“Curious, indeed,” he says, smiling.
I see Vicki, giving me the evil eye, across the gym. I tilt my head in her direction. “So, Emilio, what do you see in our Victoria?”
He smiles. “Oh, don’t be so quick to dismiss our Victoria. She’s been a fountain of information.”
“I wouldn’t believe anything she tells you. She has a habit of lying.”
“I can discern fact from fiction, truth from lies.”
“I have to go,” I say, and turn.
He blocks my path, again. He leans in and whispers, “You’re lying, senorita.”
“So are you,” I hit back.
He looks offended. “I’ve been completely honest with you.”
“Only liars say that,” I point out.
“Hey, is this guy bothering you?” Alejandro interjects himself between me and Emilio.
Emilio appraises Alejandro and by his smug expression, finds him harmless, yet he acquiesces, and takes a step back, holding up his hands.
“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, falsely. He looks at me and nods. “Daria,” he says, in farewell, and then leaves.
My name on his lips: “Daria,” wasn’t just a farewell. He was saying, “I’ll see you again.” I shudder.
“Are you all right?” Alejandro asks.
I nod. “Yeah, he’s Vicki’s date, actually. I guess he figures himself a Casanova or something.” I shrug. “No big deal.” I’m lying. Gabriel Antonio del Castillo isn’t a harbinger of doom. It’s Emilio de la Vega, the mystery Spaniard.
“The answer is in the fountain.”
What does it mean? And how are Gabriel and Emilio connected?
All Shook Up
The dance is over. I see Alejandro, leaving with his dance partner. I’m jealous, even though I have no right to be. Tony and Camilla leave, off to have their own private dance, I assume. Emily leaves by herself. Emilio and Vicki are nowhere to be found. I noticed Emilio was staring at everyone, the whole evening, and especially at Camilla, who was oblivious to his existence. Every once in a while, Emilio gave me looks, none of which I liked—a predator to its prey.
My parents are not at home. I fix myself a margarita, not bothering to change out of my mini skirt and camisole. The doorbell rings. I ignore it. It rings again. Who, at this hour? I wonder. I finish off the margarita and go downstairs. I’m walking at a steady pace, until I halt, fearful. What if it’s Frankie? No, he wouldn’t ring the doorbell. He’d break the window. I advance towards the door. I look through the peephole.
“Gabriel,” I whisper, shocked.
I hesitate, deciding whether or not to open the door. Who am I kidding? I can’t deny him. I open the door and smile.
He smiles back. “Hello, Daria.”
“Hi, Gabriel,” I greet back.
“May I come in?”
I move aside and he enters. I close and lock the door.
“Why weren’t you at the dance?” I ask.
He appraises my outfit, or lack thereof. He licks his lips. “I wasn’t in the mood for a school dance,” he says.
“You don’t like dancing?”
“I do, but not in public. Did you have a good time?”
I shrug. “Not really.”
“Did you dance?”
I shake my head. I gesture for him to sit on the couch. He does. I take the chair next to him.
“No, I didn’t dance.” I shrug again. “No one asked me to.”
“I’m glad, although, I’m sure it must have been a pain, to be a wallflower.”
“You’re glad?” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“I’d get very jealous if another were to hold you.”
“You should have come, then, if didn’t want another to claim me.”
He stands. I stand too. He opens his arms. “We can dance now, if you’d like.”
I look around my living room. “Here?”
He nods and smiles. He sees the radio and turns it on, finding a station playing soft, soulful music.
I feel shy. “I’m not a very good dancer,” I say.
“It’s okay,” he soothes. He gathers me in his arms. “Dance with me, Daria.”
I don’t know what I’m doing, but he does—an expert at the art. After a while, I don’t hear the music. I don’t hear much of anything, except for my rapidly beating heart. I feel his too, beating against my chest. He smells of sun-baked sand. I lay my head in the crook of his neck. I kiss him, just below the ear. He’s warm and soft. There’s a layer of salt on his skin that surprises me. If I smell like saltwater, then he tastes like saltwater. I look into his eyes. He stares into mine. I move towards his lips. He mimics me. We kiss. He tastes like saltwater, the ocean, the sun, and marvelous wonders that are foreign to me.
“Who are you?” I whisper.
“Gabriel,” he whispers back.
“Where do you come from?”
“Spain,” he says.
The song has ended. We don’t let go of each other.
“An ocean used to separate us,” I say.
“And time,” he adds.
I shake my head, confused. I open my mouth to speak, but he silences my inquiry with a kiss. I take his hand and lead him to my bedroom. He hesitates, and then acquiesces. He pushes my skirt up. I unzip his jeans. He doesn’t care about protection, and neither do I. We’re tangled in a naked embrace. I’m panting his name: “Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel.” He comes and groans, “Mi amor.” I’ve never been so happy.
We lay together, sweaty, smiling at each other. I’m on my stomach. He takes his finger, running it up and down my spine. He kisses my shoulder.
“You taste salty,” I tell him.
He raises an eyebrow. “I do?”
“Mm-hmm,” I say. “I was drowning in you and didn’t even care.”
He plants kisses down my spine, to my behind, before giving my tender skin a little bite. I moan with pleasure.
“It’s been a long time for me,” he confesses. “Was I…was it all right?”
I grin and pull him down towards me. “It was magical,” I say.
“Magical?” he echoes, smiling.
“I think it’s the Spaniard in you. Women are right. Foreign men know how to please.” I snort. “I bet Vicki’s been having the time of her life with Emilio.”
Gabriel’s eyes widen. “Emilio?” he asks.
“Emilio de la Vega. He was at the dance. He’s Vicki’s boyfriend, or whatever. He’s from Spain and wasn’t charming at all. Although, he tried, with me,” I say. I hesitate, and then continue. “He noticed my eyes, like you do. I know Spain is a big country, but do you know him, Gabriel?”
Gabriel isn’t listening to me. He’s off in space.
“Gabriel,” I say, shaking him.
Gabriel looks at me, but doesn’t really see me. In a flash, he’s off the bed, and dressed. He hesitates, and then grabs his head, muttering in Spanish. I catch the word “fool.”
Now, I’m dressed. “Gabriel, what is going on?!”
He turns to me, but the Gabriel I know is gone. “Daria?” he asks.
“Gabriel?” I return.
He looks around my room and shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have come here. We shouldn’t have. I have to go.”
I rush after him, down the stairs, towards the front door. He opens the door, turns towards me, and says, “Lock it. Set the alarm. And if Emilio comes here, do not let him in.”
“Gabriel, what is going on?”
He grabs my shoulders, rough. “Daria, do you understand?!”
I nod. It’s the only action my frozen body will allow. He leaves without saying goodbye.
I stand there, confused, angry, and drowning in misery.
Who are you, Gabriel?
Forever Young
Time passes—a few seconds, a few hours, I don’t know.
My muscles are no longer atrophied. I can move—and I run. I’m in my car, and soon, I’ve caught up with Gabriel. Traffic is heavy—trick-or-treaters out and about. I
stay several car links behind his, hoping he doesn’t notice me, hoping he doesn’t try to lose me. The night is blacker, somehow, more mysterious. Traffic lightens the further we travel. Gabriel is heading towards the other side of town. I’m on an unfamiliar road. I manage to avoid being seen, and park my car out of his sight. He gets out and enters an old colonial home with a thatched roof, blue door, and blue shutters. It looks pretty. I’m hiding behind a palm tree. He turns on a light in the house. I’m on the other side of the door. I hear boxes being slid across the floor, drawers opening and closing hard, haphazardly, and then the sound of a low-pitched piano key, a tune of doom.
I turn the doorknob. It’s unlocked. I keep turning, slowly. I open the door and the lights go out. I’m being hauled inside, fingers digging into my skin.
“You’re hurting me,” I say.
The lights pop on. It’s Gabriel. He doesn’t let me go. He shakes me.
“What are you doing here?!” he demands.
“Let me go,” I say, trying to pull away.
He lets me go and I almost fall, but recover, standing away from him. He looks different—wild, paranoid. Who are you, Gabriel?
He pushes open the front door. “Go home!” he barks.
I refuse to leave. “You bastard, you damn Spaniard! How can you treat me this way, after…?” I trail off, unable to speak of our union.
“It should’ve never happened,” he says, turning away from me.
“Well, we can’t go back in time and undo it!”
He actually laughs. “No, we can’t. Not even if you have all the time in the world.”
“Who’s Emilio? Why are you afraid of him?”
He gives me a cold look. “Afraid, of Emilio?” he says.
I spread out my hands. “If you’re not afraid, then why did you run away? What are you hiding, Gabriel?” I catch him off guard and lift up his shirt. I remember from our lovemaking, the absence of a wound. I poke his side. “Frankie stabbed you! I saw it! You died!”
He pushes me away and covers up. “You’re an idiot. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Get out.”
“Are you…” I shake my head. “Are you an angel, or something?”
He laughs. “If only…”
I back away. “Are you a demon?”
“No,” he says.
“Are you a vampire?” I venture to ask.
He laughs again. “No. And I’m not a werewolf, either.”
“What are you?”
He sighs, and then gestures for me to take a seat. I do. He remains standing. He paces the room, hands in his pockets, then out. He runs his fingers through his hair.
Finally, he speaks, “I’m human. There’s nothing about me that’s supernatural. When I was stabbed, it hurt—like hell. I healed. I recovered.”
I shake my head. “If you can magically heal, then yes, you’re supernatural.”
He sits and sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe I am, but I’m not some sort of monster, Daria.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
He smiles. “Demon—vampire—aren’t those monsters?”
“I was just guessing. I thought you were an angel, at first, Gabriel.”
“You did,” he concedes, and wrings his hands, nervous.
The ceiling fan above us spins and spins. I settle into my whicker chair. He maintains a slouched posture. We’re silent. What is he thinking? I wonder. I’m thinking I should leave. Do I want to know the truth? Will he give it to me?
“There is something supernatural, about you, though,” I finally say. “I’ve been racking my brain, trying to come up with another explanation, but now I know.”
“Know what?”
“You were drowning me. You were killing me.”
“Were?”
“You were always in the shadows, tormenting me. When I fainted, when you caught me, when you touched me, I was saved, I thought. My curse was over. That’s not true, though. Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I’ve been doomed.”
He sighs. “Daria, don’t say that. I have to believe we’re soulmates.”
I laugh without humor. “Is that why you came to Florida? You smelt me across the Atlantic and swam across?”
“I came for Camilla.”
I feel my face twitching, angry. “What about Camilla?”
“I followed her to the beach. I saw you and I knew.” He laughs. “I set out to find my descendant, but I ended up finding my soulmate, as well.”
I’m confused. “You said Camilla’s your descendant?”
He nods. “I’m her ancestor.”
It needs to be asked, yet I’m afraid. I take the plunge. “How old are you?”
“I was born in 1522. I’m 489 years old.”
I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. I’m bent over, breathing in and out. Gabriel advances and puts his hand on my back, rubbing.
“I’m sorry, Daria. I never wanted you to know.”
I’m able to speak. “I thought you were old—but not that old.” I shake my head. “You’re almost five hundred years old.” Half a millennium.
I stand up, unable to sit. I pace the room, as Gabriel did earlier. He stands away, hands in his pockets, silent.
I stop pacing and turn towards him. I spread out my hands. “All right, I’m ready.”
“You don’t sound ready.”
“I’m ready!” I snap.
He takes a step back. “I’m immortal. I can’t die. I can get hurt, as you saw, but it heals quickly, no damage.”
“How does Camilla fit into all of this?”
“Do you recall Ponce de Leon?”
I scratch my head. “He was a conquistador, right?” I guess.
Gabriel nods. “What else?”
“Uh, he went looking for the Fountain of Youth—wait you’re him?”
Gabriel shakes his head. “No, but where he failed, another succeeded.”
“It was you,” I surmise.
He shakes his head, again. “No, another Spaniard—Eduardo de la Vega,” he corrects.
“De la Vega?” I echo.
Gabriel nods. “You met his descendant, Emilio.” He says “Emilio” with a growl.
“He’s immortal?”
“No, but, he’s preparing to be.”
“How is he?” I ask.
“I’ll return to my story. I was on Eduardo de la Vega’s expedition to Florida. He never really cared for me, which only intensified, when I gained immortality and he didn’t. He knew where the Fountain of Youth was located, having been to the area before, but I don’t know how he knew. He was very secretive with his information. I assumed he had gotten some help from the natives or perhaps threatened them into telling him where it was. He kept a journal with him of all the information that, unfortunately, Emilio discovered.”
“He wants to become immortal too?”
“Yes.”
“What does this have to do with you—and Camilla?”
“When we arrived in 1544, De la Vega wasn’t exactly sure that the natives had told him the truth. He thought that maybe the fountain was booby trapped—perhaps a toxin in the water? Who knew? Well, he decided to use a guinea pig—me.”
“What happened?”
“He threw me in the water when I refused.”
“What happened?”
“I descended to the very bottom. It was dark, frightening and crushing. After a few minutes of struggling to ascend, drowning in a pool of mystery, I died. When I floated to the top, lifeless, De la Vega was sure it had been a trap. My body was dragged out of the water, and as they were preparing to bury me, I awoke. I was alive.”
“And you’ve been immortal ever since?”
“Yes.”
“What about De la Vega?”
“Well, at first he thought it had worked, so he took the plunge. He tried to dive, to descend, to do anything that would mimic what happened to me, but nothing. He just floated on the surface, full of finite mortality, and angry.”
“Why didn�
�t it work?”
“The natives had left out a very important bit of information. The fountain can only be used once. After that, it’s useless as a source of everlasting life.”
“So,” I say, putting the pieces together. “Emilio, his descendant, wants what, besides immortality?”
“Revenge,” says Gabriel. “I denied his ancestor immortality.”
“How can he think that?”
“The minds of men are filled with traps of delusion. He assumed that I had tricked De la Vega, seeking the power of immortality for myself alone. He has taken up his ancestor’s demand for revenge. It was denied to De la Vega. I fled, after my boon of immortality, and secured my family, against any reprisals from Eduardo de la Vega.”
“What does this have to do with Camilla?”
“Emilio found a loophole. If the last current descendant is sacrificed at the fountain, that’s Camilla, then the one who is her oldest ancestor, that’s me, dies. When these two events occur, the power to the Fountain of Youth is restored.”
I shudder. “Emilio lives forever by killing you and Camilla.”
“I came here to protect her. I came here to prevent Emilio from enacting his plan.”
“And I got in the way,” I say, sinking into a chair.
Gabriel is on his knees before me. He grabs my hands, kisses them. “Darling Daria, don’t think that way. Your existence has given me hope.”
“Hope for what?”
“Hope that I’ll succeed. Hope that I’ll live, that my descendent will live. Hope that Emilio will fail.”
“How can I give you hope?”
“I’m in love,” he says, smiling. “How can one who loves, fail?”
I’m crying. “That’s foolish logic, Gabriel. I love you too.”
He kisses my lips. “I had to wait five hundred years to find my soulmate, but it was worth it.”
I kiss him back. “What about Camilla? We have to warn her. How will you stop Emilio?”
“I’m going to kill him,” Gabriel says, calm and collect.
I should be shocked, but I’m not. It’s kill or be killed. And if Emilio has to die for Camilla and Gabriel to live then damn it, I’ll kill him myself.
“Why hasn’t he grabbed Camilla yet? He had the opportunity at the dance.”
Swept Away Page 6