Mundahlia (The Mundahlian Era, #1)

by RJ Gonzales

  When I saw how many miles were left on a green road sign we passed, I sighed and reclined the passenger seat to lay down. Great, two hours left with Mrs. Quiet. What happened to the party girl cousin I remember? The one who would get home at five-in-the-morning with her shoes in her hands and her dress inside out.

  “You’re going to love Austin, Rini,” Celeste said, adjusting the speed of the windshield wipers as the rain began to pour even harder. “We have a lot of scenery and the schools are great. There is always an art show or other festivities going on downtown too.”

  “Oh, really?” I questioned, returning my gaze to the passing trees—green with the spirit of the coming spring. I could just imagine all of the trees roots soaking in all this water and ah-ing as they got their thirst quenched. It hadn’t rained like this in several months. A drizzle here and there, but never a storm.

  “And don’t worry, there is a mall too. Your mom told me how much you like to shop.” That wasn’t entirely true. I love to shop, but I also needed a place to go while my parents fought, and the only place I could think of going was to the mall a few blocks away from my house. I’d spend the days after school watching movies with my friends that were a grade level above me at the small but cozy theater, playing games in the stained-carpeted arcade that stank of cheese and sweat, or even volunteering at the local micro bookstore, rearranging all the books on the shelves. The manager didn’t care, it was never done anyway—and I’d even get an extremely good discount on books. I’d bring home a different one nearly every other night. Saving them up for when the fights began and I needed to leave mentally for a few hours. Books were my sanctuary when Celeste left and mommy Gloria died. A way to escape the noise of slamming doors, shattering glass, and the occasional curses that composed my daily life after my parents marriage went downhill. Neither of them cheated. They just—got tired of each other, I guess.

  “Cool,” I uttered, coming back from my thoughts.

  “Yeah,” Celeste’s face danced with expressions. I had almost forgotten she’d started talking. “You’re already a Junior right?”

  “Senior.”

  “Oh,” Celeste looked away with a tad bit of embarrassment. “Four years apart already, huh?” she finished quietly.

  “Yep. It’s been forever.”

  “Well, aren’t you happy that it’s already your last year of high school? Come on, after this you are done. Don’t you have like three months left anyway?” The ringlets in her dark kinked hair blew in the air conditioner.

  “Yeah, I guess,” I said, sinking farther into the seat.

  “You guess? Rini, it’s your senior year! You need to do something that you’ve never done before.”

  “You mean like get drunk, dance on table tops, and kiss random strangers?” I said, trying to poke at her past. “Sounds fun—count me in.”

  “I am over that part of my life. I’m a grown woman who is happily married now, thank you very much! Don’t make me reconsider this arrangement and drive you back to Del Rio so you can stay with my parents.” She was serious, or so the look on her face had shown. “How would you like to spend four months in a house full of glass figurines, and watch Spanish telenovelas all day!”

  “It was a joke!” I said, trying to lighten things up. I shuddered the thought of Tia Linda’s weird obsession with animal glass figurines and old Mexican dolls, away. Especially the image of Tio Benito walking around the house all day in nothing but socks and drooping tighty-whities. Instead, I focused on her semi-recent marriage. “By the way, how is Marine George?”

  “Why do you call him that? It makes him seem like-”

  “G.I. Joe?” I snickered.

  “Watch it.”

  “Okay, sheesh.” I sat up and pulled the lever to adjust the seat back to its upright position.

  She continued, “He’s fine. Taking a day off work to get things built and ready in the nursery.”

  “How is the little one?” My mom had told me a couple of months ago that Celeste was expecting. I had seen it first hand when she came to pick me up this morning. She looked like she had swallowed a whole melon and it stayed still, unsure where to go next.

  “Still cooking.” Celeste rubbed her noticeable round belly. “The doctor said he’s going to be really big.”

  “Aww,” I gushed. “Just like his mommy.”

  “Rini!” Celeste warned. “One more rude comment and it’s straight back to Del Rio for you!”

  “I kid! I kid!” She was clearly angry, because she raised the volume of the radio and huffed. Geez. Talk about mood swings.

  “This damn rain!” she muttered to herself as she squinted at the road through the glasses she used only to drive. “Can’t see a damn thing!”

  I retrieved a book—one of the many I was sure to bring—from my purse, and cracked it open—smelling the pages first—then picked up reading where I had dogeared the corner. Ah, books!

  ...

  The rain had let up half an hour back when we arrived in Austin. To my surprise, Celeste lived in the outskirts, or country part of the city, which wasn’t really in the city of Austin anymore, but that’s what she associated it as. The last bit of sun was hidden behind sky high trees that surrounded us in seclusion—making it almost pitch dark if it weren’t for the lights of her two-story farm-style house. It must get pretty freaky out here.

  I stared at the single muddy road that we had turned onto about ten minutes back. A few miles to the right were the streets that take you to the main city, but on the left, the road meandered on into an abyss of mystery. Creepy. “What’s over there?” I pointed, while fetching my luggage from the trunk of the vehicle.

  Celeste flipped her hair over her shoulder to scope what had caught my interest. “I don’t know. People live down there, but really all we ever see is their cars coming and going. They’re very secluded.” Celeste continued toward the house. “Come on, let’s head inside. There’s a cold front coming.” I could already feel it making its descent.

  The inside of the house looked as if it belonged on the cover of a magazine. Fresh cut flowers were arranged in a large striped vase in the corner, and the crystal chandelier hanging above us was reflected in the glossy marble floor. Clearly not what you’d expect from a farm house, but this was her, always wanting luxury.

  “Wow. It’s nice, Celeste,” I said, shutting the door and eyeing up the place I would call home—temporarily.

  “Thank you. Make yourself at home.” Celeste threw her purse on a small round end table and headed for large wooden double doors at the end of the grand room. “I’m going to go check on George in the kitchen,” she said before disappearing into the room.

  A small fire flickered in the fireplace by the living room where I’d chosen to set my luggage. I had taken the lazy route and carried all three of my jam packed suitcases to avoid going back out by myself.

  Pictures rested on tables and shelves all around the area. I picked one up from a shelf above the mantel of the lit fireplace and stared at the captured moment of my past. I was still an infant, and Celeste was about seven years old. We were nestled next to mommy Gloria on a maroon colored couch smiling at each other. I don’t even remember this. When Celeste moved away four years ago we ended up losing touch over time. It’s great that now I get a chance to reconnect with my “sister” for these next few months.

  After scanning a few more pictures, it dawned on me. I remembered that I had left a box behind in her car. I put the photo of Celeste’s deceased Chihuahua, Manny, down—probably facing backwards, and scoured her purse for the keys. The inside of her bag smelled like a heavy floral scented perfume and spearmint gum as I searched each of the many zipped up compartments. When I finally found them, I swung them around my finger and stepped out into the enveloping darkness, perfectly fit for a horror movie. Why would Celeste live way out here in the boondocks? I thought. The beginning brisk wind made me shiver, so I wrapped my arms in my chest for a smidgen of warmth.

  Upon arrivin
g, I pulled open the handle on the door and searched for the box of books and movies I had set in the backseat.

  I guess on the way to Austin, the box seemed to have shifted and gotten jammed in the space between the front and back seat, making it almost immobile. “Yeah, that’s freaking fair!” I said to myself. Who was going to hear me way out here in the middle of nowhere anyway? I positioned a foot on the edge of the car for extra leverage, and with a mighty jerk, the box slipped from between the seats and flew out of the car—with me alongside it. My torso twisted in the air and I crashed onto the cold, hard, and wet cement—stomach first. The air was instantly knocked out of me in one forceful rush. A sharp pain and wanting-to-hurl stinging in the back of my throat.

  I got up quickly and wiped some mud and gravel away from my knees and hands. Even though it was too dark and secluded for anyone to notice, I still felt embarrassed. Both pain and fear lingered over me as I shuddered the thought of being far away from help if I were to ever need it. I slammed the vehicle door shut, blaming it as an accomplice to my injury—even though it was really my fault, and got to my knees with my now empty box, picking up my four month supply of packed books and movies that were now sprawled across the lawn.

  “Need help?” an inscrutable male voice sounded.

  I flinched as a pair of dark brown boots came into view in front of me, stepping into a small puddle. I craned my neck to the all too-dark figure, who’s face remained hidden within the shadows. At first, I thought it was George. But the brawny body shape was unfamiliar, taller, and somewhat younger. “Oh, no thank you. I can do it on my own.” I tried not to stare as I imagined all the horrific things this shadow figure could do to me. “Really it’s just a few things. No big deal.” In other words, I really don’t need your help, please get away from me creepy guy!

  “Then can I help you with that cut you have on your knee?” He pointed. “That fall must have hurt. Sounded like it did at least. You sure hit the floor hard.”

  My face grew hot and the embarrassment persisted. He was watching me? “Oh,” I said slowly, my voice uneasy. “You saw that?”

  “Yup, I saw that,” he held back a laugh. It was soft, nice even. “Just let me see your cut.” He reached his hand out farther to my leg.

  “I don’t have one.” I leant to the side, dodging his grasp, and covered my knee before his fingers could reach my skin. My fingers brushed over a warm, sticky area. I felt the pain as soon as I saw the dark blood drops forming from a cluster of scrapes. “Oh. I guess I do, but it’s fine.” I wiped away the blood and continued putting some nearby books and movies back in the box, a little quicker than before. “It’s just a baby cut,” I added. “No big deal.” I wanted to get back inside—immediately. I should have just left the damn box there until morning.

  “Well,” the mysterious stranger set his hand on my leg. “That little baby cut could end up getting infected,” he examined, then reached into his pant pocket. I could feel the warmth and moisture from his palm as he moved my knee closer to the illumination of a nearby pathway light to get a better look. He pulled out a tiny brown bottle of liquid and a bandage. “Then you’d have a full grown adult problem there.” In the little light there was, I could see a smile form across his attentive face.

  “You’re a doctor?” I asked before I could stop myself.

  “No,” he paused. “I’m just prone to getting cuts and scrapes too.” He wiped off a forming drop of red and tilted the liquid within the bottle onto my skin. “It’s alcohol,” He said, eyeing my questionative face. “It’ll burn for about a second or two to get out all that bacteria.”

  He was gentle each moment his skin touched mine, almost like he wasn’t touching me at all. Once he smoothed out the bandage over the scrapes, he stayed staring at me for a few seconds more. As if his eyes were trying to focus on my face and find the answer to a question I had no idea about, or even heard him ask. This is awkward, what do I do? He’s just staring at me like a creep.

  “Let me just ask you again,” he finally said in a slow soft voice, nearly a drawl, breaking the awkward silence. “Need help?”

  I didn’t speak—at least not with my mouth. In my head I was repeating, please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me over and over.

  “I’ll just take that as a yes.” He began grabbing the remaining nearby books and deposited them gently into the box, briefly glancing at the titles of each one as he set them in. With some—the classics, he smiled. With others—the young-adult novels—my guilty pleasures, I could see his eyebrows furrow in confusion. I remained sitting on the ground, registering what had just happened to me. I had only been in a big city for about ten minutes and in a matter of three of those minutes, I had gotten touched by a complete stranger and gotten injured—okay, not really injured, but the cut still stung. I mean, he seemed like a nice guy and didn’t give off the here let me help you—Shank! vibe, but boundaries dude!

  I got up from where I was sitting and brushed away some extra gravel that clung onto my outer thigh for their dear lives. I looked up, and cautiously made for the animated silhouette of the mysterious man, already picking up the last few things. As he stood closer toward the home, I could finally see a golden outline of his body, bouncing off the edges of his skin from the soft lights coming from behind the window. He was tall. Not an inch under six feet. His dark hair that could of easily blended into the night, flowed to just above his shoulders. It was about half the length of my own dark wavy hair that cut off about midway down my back. The pants hugging his waist and legs were a faded dark blue, and his tan Henley barely clung onto his sculpted chest. But his face—the face to place to this stranger in my mind, was still hidden.

  As I neared, I had already planned out a few different strategies of how I’d take him down if he were to try anything. Of course, as I caught sight of his large arms I’d more than likely scream and run the hell away.

  “So, you new to these parts or what?” he said, setting the now filled box on the ground. “I’ve never seen you before, plus—you look like an out-of-towner.”

  “Yeah. I just moved here to live with my cousin for a few months,” I said, pointing to the house, but still keeping my distance.

  “Ah,” he nodded. Still no sight of his facial features. “So, what? Your parents give you the boot?” he mimicked a kicking motion with his boot as he spoke.

  “No. Actually, I gave myself the boot. I needed some time away while they work things out on a cruise.” I kicked a few blades of grass out of nervousness, then stopped. What am I, five?

  “I see,” he said intrigued. He looked into the box by his foot again, “So, you’re one of those book reader people, I suppose? Or do you just collect them and carry them around to make you look smart?”

  Ouch. Did I look like I had the IQ of bread or something? “Yes, I’m a person who reads books.” Book reader people? Seriously who says that? “I have four months to myself. Might as well spend it lost in a fantasy world than being bored in this real one.”

  He laughed. “Well, you never know what could happen. Life is full of surprises.” Yes! He’s turning to look at me. Just a little more so I can see his—Suddenly, there was a small whistle from the left side of the road. The creepy side. “Sorry. Uh, I gotta go.” He sprinted off down the road, disappearing just as fast as he had appeared. I couldn’t help but stare as he turned the corner and vanished into the gloomy side of the lone road. So that’s who lives down there.

  “Well, this was—interesting,” I said to myself as I entered the house with the box and shut the door with my foot.

  “Rini!” a booming voice filled with southern twang called. “I was looking for ya’ punk!” I turned to find shaggy, dark-haired Marine George waiting with open arms. “How’ve ya’ been?” he continued.

  I hardly recognized him. He was several shades darker than when I’d seen him last and was dressed from head to toe like a modern day cowboy. Black button up shirt, a shiny silver belt buckle on faded blue jeans, and
deep brown boots that scuffled on the floor. “Good and you?” I managed to get out without sounding entirely out of it. All he needed was the hat and he was ready to saddle up.

  “Oh, I’ve been great. Come here!” he pulled me into a bear hug. “I haven’t seen you in a while. How long’s it been?” I could feel the prickly stubble on his face press into my cheek. His grip was tight. Even though he was out of the Marines and into construction now, he still had the body of one—and the strength.

  “George, I-can’t-breathe,” I tried to make out. He was constricting my lungs.

  “Sorry ‘bout that,” he apologized and let me down.

  I gasped for air, slowly feeling the color returning to my face. “It’s all right.”

  “Come on in to the kitchen, I made us some dinner,” he said, leading me to the double doors that Celeste had gone through minutes earlier.

  The kitchen had an Italian-styled theme. Grape and wine decorations covered even the smallest corners of the gold-painted room, and a set of deep red, mossy green, and golden artwork spelled out the Italian sentence: La cucina è il cuore della casa, with the English translation: The kitchen is the heart of the home, written underneath it.

  A delicious scent of grilled meat pervaded through the air, and I could feel my mouth beginning to water. I hadn’t eaten since Brackettville about two and a half hours back, and even then, a pizza stick and a bottle of water wasn’t much of a meal. At least not in my book.

  Celeste was in the process of setting down plates and cutlery on the large table at the back of the dining area when she spotted us and smiled.

  George slid a chair open for me to sit and uncovered some of the dishes sitting in the center of the table. “Steak with all the possible comfort foods you could imagine.”