pushed into my vein. I don’t know how much time has passed. I’m physically better, I think. But I feel maimed.

  I can somehow sense that the baby is gone. A noise starts from me, a plea, a call, a universal moan of anguish. Janinie starts, knocking over the polish. Pink polish pooling on pink tile: a minor feminine catastrophe on the floor.

  I get on my hands and knees and paw through the sheets, searching for evidence, but find only handfu
ls of freshly washed linens, no stain to mark that the baby is gone. My baby has left me. The one link that connected me to Jaylee.

  Janine throws herself on top of me and pulls me back down to the bed. I wail and keen and scream into the pillow, and she says nothing to deny my worst fears. I flail myself into exhaustion, but Janinie never lets me go. She holds on until I can no longer move, then, reluctantly, she accepts another glass vial from someone and injects me. I surrender to the dark.

  Later, we sit together on the stairs staring out at the sea. This is the farthest I’ve moved in days. Janinie brushes my hair, still wet from the washing she performed with a bucket and a handled cup, as she was unable to lift me unassisted into the tub. I’m grateful for her modesty, her reluctance to allow our “caretakers” to assist with this. A minor task considering what they’ve already seen of me. Our role reversal suits us. She quietly braids my hair back from my face and secures it to my head with bobby pins she removes from her own hair.

  On the line hang the sheets, billowing in the soft coastal gusts. A cleaning lady arrived this morning and likely exhumed the remnants of our tiny casualty with the strength of hardened hand and wrist. But even Clorox cannot completely hide the taint, now a cast of yellow-orange, that reveals one of the most important meetings of my life—which I entirely missed. Janinie says there was a doctor. A professional she brought, who said it was too late. She couldn’t watch them complete the task, and was too afraid to ask about the details. My body rejected the baby; the doctor only took away what my own body couldn’t expel. With no memory and little evidence, it’s hard to accept what’s happened. I was too much of a coward to make a decision. Now it’s been made for me.