Torched: A Thriller

by Daniel Powell

She walked into the jungle, but it wasn’t long before she’d gone into the duffle for the taser. She held it loosely in her right hand, thumb on the trigger, feeling just fractionally better.

  NINE

  Vivian finished up in the field before showering and riding into Cerritos. Miguel’s contact was meeting with her at 1:00, and she didn’t want to be late.

  Cerritos, like many Mexican towns, had a large and well-kept park at its core. This one was filled with statues and tidy, shaded walking paths. There was a little cemetery in one corner—home to perhaps forty or fifty plots.

  Old men played cards and checkers on shaded tables. Street vendors peddled everything from cheap plastic sunglasses to steaming empanadas. Vivian purchased two of the latter and washed them down with an ice-cold bottle of orange Fanta. When her lunch was finished, she opened the book she’d brought with her, thankful that she’d thought ahead, and lost herself for forty-five minutes in a Paulo Coelho novel. Her Spanish was improving quickly, and she understood most of what she was reading—at least enough to follow the plot.

  Miguel’s contact finally arrived just a few minutes after 2:00. Vivian smiled when she saw her. Five years ago, when life at her South Florida art gallery had been much more cluttered, the tardiness would have been irritating. But she was growing accustomed to the pace of life in Mexico, and she was happy for the company.

  She was an old woman, with very dark skin. She wore a traditional Mexican dress, her gray hair swept up in a tight bun, and sunglasses with yellow tint. There were a few gaps in her warm smile. She took Vivian’s hand in hers, swallowing it, and the younger woman was surprised by how soft and cool her palms were.

  She was quite pretty.

  “Hola, señora. Habla usted Inglés?” Vivian said.

  “I do,” the woman replied. Her voice was deeper than Vivian had expected, and there was a calm command in her tone. “My name is Alma. I’m pleased to meet you. Miguel is a good young man. He’s been very kind to me over the years.”

  “I’ll tell him you said that, Alma. It’ll make him very happy.”

  Alma went into a pocket inside the front of her dress and withdrew a worn envelope. She handed it to Vivian.

  “Welcome to Mexico, Ms. Diaz.”

  Vivian grinned. A spark coursed through her.

  Ms. Diaz!

  She opened the envelope and found a driver’s license and a national identification card. Carmen Hidalgo Diaz—resident of Cerritos.

  She stared at it. It was a new name, and a new beginning.

  “This is…I can’t thank you enough, Alma. This means so much to me.”

  Alma nodded. Her smile was a little troubled as she reached over and patted Vivian’s hand.

  “You are welcome, my dear. Miguel has done me many kindnesses in these last few years. It’s a small thing for me to help you. But…”

  Vivian waited for her to finish. “But what, Alma? Go ahead.”

  “You are still young. Why do you want this change? Are you unhappy with who you are?”

  Vivian pursed her lips. She thought of Katie, of the terrible things she’d done in Colorado. It seemed like so long ago, and she had a hard time reconciling that person with the one she was becoming in Mexico. “I just need a change. That’s all. I lost someone very dear to me, and it made me so angry that I became somebody else. Somebody I didn’t like. Somebody that…that scared me.”

  “I understand.”

  “I can’t undo the things I’ve done, Alma. And I can’t bring back the ones that I love. There’s nothing left for me in the place that I used to call home. So now I’m here, and I found Miguel. I want to be with him, and this goes a long way toward making that a reality.” She tucked the envelope into her pocket. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome, Carmen. I hope,” she patted Vivian’s hand, “that life is easier in your new home.”

  “Me too, Alma. Me too.”

  TEN

  Terri was completely unnerved. The further she pushed into the jungle, the more tenuous the terrain became. The trail meandered almost exclusively over long, slick portions of limestone, and she had to take careful, deliberate steps to keep from stumbling. The damp seeped through the porous ground, and pockets of sulfur-tinged water pooled every couple of feet.

  The Rio Grande was hours behind her, and now she was alone with the symphony of jungle life reverberating all around her. Iguanas and squirrels skittered from branch to branch overhead, the limbs casting uncertain shadows on the jungle floor.

  She walked a little quicker when something large—something barking an odd, primal grunt—began to pace her from the brush; it was a few hundred feet behind her, moving through the foliage like a miniature bulldozer.

  She started to jog, and then there was a sudden, high-pitched squeal and she shrieked and ran.

  The creature followed, and she sensed its pursuit; she watched in horror as palmetto fronds shook in the wake of its passage.

  Terri dug deep and found another gear, her boots skidding over shale and limestone as she put her head down and pumped her arms.

  The razorback, easily the biggest animal she’d ever seen in the wild, burst from the greenery and onto the trail. She stopped for an instant, terrified as the behemoth struggled to keep its footing on the slippery limestone. Its hooves clattered over the surface, and it loosed another banshee squeal as it crashed down onto its side and slid hard into the brush on the opposite side of the path.

  Then, its powerful haunches pumping cartoonishly in place, it regained its footing and surged after her. The thing stood taller than her, its tusks easily ten or twelve inches in length.

  She sprinted down the path, flying over rocks and roots, grunting as the trail angled downward into a gradual depression. She thought about peeling off into the brush, but she couldn’t convince herself to abandon the trail’s familiarity.

  And still the beast charged. It was gaining, squealing and grunting all the while.

  The trail fell into a wide thicket of cypress trees. They were covered in vines and brambles, and she could hear something else.

  Rushing water.

  She ran toward the raucous burble, flying through the trees, pumping her legs so hard she almost couldn’t stop in time. There was an enormous sinkhole at the far end of the cypress grove. Instinctively, she fell hard to the ground, stripping the top layer of skin from the palms of her hands and knees as she skidded to a stop on the wet stone, her legs dangling over the precipice. She scrambled for purchase, even as her momentum carried her closer to the lip of the enormous cenote. She snatched at a length of vine and arrested her fall, her chest digging into the ledge as her entire lower body dangled out there in space.

  She spun her head. Water from at least a dozen freshwater springs trickled over the edge and into the dark blue pool beneath her.

  She looked down, and the drop made her scream. It had to be fifty feet—maybe more than that.

  She peered back up; the hog was closing hard. It bullied into the cypress grove, head bent, legs churning.

  Terri shrugged the duffle from her shoulder. With her left hand she swung it once, twice, three times—gauging its weight for the long fall. On the fourth try, she let it go and watched it sail on a gentle arc toward the sandy beach.

  It landed (dry, thank goodness!) with a satisfying WUPF!

  She looked up, just as the razorback realized the folly of its haste. It lowered its enormous head, tusks bared, and tried to brake. It slid toward her, and she shrieked in fear and let go.

  She fell backward, just as the animal swung its thick skull into the space she had vacated, trying to bury those deadly tusks in the side of her face.

  She was perfectly supine for a fraction of a moment before her body, understanding that something wasn’t quite right, reacted on instinct; she rotated in the air, pulling her knees up into her chest.

  She hit the cenote on her side, the frigid water punching the breath from her lungs. Down, down she went, plungi
ng deep into the inky cold. The world shimmered above her, a perfect circle of blue sky through what looked like ten feet of cloudy Lucite, and then her brain took over and she stroked toward the surface.

  She broke through with a gasp, sucking oxygen in great choking mouthfuls, then swam frantically for the beach. She pulled herself from the water and collapsed on the beach. Blood seeped through the wounds on her knees and palms, trickling across her skin in tiny channels.

  Other than the abrasions, which stung like a hundred paper cuts, she thought she was unhurt.

  “It’s…a…freaking…miracle,” she panted.

  She heard that familiar grunting and looked skyward. The hog was still there, studying her from the ledge.

  “Leave me alone!” she screamed. “Go on! Get!”

  The razorback watched her for another minute, then turned and disappeared. Terri grinned. “Yeah! Yeah, fuck you!” she shouted, this time a little less emphatically.

  She went to her duffle and took inventory.

  The iPad had survived the toss.

  She pulled out a crumbled granola bar and ate it, then finished the last of her water before filling her canteen in the sinkhole. She put everything back except for the map, which she studied for a few minutes before deciding on a direction.

  She was just starting to scale the hill that she hoped would reunite her with the trail when three gunshots—BAP…BAP…BAP—echoed through the jungle. She ducked behind a bush, peering up at the lip of the cenote. There was a fourth gunshot, then she heard a voice.

  “Ms. James!” Chaco called. He whistled from the ledge, waving down at her. “Hello! Ms. James! Come on out!”

  She did, and he grinned down at her.

  “Big fella, eh? He, uh…he won’t be giving you any more trouble.”

  “Chaco! What are you doing here? Did you follow me?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe a little. You coming? For somebody with places to be, I’m surprised to see you down there, just cooling off with a swim.”

  Terri laughed. “Yeah, yeah…I’m coming. Is this the best way back up?”

  He nodded. “But watch your step. It gets tricky near the top.”

  And it was, but there was a narrow path back up the sheer limestone bank. With Chaco talking her through it, she made it up in one piece.

  “I’m surprised to see you,” Terri said. “Surprised and thankful, Chaco. Do I…do I owe you more money?”

  Chaco waved the suggestion away. “Nah. I’m working pro bono until we get you into Cerritos. I could use some good karma. Come on. I’ll show you the way.”

  They hiked through the remainder of the afternoon, pausing for a quick dinner of protein bars and spring water. They passed but one tiny village on the trail—maybe two dozen buildings circling a well and a church with chipped, fading walls. Other than a few pygmy deer and the usual assortment of birds and reptiles, they didn’t stumble across much wildlife to speak of.

  The sun was far out over the western skyline when Terri heard the first automobile. “Is that...?”

  Chaco nodded. “Come on, Ms. James. Won’t take long to find a ride.”

  “I told you, Chaco. Please—call me Terri.”

  “Okay, Terri. Come on.”

  They passed through a few more clearings. These had been cleared to make way for cellular telephone towers. Then, after a full day of tramping through wilderness, she spotted the road.

  Cars and trucks zipped east and west over the dark asphalt. Chaco told her to stand far off to the side. He went to the shoulder and waved his arms.

  The fourth truck slowed and pulled over.

  “See? I told you,” he said. “Grab your things. C’mon.”

  Chaco spoke in muted Spanish with the driver. When he was finished, he climbed into the bed of the truck and helped Terri up.

  “Salt of the earth, the Mexican people. You don’t ever really need to worry much about a ride down here.”

  Terri flashed a nervous grin. “It’s such a relief, having you with me. I was…I’ll admit I was worried about making my way on the roads. Thank you, Chaco.”

  He reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. “Don’t thank me yet, Terri. The hardest parts for you are still ahead, if I’m not mistaken.”

  ELEVEN

  Miguel brought dinner home with him. They ate out on the little porch—beans and rice stuffed into homemade tortillas and tall glasses of mint-tinged iced tea.

  Night had fallen by the time they were finished.

  “I’ve got something to show you,” Vivian said.

  “Yeah? Don’t keep it to yourself, then.”

  “Be right back.” She ran inside and collected the documents. Before heading back outside, she stopped to study her reflection in the mirror hanging in the foyer. The circles beneath her eyes were disappearing. The edges of her mouth turned upward, naturally.

  She felt different. She felt…renewed.

  She handed Miguel the envelope. “Alma does excellent work. She asked me to thank you, by the way.”

  Miguel grinned as he studied the documents. “Carmen, Carmen,” he said, testing it out. “I love it! These are great. You, uh…you feel any better now?”

  Vivian shrugged. It was difficult to consider herself in a new light, but she was warming to the idea by the hour. She’d paused at least a half dozen times since Alma had given her the identification cards to study them.

  She’d even begun to tinker with a personal history—a background that might accompany her new identity. It was liberating, thinking about all of the possibilities.

  “I guess so. It’s just surreal, how quickly things have changed for me.”

  Miguel nodded. “Oh, I know. I remember the feeling well, Vi—Carmen.”

  “It’s okay, Mike. Call me Vivian. Please, at least just for a little while longer.” She sighed, unsure of how to move forward. “Would you,” she swallowed, “…are you interested in hearing more about Vivian?”

  “I’d like nothing more. Can I get you a glass of wine? I’m having one.

  “That would be great. Thanks.”

  Miguel ducked inside and poured two glasses of Chilean red. He brought the bottle back with him and they clinked glasses. Vivian took half of hers down in a swallow. She breathed deeply, gathered herself and tumbled into the narrative she’d been avoiding for years.

  “Vivian and Ryan met at the University of Central Florida. Ryan Bowles was an engineering student, and he fit the stereotype that sort of goes with that. He was smart and hard-working. He saw things differently—analytically, I guess you could say—and he had such a knack for fixing things. It was uncanny what the man could do when a problem popped up.

  “But he was also so much more than that, Mike. He was kind to others, and he had a beautiful smile, and he could fill a room up with his laughter—which he did often. He loved life, and people loved him. He was generous and kind—not all buttoned up like some people think when they think of engineers.”

  “Sheesh, Vi. Sounds like a hell of a guy. Should I be jealous?”

  Vivian’s smile was sad. “Not anymore. I don’t think, wherever he is, that he laughs much anymore. And that’s a shame, really…

  “Anyway, now enter Vivian Steiger. Awkward, self-conscious, average-in-most-ways Vivian Steiger. A middle girl sandwiched between brothers that were award-winning athletes. A daughter to hyper-achieving parents whose love was unconditional, but that never really felt…I don’t know, never felt authentic. So Vivian’s at UCF, taking biology courses with the idea of going into veterinary medicine—or something in that area, she’s not really sure—when she bumps into Ryan Bowles at a party. Literally, she knocks his drink out of his hand on the porch of the Pi Kappa Alpha fraternity house and he spills it all over the girl he brought to the party. It’s a movie set-up, I know, only in this case it really happened.”

  “And from such auspicious beginnings blossoms a beautiful romance?”

  Vivian nodded. “In many ways, yes. Ryan apologized profusel
y to his date, but she wasn’t listening much after he couldn’t keep his eyes off Ms. Steiger. That first meeting was awkward, but it was never uncomfortable between these kids. Things were never really awkward, actually—at least not until much later, when everything fell apart.

  “So a first official date—bowling, of all things—evolved quickly into a wonderful relationship. They were good kids, and they were good together. They were…they fell genuinely in love.

  “Ryan Bowles excelled in his classes at UCF; Vivian Steiger discovered that she enjoyed the humanities much more than biology, and Ryan encouraged her to follow her heart. They were inseparable for four years, and then they graduated and moved south, to Cape Coral. Ryan began building bridges, while Vivian worked at an art gallery.

  “There was a marriage, and some very happy years as they sunk their roots in the Florida Sand.”

  Miguel refilled their glasses. “I’m sensing a ‘but’ on the horizon.”

  Vivian shook her head. “Not yet. Things got even better. They had a little baby girl. Her name was Katie, and she was everything to them. If Ryan’s laugh had filled the room before, it filled the county after Katie entered their lives. They had lots of good years together, the three of them.

  “Lots of good years.” Vivian was crying, her voice little more than a whisper. Miguel reached over and took her hand, and she swiped away the tears and pressed forward.

  “Katie grew tall and strong. She…she was out one night with the dog. She did it all the time—absolutely loved going for walks in the neighborhood. When she didn’t come home, Ryan and Vivian became worried. They were…they were just heading out to search for her when the police pulled into their driveway.”

  Vivian sobbed, her shoulders hitching. She knew she had to tell him—knew that if she was going to make a clean transition into this new life that he had to understand the things she had done in her past—but the memories were still so raw.

  “You don’t have to keep going tonight, Vivian. It’s okay if you need to stop,” Miguel said, but she shook her head. She swiped the tears from her eyes and pushed forward, her voice an octave higher with grief. She worried her hands in her lap.