by Amy Cross
Judy nodded and forced a smile, but she was staring straight ahead with a slight grimace.
“What's up, Sis?” Merrie asked, nudging her arm. “Don't be a downer, I need you to get into the holiday spirit with me here.” She leaned closer. “Hey,” she whispered, “maybe if you order some vodka, she'll serve you. Seeing as how you're not me. And then you give it to me? Clever, huh?”
Judy shook her head.
“Why not?”
“I just...” Taking a deep breath, Judy winced slightly, as if she was in pain. “Just leave it, okay? There'll be plenty of time to get drunk when we get to Mallaca. You don't need to be drunk on the plane too. Let's not turn into completely stereotypical British tourists.”
“Who put you in charge?” Merrie asked. “This holiday started the moment the plane left the ground at Stansted, and every second we're sober is another second that we're not having maximum fun.” She leaned past her sister and waved at her friends on the other side of the aisle, resting her elbow against Judy's belly in the process. “Hey, can one of -”
“Stop it!” Judy hissed, trying to push her off.
“I'm just trying to -”
“Just stop!” Forcing Merrie back into her own seat, Judy placed a hand on the side of her abdomen, feeling a kind of dull shooting pain. “Just leave it! There'll be more vodka than you can ever drink once we land, okay? Can't you just not drink on the plane?”
“Are you okay?” Merrie asked. “You look kinda -”
“I'm fine.”
“But -”
“I'm fine!” Judy said firmly. “Can you just...” Sighing, she took a moment to compose herself. “Please, Merrie, can you just tone it down a notch or two? We're going to land in forty minutes and then you have a whole week to get as wasted as you like. Isn't that enough?”
“Whatever,” Merrie muttered, clearly annoyed as she pointedly turned away and looked out the window. She added something else under her breath, and then she pulled the in-flight magazine out and started flicking through the adverts. “I'll tell you one thing,” she added finally. “I'm going to have fun on this holiday, and I won't let anyone stop me. Not even you.”
“I want to have fun too,” Judy replied, pressing a hand against her own belly, trying to feel for something. She forced a smile, even though she could tell she was sweating slightly. “We will have fun, I promise.”
***
Several hours later, sitting alone on the toilet at their hotel, Judy leaned forward and held her breath as another wave of pain hit. This one was worse than before, way worse, as if some kind of pressure was building in her stomach, almost as if something was growing in there and trying to force its way up. Closing her eyes, Judy bit her bottom lip in an attempt to keep from crying out, even as tears ran down her cheek and mingled with sweat. Finally, just as the pressure seemed like it was about to split her belly open, something seemed to shift deep inside and the pain ebbed away.
For now.
She knew, however, that it'd be back.
“Hey!” a voice said suddenly, knocking on the door. “Are you okay in there?”
“I'm fine,” she blurted out, before wiping strands of hair away from her sweat-caked forehead. “Sorry, I'll be there in a minute.”
“It's just,” Merrie continued, “you've been, like, twenty minutes already and I need to get ready. I told Kay and Gemma we'd meet them at the bar next door.”
“Sounds great,” Judy replied, taking a deep breath. “I'll be out in just a second, okay?”
There was a pause.
“Are you sure you're okay?” Merrie asked, sounding concerned. “You were in the toilet a lot at the airport, too.”
“I think I ate something bad last night,” Judy told her, “that's -” She stopped as she felt the pain returning, churning in her gut. “That's all. I'm sorry, I'll be okay in a minute.”
“You'd better be,” Merrie replied. “You need to unwind and let your hair down for once.” She paused. “So you'll be out of the bathroom in, like, five minutes, yeah?”
“I promise.”
Judy waited as she heard Merrie heading back into the room, and a moment later she heard music coming from her sister's phone. Taking a deep breath, she tried to focus on holding back the pain in her belly, and she told herself that there was nothing to worry about. For a couple of weeks now, she'd been experiencing sporadic bouts of intense cramping, and the pain had been developing in fits and starts. She'd checked her symptoms online, and although she knew she should have gone to see a doctor, she hadn't wanted anything to get in the way of the holiday.
“I'll go and see Doctor Wight as soon as I get home,” she whispered, hoping to make a deal with the universe. “Please, I'll go and see him the first day I'm back, just let me not have pain while we're here. Please...”
She leaned forward, and after a moment the pain passed much more easily than before. She froze, waiting for it to come back, but something seemed to have shifted and she felt as if it was gone, at least for now. The last attack, two days earlier, had been shorter, but at least she figured she'd hopefully be pain-free for the rest of the day, although she figured there'd be some discomfort. Grabbing some toilet paper, she reached down and wiped, and then she paused, daring herself to look down into the bowl.
“Please,” she whispered, “no blood. Please let there not be blood in my pee.”
Getting to her feet, she turned and looked down. When she saw all the blood, she felt a shiver pass through her chest.
Chapter Three
“So you want this chicken on a raft,” Javier said with a frown, staring at the printout, “tattooed on your back? Really big, all across your shoulders?”
“That's right, mate,” the topless English guy replied, leaning against the counter. “How much?”
“It's a big job,” Javier replied, “it'll take a lot of ink and -”
“Yeah, sure, but how much?”
Javier sighed.
“Come on, mate,” the guy replied, “I haven't got all day.”
“Two hundred and fifty euros.”
“Two hundred and fifty?” Shocked, the guy snatched the printout back. “Are you kidding? The bloke at the shop down the street said he'd do it for a hundred and ten! I only came to ask you 'cause everyone says you're the best.”
“I'm the best tattoo artist in this resort,” Javier replied, “and the bloke at the shop down the street, who says he'll do it for one hundred and ten euros, he is the worst tattoo artist in this resort. You must choose, but my price is my price.”
“Bloody hell,” the guy replied, “how about a discount? What about... a hundred and fifty.”
Javier shook his head.
“A hundred and fifty-five?”
“My price is my price,” Javier told him, “and for the amount of work you're asking, it's very reasonable. Please, it's up to you. In my tattoo parlor, you get good work. At others, not so much.”
“I'm not paying two hundred and fifty,” the guy muttered, heading to the door. “You're a rip-off merchant, mate. People like you oughta be closed down for trying to rip off honest, hard-working tourists.”
“Thank you,” Javier replied, watching as the guy marched off with his printout along the busy, sun-drenched street. “Good luck getting that butcher to tattoo you for one hundred and ten euros.” Sighing, he looked down at the appointments book and saw that although he had several clients penciled in for the rest of the day, he still had several big gaps that needed filling.
“Are you sure your standards aren't too high?” a voice asked.
Turning, he saw that Colin was leaning in the doorway, grinning at him.
“Seriously,” Colin continued, wandering over to join him at the counter, “two hundred and fifty was a bit steep to charge that guy, wasn't it?”
“I didn't want to do him anyway,” Javier replied. “The tattoo design was horrible and he stank of beer. Why would a chicken be on a raft, anyway? It makes no sense. The job would have take
n hours, and he seemed like a talker. Plus, he was sunburned all over. Let him go somewhere else and get a bad job, I don't care.”
“You'll care if you don't get enough business to keep this place going,” Colin pointed out, heading to the front door and watching for a moment as tourists swarmed past. “I've got all these ideas for modernizing the business, you really should listen to me some time.”
“Where is Ruth?” Javier asked.
Colin turned to him. “No idea, mate. Is she supposed to be working today?”
“It's the second shift in a row that she's missed. That isn't like her.”
“Maybe she's sick.”
“She hasn't called or emailed. Nothing.”
“Have you tried her phone?”
“It's been off for the past two days now. I'm starting to get worried.”
Colin paused. “Well, yeah, that does seem a little strange, but I'm sure she'll show up. Maybe she got another offer and decided she could do better than working as a receptionist in this rundown old place. Come to think of it, it's not like you actually need a receptionist, you should be glad you're not having to pay her anymore.” He watched as Javier opened one of the laptops. “Unless you've been paying her to work here just because you like having her around?”
“Rubbish.”
“She's a nice girl,” Colin continued with a grin. “I can see how you might've started liking her.”
“You don't know what you're talking about.”
Colin watched him for a moment, before making his way over. “There's nothing wrong with it, mate. If you like her, you like her. She's hot, she's fit, she's fun, what's not to like? You should ask her out some time.”
Javier shook his head.
“Why not?”
“I don't want to.”
“Liar.”
“Did you come through just to annoy me?” Javier asked. “Is there nothing else you could be doing with your time?”
“Like what?” Leaning past the counter, Colin looked into the next room, where several computers sat unused on a series of wooden desks. “It's not like the internet cafe side of things is doing any better than the tattoo parlor side. Face it, mate, something about this set-up just isn't dragging the punters in.” He paused, before turning back to Javier. “If things keep up like this, I'm gonna have to think about upping sticks again, maybe even going back to England. I thought we could build something here, mate, a real empire. Instead, we're stagnating.”
“Things will turn around,” Javier replied. “People just need to understand that good tattoos cost money, and that the cheaper places are not good.”
“Have you seen the people who stay in this resort? They're not after art, they're after a quick tattoo they can get while they're recovering from a heavy night out.”
“I won't compromise my standards,” Javier muttered, clicking at a page on the laptop. “Still no message from Ruth. She wouldn't just leave like this. Something must be wrong.”
***
“And how long have you been living in Mallaca?” Mr. Ford asked as he led Ruth past the swimming pool.
“Almost a year now,” she replied, stunned as she looked around and saw palm trees and vast, green lawns surrounding the villa. “I came last year to work in a tattoo parlor run by a friend of mine. It's called Javier's, it's down on the main strip by the beach, maybe you've seen it?”
“I doubt that very much,” Mr. Ford replied, not bothering to hide the disdain in his voice. A thin man wearing a white suit, he stopped just ahead of her and typed a code into a panel on the wall, and a moment later a nearby door slid open. “I'm afraid I don't get down into the main part of town very often. I spend most of my time working for Andreas, and unfortunately...” He paused. “Well, you'll find out for yourself if you are successful with your application. The work we do here is very time-consuming. I'm afraid it doesn't leave much time for anything else.”
“That's fine by me,” she told him. “I just want a job where I feel like I'm actually getting somewhere, but... I'm still a little unclear about what happens here at the villa. I mean, I've heard stories, I just don't really know what it's all about.”
“And before you came to Mallaca,” he continued, “what were you doing?”
“This and that,” she replied, a little evasively. “Nothing special.”
“In England?”
“Yeah. And Scotland.”
“You traveled?”
“Kind of.”
“And your parents?”
“So what exactly goes on here?” she asked, in an not-so-subtle attempt to change the subject. “The advert was a little vague.”
“Andreas Velucci has established a haven here,” Mr. Ford replied, leading her through the door and into a large, cool white-walled room with a domed ceiling. “Nestled in the hills overlooking the town, Andreas has a vision, and that vision is coming to life. He foresees a day when a new dawn arrives for mankind, and he believes that this new dawn can be facilitated and brought forward if it is recognized by a pioneer.” He turned to her as the door slid shut behind them. “Andreas Velucci is that pioneer. He understands the deep connections between different worlds, and he has chosen to devote his life to the drawing out of a new direction for humanity. A cosmic evolution, if you will.”
“Right,” she replied with a frown. “And... So it's a salaried position, right? 'Cause I'm not really looking to do free intern work right now.”
Mr. Ford winced slightly, as if the mention of money offended him somehow. “You will be handsomely remunerated, I can assure you.”
“Cool, 'cause I was worried I might have to move back to England.”
“Your duties here at the villa will be to cater to Mr. Velucci's every need,” Mr. Ford continued, conspicuously eyeing her up and down, “and to assist him in his work. You will find that he is a most reasonable man, but you will also find that your new task requires absolute dedication. I'm not sure what your life in Mallaca has been like of late, but if you've been spending any time at all down in the more touristy parts of town, I feel you're in for something of a culture shock. Your room here at the villa will, I'm sure, be more than satisfactory for your needs.”
“My room?”
“The position includes a room in the villa's northern wing. Was that not clear?”
“I...” She paused. “So I'll live and work here?”
“You cannot tend to Mr. Velucci's needs if you're off-site,” he explained. “If you can't offer the level of dedication that's required, you must say so now rather than wasting our time.”
“No,” she replied, “I... I can do that. I really want to come and work up here, I want to learn about Mr. Velucci's work and help him to achieve... whatever it is that he's trying to achieve.”
“Universal harmony within an evolutionary discipline of light and beauty.”
“Yeah. That.”
“Perhaps you should meet Mr. Velucci before you make your decision,” he continued, with a faint smile. “He, in turn, wants to meet you before he decides whether to hire you. I should warn you, he's very picky when it comes to assistants. It has been quite some time since anyone measured up.”
“I hope he likes me,” she replied, with a nervous smile. “I have a really good feeling about this place.”
“Yes,” Mr. Ford replied. “I imagine you do.”
Chapter Four
“One euro!” Gemma shouted as she got back to the table and took her seat. She'd returned from the crowded bar with a huge mug of pale, weak-looking beer, and she grinned as she licked foam off the top. “Can you believe it's only one euro?”
“Let me try,” Merrie replied, leaning across the table and licking some of the foam. “Tastes a bit like soap.”
“Sure,” Gemma said, “and it's watered down like hell, but still... One euro! That's a third of what it'd cost at home!”
“Dad boiled Mum's head and served it for Christmas dinner,” Kay muttered, reading the front page of the magazine she'd pi
cked up at the shop. “My budgie's ghost saved me from a creepy old man.” She smiled. “Where do they get these stories?”
“Look at this place,” Merrie continued, turning and looking along the street. They were in a bar right at the heart of the tourist part of town. As far as the eye could see in both directions, every building was either a bar, a nightclub, a tattoo parlor or a mini-supermarket, and hundreds of people were milling about, many of them recovering from a hangover and building up for the next night's activities. Smiling, she watched as a terribly sunburned older man wandered past wearing just a pair of shorts and with some kind of parasol tucked under his arm. “This,” she said finally, “is paradise.”
“We should all get matching tattoos,” Gemma continued, turning to Kay and then to Judy. “What do you think? We should totally get something to remember the holiday by.”
“Like what?” Kay asked.
“I dunno, like... There's gotta be something.” She turned to Judy. “Are you okay?”
“I'm great,” Judy replied, forcing a smile. “Sorry, I was just thinking about my dissertation.”
“Sorry,” Merrie said, mimicking her sister's voice, “I was just thinking about my dissertation.” She leaned over and kissed Judy's shoulder. “Sis, babe, we didn't fly down to Spain for a week so you could think about your dissertation. We didn't come here to think at all, we came to have a good time. I for one intend to stay at least respectably drunk for the duration of the trip, and I think we should all do the same.” She waited for Judy to reply, but after a moment she realized that Judy seemed troubled by something. “Listen, if -”
“Back in a moment,” Judy said suddenly, getting to her feet. “I'm just going to find the bathroom.”