by Lynsay Sands
"Do for what?" he asked with bewilderment.
"As a fishing net," she said as if that should be obvious. When he merely stared at her blankly, Sarita sighed with exasperation and picked up one of a pair of stockings. Holding the racket up, she explained, "We slice out the strings of the racket so it's a hoop, loop the top of the stocking over the hoop and sew it on, and voila, a net to catch fish." Peering at the silky cloth Sarita smiled wryly and added, "A shame they aren't fishnet stockings, huh?"
Domitian smiled faintly at her joke, but merely said, "That is brilliant." He took a moment to enjoy the satisfaction his compliment brought to her face, but then asked quietly, "But you have canned food and water here too. Do you really think we will need to find fish for supper? Just how long do you think it is going to take us to find help?"
Sarita's pleasure faded at once. Turning back to the island, she set the racket and stockings down and then quietly admitted, "I don't know. But Venezuela's coastline is more than 1,700 miles long. A lot of it is inhabited, but not all, and there are at least four national parks along the coast too that aren't inhabited. I really don't think Dressler would have put us here if it was close to help. Do you?"
"No," Domitian acknowledged solemnly. He'd planned to just pack up Sarita and a few items and charge out of here like a bull charging a red cape. He hadn't considered that it might take longer than he hoped to reach help. Now he considered that and realized this might be more dangerous than he'd first thought. He hadn't considered the effects of trekking for days through the woods without blood to top himself up, or that he might become dangerous to Sarita if that happened. And that was just as a result of the passage of time. It didn't take into account the exertion of the trek, the effects of the heat and sun, or the possibility of injury. Any of those could quickly leave him in serious need of blood and dangerous.
Once those issues were factored in, Domitian began to wonder if this was such a good idea. But they really had no choice.
"Right," he said aloud, straightening and turning on his heel.
"Where are you going?" Sarita asked with surprise.
"I shall be right back," he said instead of answering. "But then we are going to sort through every last item here and get rid of anything that is not absolutely necessary. We cannot possibly take all of this with us."
Domitian didn't wait for her response but made his way quickly to the office and then down into the basement. He'd top up before leaving. Not too much, the nanos would just work to get it out of his system. But Domitian wanted to start out with as much blood in his system as he could safely consume to ensure he lasted as long as possible. He didn't want to harm Sarita.
Trying to distract himself from that worry, Domitian started running through a mental list of the items he'd taken note of upstairs, trying to decide what they could leave behind.
"What time do you think it is?"
Domitian glanced toward Sarita, his mouth twisting with displeasure when he saw how she was flagging under the weight of the "Santa sack" she carried over her shoulder. Despite his determination that they wouldn't take everything she'd collected, in the end they had.
Oh, he'd tried to whittle down the contents, but Sarita had a reason for every item she'd chosen, and her reasons were good. At least they sounded good when she explained them. So they'd ended up piling everything onto the two towels and then gathered the ends making a "Santa sack" each.
While Sarita had teased earlier that he was a big strong guy and could probably carry all of it on his own, her bag was as big, bulky, and heavy as his was. He had tried to take the heavier items in his own bag to lighten her load, but she had refused to allow it, insisting on dividing the items evenly between them and carrying "her share."
The woman was stubborn as a mule, Domitian thought but found his mouth curving into a slight smile at the knowledge. He kind of liked that about her. Oh, not that she was stubborn, really, so much as that she wasn't acting like an entitled princess, expecting him to take care of her and carry the load alone. He liked that she was independent and determined to take care of herself. Still, he hated to see her struggling under the weight of her Santa sack when he could easily carry both without much effort. The problem was finding a way to get her to let him take more of the burden. She was proud and independent. It was tricky.
"Domitian?"
"Hmm?" He dragged his mind from his thoughts and glanced at her face inquisitively.
"What time do you think it is?" she asked, sounding a little annoyed that she had to repeat the question.
Domitian turned his gaze to the darkening sky overhead. In Caracas, the sun rose between five minutes to six and about ten or twelve minutes after six every morning, but it set eight minutes after six pretty much every night. He didn't think the house they'd been put in could be far from Caracas if the doctor had lived in it while first teaching at the university. Shrugging, he said, "Probably a little before six o'clock."
"Dinnertime," Sarita muttered.
Domitian frowned. They'd only been walking for about an hour, but while they'd started out at a quick clip, Sarita had begun to fall behind a bit after the first half hour. It had surprised him. She was a fit woman. But then she was carrying that ridiculously heavy Santa sack. And trudging through the sand took more energy than walking on the hard-packed earth of the jungle would have.
Domitian had wanted to take the jungle route initially, but had quickly changed his mind. It wasn't because of Sarita's argument that they could get lost too easily in the jungle, where they wouldn't be able to see the sun's position to ensure they traveled in a straight line, or that it was likely to be full of poisonous snakes and other dangerous animals. It was more because she didn't have any proper clothes or shoes.
Domitian had been a little stunned when he'd suggested she go dress before they leave and she'd announced that she was dressed. And then she'd pointed out that she had the bikini on underneath, that she'd pinned the towel to it, and that it certainly covered her more decently than any of the nighties in the walk-in closet would. He supposed it did. Although he suspected one of the long negligees, while sheer, would have at least protected more of her from insect bites. And that was the only reason he thought that perhaps she should have worn one of those instead. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he was recalling, and missing, the view he'd had of her breasts, stomach, and thighs, not to mention the sexy little thong she'd had on under the gauzy white nightgown he'd seen her in. At least that's what he told himself, but even he wasn't buying it.
As for shoes, even without the heels, the ones she'd chosen made walking awkward for her. The leather may have seemed softer and more likely to flatten out than the other shoes she'd had to choose from, but the soles were not flat. The shoes had retained their form, only now without the heel to offer its little bit of support. The moment she'd put them on and staggered across the kitchen, Domitian's mind had been made up. She couldn't possibly wear the shoes as they were. They would have to take the beach. At least at the start. He planned to soak the shoes in the sea for a while on their first stop to see if he couldn't flatten them out after that for her. In the meantime, he hadn't been willing to risk the jungle with her barefoot. So they'd set out along the beach, determined to keep an eye peeled for approaching boats in case Dressler sent men after them.
Now, though, her comment that it was dinnertime made Domitian glance to Sarita with concern and ask, "When did you last eat?"
Sarita was silent for a minute, and then reluctantly admitted, "Supper last night. If it was last night that Dressler drugged me."
Cursing, Domitian turned to head for the trees that bordered the beach.
"What are you--Hey!" Sarita protested when he snatched her "Santa sack" in passing and slung it over his shoulder with his own makeshift bag.
It said a lot that Sarita didn't protest further, but trudged along after him. That alone told him that she must be on her last leg.
As an immortal Domitian di
dn't have to eat so long as he consumed blood. Sarita, however, had to eat for energy, and while he'd fed countless times that day and even taken in extra blood before they'd left, Sarita hadn't eaten at all.
He hadn't seen her drink anything today either, Domitian thought with a frown. Here she'd taken care of him, fetched him blood and popped it to his mouth when she woke up on the terrace and he still slept, and he hadn't bothered to even ask if she'd eaten. And he was a chef!
Upset at himself for his lack of consideration, Domitian glared at Sarita when she dropped to sit on the sand with a weary sigh.
"It was foolish of you to go without food," he growled, though he was more upset at himself than her.
"I often do foolish things," Sarita informed him, not sounding concerned. "It's part of my charm. My father used to say so," she added, and flopped back to lie in the sand.
"He did, did he?" Domitian asked, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips and forcing his anger back. Setting down the bags and dropping to sit next to her, he began going through their contents in search of something healthy for her to eat.
"Yes," Sarita assured him and suddenly sat up to lean past him and snatch a can from the pile of items in the nearest bag. Waving it in front of his face, she added, "Besides, you haven't eaten either."
"No, I have not," Domitian agreed. The difference was he didn't need food if there was blood available. There wasn't blood available to him right now, however, and eating would reduce the amount of blood he would need. Not by that much, but every little bit helped when you were without. Besides, it would lighten the load in their sacks if they ate some of it, but Domitian frowned as he read the label on the can she was waving at him. "Canned fruit?"
"Nourishment and liquid too," she said simply and dropped the can in his lap before reaching for another as well as the can opener. Sarita made quick work of opening her own can, and then handed him the opener and sat back to begin picking fruit out of the metal tin and popping it in her mouth.
Domitian watched her briefly, but then opened his own can and began to eat the fruit inside. It actually wasn't bad, considering, he decided. It wasn't that good either, though.
"So, you are a chef," Sarita commented after they'd eaten in silence for a few moments.
Catching the wistful tone in her voice, Domitian glanced over to see her eyeing the label on her can with dissatisfaction. It seemed she wasn't completely happy with her meal. He couldn't blame her, Domitian decided as he chewed a piece of what he thought might be peach. The can label said mixed fruit, but while the pieces inside were of varying shapes and colors they all seemed to taste the same. He should have made her a meal before they'd left the house, he thought. Something hearty and filling and as delicious as he found her. He would like to cook for Sarita, Domitian thought. He wanted to satisfy all her appetites. Unfortunately, at the moment they didn't have the time for him to satisfy even one.
Deciding to distract them both from what they couldn't have, Domitian picked another piece of fruit out of his can, and commented idly, "Dr. Dressler is your grandmother's employer?"
"Yeah. She's worked for him for . . . God, I don't even know how long it's been," Sarita admitted and then tilted her head skyward and tried to work it out aloud. "Forty-some years, at least," she guessed finally. "My father was a little boy when she started to work for Dr. Dressler," Sarita said. "She apparently worked for him and his wife for eight or nine months before leaving my father and grandfather to move to the island."
"So she lived at home and came here to the house where we were placed at first, and then once they moved to the island she left your grandfather to live on the island permanently?" Domitian asked with interest. This was news to him. The reports from his private detective had only covered the fact that her grandmother still lived in Venezuela, worked for Dr. Dressler, and that Sarita wrote to the woman weekly. It hadn't covered the history of the grandmother. That hadn't been important to Domitian. At least, not until his uncle had arrived in Venezuela with several hunters in tow, claiming Dressler was behind the recent rash of immortals that had gone missing.
"Yes. Well, I don't know if it was just for the job. Maybe my grandfather was abusive or something. I don't know the whole story. It's the one thing Grandmother is reticent about. But, Dad--" she shook her head sadly "--he never forgave her for abandoning them. She apparently tried calling to speak to him, but he wouldn't take the calls, so she started sending weekly letters that he tore up and threw out."
Domitian's eyebrows rose. "Then how did you end up in contact with her?"
"My mother," Sarita said simply.
"How?" he asked. "Did she insist you write her?"
"No." She frowned at the suggestion, and explained, "Grandmother didn't know that Father was throwing out her letters. She must have suspected when she never got a reply, but she kept writing anyway and was still sending weekly letters when he and my mother married. Mom said he never mentioned the letters to her while they were courting, and when the first one arrived after their wedding, she was the only one home to receive it."
"She said she didn't think much of it until she gave it to Dad and he just tore it up and threw it in the garbage, and then left the room. She said he was grumpy the rest of the evening, which was unusual for him, and then was fine after that until the next letter about a week later, and the next. Mother said four letters came in four weeks that he just tore up and threw out, and each was followed by a night where he was angry and miserable to live with. By that fourth letter she'd had enough. She waited until he had slammed from the room as usual, retrieved the letter, and hid it away.
"After he left for work the next morning, she fetched the letter. Then she sat down at the table, taped it back together, and read it. She was shocked when she realized it was from his mother. There had only ever been my grandfather in my father's life since she'd known him and Father had always refused to talk about his mother, so Mom had assumed Grandmother was dead and talking about her was just too painful for him."
Sarita fell silent for a minute and picked up her can again to pluck another piece of fruit out of it. After chewing and swallowing, she shook her head and said, "I don't know what was in that first letter, but my mother decided to write her back herself. Her first note was just to let my grandmother know who she was and that Dad didn't read her letters, but just ripped them up and threw them out."
Sarita smiled faintly. "Mom said she was just hoping that once the woman knew she was wasting her time writing, she'd stop sending letters and upsetting Dad. But a week later another letter arrived, this time addressed to her."
"Whatever was in that letter apparently touched my mom," Sarita said solemnly. "She answered it and every week another letter came addressed to her, and every week my mother answered. She told Grandmother about herself, my father, their life together, and then about me when I was born. She said Dad never asked if he'd received his weekly letter, and she never explained why he wasn't getting them anymore. It became the only secret she ever kept from him."
"When did you find out about the letters?" Domitian asked when she fell silent.
"I was about eleven," Sarita said with a small reminiscent smile that fascinated Domitian. It suggested a softer side to her she seemed determined to keep hidden most of the time.
"I was snooping and came across a box stuffed full of letters," Sarita explained. "Mother had kept every one in case my father ever had a change of heart and wanted contact with his mother. He could read the letters. Instead, I found and read a bunch of them before she caught me. Mother explained how she had come to correspond with Grandmother and made me swear not to tell my father. It became our secret then."
"And you started to write her too," he suggested, but Sarita shook her head.
"No." She peered down into her can of fruit, and swallowed, before saying gruffly, "That didn't happen until my mother died when I was thirteen. When the first letter arrived from Grandmother after that, I wrote her to explain that mother was dea
d and could not answer her letters anymore. The next letter was addressed to me. We've been writing ever since."
"And your father never knew?" Domitian asked.
"Are you kidding?" she asked with dry amusement. "That man knew everything. He pretended not to know though."
"What makes you think that? Perhaps he did not know."
Sarita shook her head. "There were many times when he got to the mail before Mom or I could. He must have seen the letters. He would have recognized the handwriting, but he never said anything."
"Hmm," Domitian murmured, but asked, "Did your mother ever take you to meet her?"
"No." Sarita shook her head. "Grandmother never left the island or invited us to it."
"Until now," he said.
Sarita frowned now, her lips pursing as she shook her head again. "Actually, she didn't invite me this time either. Dr. Dressler did."
Domitian stilled.
"Dressler called me last weekend," she explained. "He introduced himself as Grandmother's employer, said she'd taken a tumble on the stairs and hurt herself. He said he was concerned. She was older and injuries like hers could lead to complications in the elderly. He felt that a visit from me might help perk her up and ensure her recovery. He asked me to come to the island to surprise her." Sighing, she added, "I had two weeks of vacation coming up. I asked for it off and was on a flight two days later."
"So you got to the island . . . three days ago?" he guessed.
"Four," she corrected. "He called Saturday. I flew out Monday, and then wasted three days kicking up my heels before Dressler knocked me out and brought me here. Today would be the fourth day since I flew here to Venezuela. Unless I was unconscious more than just overnight as I assumed when I woke up here, this is Friday."
Domitian nodded. It had been Thursday when he'd gone to meet the helicopter that he'd thought was to take him to the island. She was probably right that it was Friday. Unless, as she'd said, he too had been unconscious for more than just a night. Pushing that worry away, he asked, "Did you think it odd that it was Dr. Dressler who invited you and not your grandmother?"
"Yeah." Sarita nodded and then shook her head and said, "But no. I thought she'd taken a bad spill and was weak and sick. I thought it was good of him to call me," she added bitterly.