Prism (Story of CI Book 1)

by Rachel Moschell

  This was tropical paradise.

  The pickup slowed down even more as they rounded a curve in the gravel and came across a girl walking along the edge of the road. The long Indian skirt and maroon bandana tied over her hair caused Noah to stare for a second before he realized they were familiar because he was looking at Wara, walking back into Coroico.

  “Hey, stop the truck!” he called to Lázaro, leaning forward to bang on the outside of the cab. Tiny pebbles skidded as Lázaro calmly slid the truck to a stop, still to Wara’s back. Noah leaned over the side of the truck.

  “Tu, mujer!” he called out in his most booming voice. “You, woman!” Eduardo, also realizing it was Wara, crossed his arms and looked down at the ground, laughing.

  Wara whipped her head around with startled eyes, then her face spread into a smile when she saw who was in the back of the truck. “Hey, guys!” she said in English, waving. “You scared me! Again. Are you heading back into town?”

  “Yeah,” Noah said. “Can we give you a ride?”

  She shrugged. “Ok, sure. I was taking a walk, but I’ve been gone for a long time now and it’s staring to get dark.” She walked over to the truck and climbed up into the back before Tobias could even get out of the front to offer her the more comfortable seat.

  “Go up front!” Eduardo smiled at her, motioning for Tobias to be a gentleman. “It’s dusty back here.”

  “It’s fine,” Wara waved away his concern. “We’re, like, almost there.” Eduardo and Tobin were taking up most of the space on one of the small pickup’s sides, so Wara came and sat down next to Noah, tucking the fabric of her pretty skirt between her knees.

  “Thanks, man! We can go now!” Noah called to Lázaro, and the truck zoomed to life, sending gusts of wind flowing around their bodies again. Little strands of Wara’s dark hair were tickling her face, and Noah leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek and say, “Hola!”

  “Hola!” she said back, seeming a little nervous.

  Wara’s probably not used to riding in the back of pickups. I should have made Tobias get out of the front.

  “So, what have you been doing today?” he asked her, casually balancing one of his arms on the side of the truck close to her back in case they hit a bump. Wouldn’t want to lose her.

  “Oh, well, mostly just exploring, enjoying time by myself since Nazaret left this morning. The Martirs came to pick her up on the way to another Bible conference in Caranavi. I just came from that really cool restaurant, Villa Bella. Ever go there?”

  “Yeah,.” Noah remembered. “That place run by the hippy lady and her family. Yoga classes upstairs. In the middle of the jungle. Their homemade ice cream rocks!”

  “Uh-huh, and it’s all organic.” Wara smiled, apparently distracted from fears of falling out of the truck enough to look into Noah’s eyes. “I had pineapple ice cream, and then,” a dramatic pause, “I got some henna tattoos. Just because I’m too much of a chicken to get a real one.”

  Her eyes twinkled, and Noah realized she wasn’t wearing her glasses today. The thought struck him that Wara Cadogan really was beautiful. Why hadn’t some guy snatched her up?

  “Wow, do we get to see, Wara?” Tobin asked loudly, then flushed and cleared his throat. “I mean, depending of course on where you have them…ok, never mind.”

  Wara raised one eyebrow, seeming to enjoy Tobin putting his foot in his mouth. Noah couldn’t help but laugh.

  “They’re just on my hands and feet.” Wara shook her head and held out a hand and a sandaled foot for viewing. “That’s where henna tattoos work the best.”

  Before Noah’s eyes could focus on the designs Wara had on her feet, Lázaro’s voice came from the front of the truck: “Wara Cadogan?”

  Noah glanced over to see his tour guide/friend staring at them in the rearview mirror, jaw hanging, eyes still hidden behind the glasses.

  Lázaro knew Wara?

  Waiting for Wara to answer to her name, Noah turned back to her, about to say something—until he saw her face. She looked as if she had just seen a phantom appear at the foot of her bed at midnight, while wide awake.

  “Wara? Eres tu?” Lázaro kept driving, but turned around to see Wara himself, staring longer than was healthy when at the wheel. “Is that you?” Lázaro slid off his shades, and Noah heard Wara gasp, audibly.

  “Lázaro?” she said, unsteadily.

  “Yeah, it’s me.” Lázaro sounded unnaturally cheerful, and his eyes were glued to Wara in the mirror. “Imagine seeing you here.” His gaze flitted to Noah, and then to Noah’s arm behind Wara on the truck bed wall. Lázaro’s face blanched, and then, after a long pause, Noah heard him say, “Well, dude, I’m not sure if I should congratulate you on your choice in women. I didn’t know you two were together or I could have warned you about her. Fun for one night, you know. Not quite the good little missionary girl you might expect. ”

  Noah felt his neck begin to burn, shocked by the words coming from Lázaro’s mouth. He whipped around towards Wara and saw her cheeks painted scarlet. “Why are you doing this?” she squeaked.

  Lázaro ignored her. “She’s pretty though, isn’t she, Noah?” He winked into the mirror and then slid his dark glasses back on. “Enjoy.”

  “Stop the truck!” Wara’s hoarse voice broke into Noah’s pounding head, just in time to see that they were about to pass the Hotel Bella Vista, where the girls were staying. “I’m getting out!”

  The brakes slammed to a halt in a billow of dust and Lázaro muttered, “Fine.” Wara was out of the back of the truck before Noah could even process what had just happened. She jogged into the hotel without even looking back.

  “Wara!” Noah called after her, absolutely furious, shivering with anger. Lázaro had already hit the gas, but Noah stood up just as the truck jerked into action and he vaulted over the side onto the gravel. The momentum threw him down onto one knee with a skid, and he leaped up and raced after Wara into the hotel.

  How could he…what is Lázaro’s problem?

  “Wara! Wait!” Noah saw her disappearing down a hallway at the back of the hotel, and he slid on the tile past a fountain and managed to stop just outside the door to her room, which slammed shut in his face. Muffled, gasping sobs came from inside the door, and Noah froze. He was angry. Really angry. Trying to compose himself, he knocked loudly on the door.

  “Wara…please. I can’t believe he would say that. Do you want me to go beat the jerk up? We actually…he was our tour guide. I know where he lives. I’ll go…”

  “Noah, just go away!” Wara wailed from inside, voice muffled through the thick wooden door. “I’m going home, to Cochabamba! Right now!”

  “I’ll…”

  “I’m sorry…I can’t. Go away!”

  She’s really serious.

  But I’m not letting her get on some bus or taxi alone, like this.

  Noah glanced around the empty hallway, dripping all over the hotel’s wooden parquet floor and staring at the turquoise grout in between the red tiles on the wall.

  I’ll go back with her. I don’t need to go to Cotapata with the guys.

  Wara wasn’t going to be in the mood to discuss this at the moment; in fact, Noah could imagine her inside the hotel room, angrily throwing clothes into her purple backpack, ready to leave this place forever.

  Breaking into a run, Noah bounded down the hotel’s steps three at a time and spun out onto the street. He sprinted across the plaza towards his hostel to get his stuff, face still burning, images of his fist connecting with Lázaro’s jawbone flashing through his mind.

  He had better be done dropping the guys off by the time I get to the hostel, or I may have to do time in a Bolivian jail for assault, Noah raged. What happened? I thought Lázaro was a nice guy, and suddenly he turned into a lying idiot.

  Bolivian jail wasn’t on the menu today; the white pickup truck was nowhere in sight when Noah burst through the door of his hostel, panting like some rabid tourist from the wild. He jammed the key into the l
ock of his room and stuffed his few clothes, in various states of muddiness, into his backpack. Pulling on his last pair of dry pants, Noah slammed the door of their room shut and half-ran down the hall again, while dialing Eduardo’s number on his cell.

  Eduardo, and the Australians in the background, protested from the Mexican restaurant where they had been dropped off that Noah shouldn’t miss out on their trip to Cotapata just because Lázaro had suddenly become a moron.

  “Thanks guys, but I’ve got to go with her, ok? Sorry. I’ll catch you later.”

  “Alright, sure. We’ll miss you, man. It won’t be the same without you.”

  Noah flipped the phone shut just as he rounded the corner into the plaza, right on the street where all the buses parked before they took off for La Paz. Wara would need to get to La Paz first, then take another bus to Cochabamba. At the moment, the street was dark and empty under the glowing street lamps.

  The pharmacy where he knew they sometimes sold bus tickets when the agency was closed on Sundays still had its door open, and Noah could see that a man in a white lab coat was rearranging bottles behind the counter. He jogged over and burst in, gasping, “Buenas noches! Are there any buses to La Paz tonight?”

  “No, no buses tonight,” the elderly man answered his inquiry. The scent of mint pomade and syrupy orange made Noah’s head buzz. “The agencies don’t want to take passengers out this late, you know. Not safe on that road.”

  Oh yeah. The Road of Death.

  “But buses do leave at night sometimes, don’t they?” Noah really hoped he could help Wara out. “I think I rode a bus to La Paz after dark one time.”

  “There is that one bus, parked down there by the store.” When Noah looked lost, the man came around the glass display counter and walked with Noah over to the door, pointing a block to the north. “That’s a chartered bus that some group is going back to La Paz in tonight. The driver is over there, smoking, just outside the door. Maybe you could talk with him.”

  “Thank you very much.” Noah shook the man’s leathery hand, and backed out of the pharmacy, destination medium-sized bus near the store.

  Just like the pharmacy guy said, the driver was sitting on a rubber step of the bus, smoking, wearing a cheap brown sweater and scuffed leather shoes. “Can we buy a ride on this bus?” Noah asked him, trying not to appear crazed and breathless after so much running around. “For me and one other person. Do you have room?”

  The man took a drag of his cigarette and sized Noah up. “We have lots of room. This bus was hired to take a certain group of people back to La Paz tonight. But the tickets would be expensive, so we don’t have many other passengers.”

  “That’s fine,” Noah said, willing to shell out the few dollars more. He couldn’t forget Wara’s white face when Lázaro had said all that crap. “How much?”

  “Eighty bolivianos,” the driver said, after a pause. “Each.” Noah peeled the bills out of an outer pocket of his backpack that was still dry.

  “What time does it leave?” he realized he should have asked first.

  “Right now,” the man said, though no one else seemed to be around. The bus driver shuffled up the stairs into the bus and reappeared with a ticket book, where he made Noah print the two passengers’ names and identification numbers. He scribbled his passport number, and then totally made up a number for Wara, since he had no idea what her passport number was and at the moment really didn’t care.

  “Eight o’clock. En punto,” the driver said, carefully ripping the tickets off and passing them to Noah. “On the dot.”

  “Sure,” Noah replied distractedly, wondering if Wara would show up by then. What if she didn’t come?

  He should get back to the plaza so he wouldn’t miss her.

  Noah walked back to the plaza, ignoring the tempting aroma of frying hamburgers from a silver food cart on the corner. A group of well-dressed people, laughing together in muted tones, passed him, headed towards the bus. Noah felt a moment of panic. What if the last bus out tonight left without them?

  Right then, like magic, Wara came towards him across the plaza, nearly flying. She was wearing jeans instead of that beautiful skirt and Noah would have recognized that light blue alpaca sweater anywhere. How long had Wara had it, three, four years? Noah slid down onto an empty bench right in her path, feet planted on the ground, really hoping she wouldn’t be angry.

  “Hey,” he said, as Wara stopped cold in front of him. She looked devastated, red eyes visible even in the dim lighting of the plaza. “Please don’t be mad, but I got some bus tickets for us. It wasn’t easy, cause, like, no buses were going out tonight, but I found a special one that I think will be really nice. It’s leaving right now.”

  Wara’s mouth opened and then snapped shut. She stared at the two tickets Noah clutched in his hand. “I’m gonna go back to Cochabamba with you,” he added, just in case he had forgotten to mention that part of his plan. “I just didn’t want you to go all alone.” He paused, noticing her lip was quivering. “Are you mad?”

  Wara burst into tears, and then tried to hide it by taking a deep breath. “But…your trip…”

  “Who cares?” Noah shrugged. “Another time.” He got up and held out his hand for Wara to hand him her backpack. “C’mon, I think I saw the guys who hired this bus heading over there, so we’d better hurry up.”

  Amazingly, Wara allowed herself to be led over to the bus, whose engine was now purring lustily, and they climbed up the steps into the darkened interior. Inside, the bus was only about a third full, most of the people sitting towards the back in a group, settling in for a nap on the way back to the capital. The men wore slick jackets with dress shirts, and most of the women seemed to be wearing pantsuits of some kind.

  Probably the group who chartered the bus. Not very comfortable clothes for traveling.

  Noah squinted at their tickets, and then found the seat numbers on the right side, pretty near the front. He put Wara’s purple backpack under the seat by the window, and then he waited, a little nervously, for Wara to get into her seat first.

  She’s not talking to me. Is she mad?

  Of course she’s mad---the stuff Lázaro said! That idiotic jerk. Why would he spout off like that about Wara?

  Noah felt his face get hot again as he slid into his spot next to the aisle and he wondered how Wara could be so quiet.

  “Why are you doing this?” He heard Wara’s broken voice echo in his brain, and he leaned back into his seat with a sigh.

  Oh God, I really need some help right now, cause I’m really angry. Help me to love my enemy—that’s who our psychopathic tour guide has suddenly morphed into—and make this sudden turn of events work according to your plan.

  Noah turned his eyes to Wara, and saw, with a twist of his heart, that she had leaned forward to rest her forehead against the velvet seat back in front of her, tears sliding silently down her cheeks and dripping onto the floor.

  9

  silver

  NEVER BEFORE HAD WARA TRUELY understood the expression “I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.”

  Noah sat next to her, and she wanted to die, just die. What was he even doing here? Nothing was ever going to be ok between them ever again.

  She barely noticed as the last of the passengers filed onto the bus, sitting somewhere behind her and Noah. Good. Her eyes were so bloodshot and swollen from sobbing in the hotel room that she couldn’t even pretend to be civil to anyone in the mood to talk. Wara stared out the window, nervously winding her foot up in the strap of her backpack under the seat, again feeling her eyes sting.

  “She’s a lot of fun for one night. Not the good little missionary girl you may imagine…enjoy!”

  His voice ran through her head without her permission, and Wara blinked away the tears, truly wishing for that dark hole and covers to pull over her head and hide---forever.

  With a soft hiss, the bus door closed and the vehicle rumbled to life. She sat in a daze as the bus began to crawl its way along
the narrow, darkened streets, leaving Coroico behind. The hum of the highway enveloped them and Wara slumped forward against the seat back, miserable.

  She knew he was there and was going to say something eventually, but she actually jumped when Noah’s voice broke the silence. “I can’t believe Lázaro would just make up all that stuff about you,” he spat. She glanced at him for a millisecond and saw that his jaw was squared, eyes stormy. “I mean, what is his problem? This is the second time we used his tour group to do stuff here in Coroico, and I thought the guy was cool. How in the world did he…”

  The look on Wara’s face must have cut him off.

  Noah thinks Lázaro made it all up.

  Her heart broke then and she felt herself staring at him, pale in the moonlight streaming through the window.

  “It wasn’t a lie.” She nearly gagged on the words. “I used to date him.”

  “Huh?” Noah blinked. Wara felt her face crumple.

  “Oh, Noah! Why did you come with me? You should have stayed…do you want to go back? We’re barely out of town.” Now she was blubbering, but the memory of everything was taking over: the things Lázaro said. Things that had happened that first year.

  “No. There’s no way I’m letting you stay on this bus yourself.” Noah still seemed a little stunned by what she had just said. “You used to date Lázaro?”

  “For like six weeks. The first year I lived in Cochabamba. We met at a church youth thing.”

  This breath, this space in the universe she now occupied next to Noah, who she loved and had to confess these things to, was without question the worst moment in her life. If she could just say what had happened, she might curl into the seat and die in peace, next to Noah. “So one night,” she mumbled, “I had too much to drink.”

  Like the other night.

  For a little while, Wara had totally forgotten about that lovely scene at Café Paris. New waves of shame washed over her. Her hands twisted the hem of her sweater into a pulp. “And it was like he said. That night was the last time I saw him…because I couldn’t handle seeing him after what happened.”