Lukewarm midday air hit my face and shoulders. I waded out of the lagoon waters with a heavy heart and heavier steps. Everything was lighter and easy away from the breeze and gritty earth.
A noticeable dip where sand had been dug out and the scent of spilled blood was the only thing left from earlier. I didn't see anyone around but that didn't mean much with the tree cover in three directions. Barefoot, I hurried to the changing room behind a stretched partition and glanced in the mirror. Wet hair and a little pink in the cheeks, I didn't look like I'd been under water for hours. No pruny skin either.
I shook out my wrap and pulled it around me. It clung to my skin but it didn't drip. A few minutes in the sun and it'd dry up.
After braiding my hair in a loose three strand, I tucked the wrap into my short underskirt and stretched out my limbs. Lunch time meant the possibility of running into Atlas went up.
I keep a lookout on my way to the hotel lobby.
Kol had given me the honour of seeing his lovely face and that lunch in the hotel dining area bugged me. A portrait left forgotten and tucked away from prying eyes. Kol said he'd been here longer than the business so I'd take even the smallest chance of finding a piece of Kol. By the sounds of it, the gift shop lady had known a little bit.
The portrait would be the first step.
I greeted a few weirdly intent vendors and locals on my way and came to a slow stop outside the double doors.
Tol'sh stood behind the counter and was talking with the receptionists. A few manilla files stamped with the resort logo were passed to a frazzled receptionist.
I ducked behind a lantern post inside the lobby entrance and waited for them to turn to a basket against the wall. Slipping into the dining section with a cluster of hungry people made me feel like Ezio Firenze. The maitre de greeted me as I passed with a raised brow and I nodded back.
“I won't be here long,” I flashed again and he let me through without a fuss.
I threaded in between the tables along the wall, mostly unoccupied and not as well lit as the more open restaurant area. Dining guests glanced over to me as I powered through their masses and into the furthest booth. The floor layout was half half, with open airy brightness and this side with columns and sconces. They stayed in the more bright, fancy section with views of the pool and the cultivated garden.
A few booths with a thin layer of dust were tucked into the same corner as the painting and I came to an unsteady stop. The discarded portrait kept in this dingy corner was exactly what I'd been hoping for.
“There you are,” I whispered.
The sad tilt of his eyes and rounded jaw were there in all their painted glory. The silver irises were as filmy, unfocused and anxious as they'd been less than an hour ago. Somehow the artist had captured the fragile nature of his smooth jaw, the thick, furrowed brows and darkness hiding in the lines. Kol wore traditional garb of a long tunic, sleet grey. It hugged his broad shoulders and the cut of a slim torso. A slender band of teak brown wrapped around his waist to keep it all together.
“Kol,” I rasped.
I pushed back and off the wall, growling under my breath. This holiday was shaping up to be both a blessing and curse. I'd take inspiration from Miles and do some recon. Like the video games Josh used to thrash me in.
There must be some history books about this place, some hidden indications of the original founder of this lagoon sanctuary. If I could be reading a book about an entire race of creatures I had never known before and met one of them, I should be able to find some little leaflet about the origins of the resort.
I ducked behind a waiter at the first glimpse of Atlas. He strolled in with Tol'sh on his arm, talking to the smiling woman with the most sincere smile I'd seen from him. The hell did he try to flirt with me when he clearly loved that beautiful lady? I'd smack him next time he tried something, the creep. for Tol’sh and myself.
So caught up in one another, I (and my amazing stealth skills) got out of the dining area with no calls. I booked it out of the lobby and back onto the warm stone walkway, swaying a little as I let out a long breath.
I took my time getting to the gift store. The store was empty of other customers, an unexpected stroke of good luck. A new person sat behind the counter with a notebook and charcoal stick. An artist. He greeted me with a genial 'Good afternoon’. English being the default here had the British roll to the words. Their language sounded so much nicer the snippets I caught.
I skirted the display of tempting inks and brushes. “Good afternoon, busy morning?”
He shrugged. “Most like the shiny gift store in that fancy hotel. Not many come by unless they want to buy these carved pieces for souvenirs.”
“Pity,” I went to the shelves of tuk'yim and saw some new pieces. Pretty fishes, lovely flowers. “Your gorgeous silks here!”
I chose a lovely folded set of grey lining on darker greens and pastel blue. The price tags were reasonable for the amazing quality. Two other pretty bundles joined the first, complete with two other pretty pins ( carved from bone and shell into a flower and a spiral).
A young couple, obnoxiously loud about their adventurous sex lives, swept in and oohed and ahh'd at the display of woven bracelets. They snorted at the ‘decorative fruit bowls’. Uncultured idiots, though adventurous. That woman knew how to use a rope and the male obviously enjoyed it as they looked over the selection of body pastes and scented oils on display near the creams for skin and hands.
The mentally drained man behind the counter rolled his eyes at their excessive PDA.
With them polluting the shop with giggles, cheesy pick up lines, I walked over to the smaller book section. I didn't explore it the first time here, so hyper focused on the tukyim and writing pack.
I skimmed the covers on the roughly-carved table for a start. There were two small atlas’ and books of photography from around the Isles (public areas). Most titles were in English and very basic fonts. I think one of them was the local's own version of a karma sutra but managed to hide my snort. Five leaflets of general maps and pictures of the land we were on had been tucked on a short ddisplay stand. I looked again, took out a few and put them back. Not one history book.
The shelving unit was as rough as the one housing the tuk'yim bowls, a splinter hazzard if there ever was one. If I didn't have my thicker skin, I'd have been riddled with the little bastards since I could crawl. I plucked out one of them with a spine that read 'Ferkil' but that was another book on pictures taken around the island. Twenty minutes yielded nothing more than frustration.
I hissed a curse under my breath. A soft jolt from the highest of the two shelves made me peek up on my tippy toes. I wiggled the leather bound journal out from where it had been hidden by three other books (some cheap romance novels you'd find in a travel store at the airport for mindless reading). 'My Saviour,' pressed into the tanned leather spine with silver curves. The printed words were divots and the dust in them came away with my fingers and I cracked it open with the care it deserved.
“There you are,” I whispered, knowing this was a biography of sorts with maps drawn of the original sanctuary draft and floor plan for shacks and the barebones of a tunnel system. It had been a 'sanctuary' from the get go, not this pandering, sparkly lure for random tourists. The lines wriggled and moved until English was under my nose and I hummed.
“Ma'am?”
I glanced over to the male and pasted on my most patient smile. “Morning,” I greeted, shutting the book with extra care.
“Would you prefer a different book? This hasn't sold and I doubt you'd find it interesting,” The male offered, wiping his palms on his pants and grimacing when I remained silent. “I-I mean, it is filled with scribbles.”
“It's so pretty though. The handwriting is gorgeous too. I'll buy this, give it a good home,” I said after a long pause and he jerked in shock. “How much?”
“Two hundred dollars,” He whispered, something like realisation dawning in his dark eyes. “But, Ma'am…”
“Here,” I handed the cash to him, along with another $220 for the beautiful sets of silk shirts and bandgu with an overlaying silk shawl. I left with a massive grin and a pep in my step. They probably thought hiking up the price would mean no one would buy it but having negligent parents that had high salaries meant it wasn't an issue. “Thank you. Have a good day!”
I raced out of there with the book tucked under my arm and bare feet a series of 'pah' noises along the sand. The calm weather held, sky cloudless and I ached to go back and visit Kol but this distraction was for him. I'd get a clearer picture of this jumbled madness wrapped in layers of paradise with Miles and Morgan helping me out.
Already missing Kol, I pouted as I shoved my door open and stalked into my suite.
My hands were coated in a few layers of sand and I knew I'd need to scrub the grains off. My room felt colder when I placed the bundles and my new book down on my bed. I passed into the bathroom and I couldn't remember if I left the wide window cracked open before I left.
The tap gleamed silver and innocence incarnate when I clomped my way into the bathroom.
I glanced back through the doorway to my bed.
Over the blanket lay a water-proof satchel (much bigger than my favourite thigh bag) full up on thin books of journals and wider books. There were two mystery-crime novels and a romance one I had loved as an impressionable teenager that wasn't a cheesy bodice-ripper. There were books catching up on the last twenty years. All in all, I threw together a good haul.
I had a few bottles of purified water in the pack too with wrapped molluscs in an ice bag for Kol so I was all set for tomorrow.
Humming to myself and hearing it bounce back off the tiled walls and shells, my nose burned. I sniffed my fingers.
The scent of old dust and some of the little sugary snacks that I'd bought at the American confectionary on the mainland docks. Washing my hands should've been a quick process. Turn the taps, rinse my hands, squirt some of that expensive hand wash from the elegant nozzle and rub it in.
It wasn't like any hand wash I'd ever had when it met my skin and began to burn.
My jaw ached from how hard it clenched and I stumbled back, hitting the glass door of the shower. Chest heaving, I scrabbled to wipe away the Soap of Doom. It did nothing but rub it in more until I was sure it had seeped through to my bones. I could feel the blisters even when there were no physical welts along my knuckles and fingers. The digits shook, arms growing heavy.
I screamed.
A crack above my head split through horrible burning sensations and lead-like limbs. The frosted glass of the shower stall cracked with spindly lightning lines through it. I clamped my mouth shut to keep in the raw screams building with each lava-filled nerve pulsing. The light globe above my head shattered with a stray peep. The glass shards littered the floor.
I clawed my way out of the bathroom, agonising heat crawling up over my shoulders like a shroud. By the time I managed to get within arm's reach of my phone, glass shards dug into the skin of my belly and arms.
Getting my cramping, scorching fingers to uncurl took more control than I could spare through pain. Swiping a crooked finger across the phone felt like the hardest task since learning to walk. My stiff fingers jerked up, then down until Morgan's name in the contact list came into blurry view. Her salsa dancer emoji was a red, bright smear. The light blurred and shifted focus and my numbing fingertip pressed the nearest contact.
The abrupt jabbing slid the phone closer and I lay my cheek on damp tiles beside it. Every inhale brought more searing pain sweeping through my body. Keeping in more grunts of pain through the drawling call tone bled my dwindling restraint dry.
It bubbled and boiled in my gut now, while every rib flared to agonising, mind numbing pain. My heart pumped more poisoned heat into my extremeties. “Fucking hell!” I hissed and floundered to slap at my legs. The muscles seized anyway. “M-Morg…!”
"Nee?" Morgan’s tinny voice came loud and clear. "Look, this isn't a good time." She broke off with a giggle and I caught the husky whispers after. Qeha or some other guy she was most likely making out with had his face close enough tothe phone that I could hear soft wet smacks. No bloody shame!
Still, better than the Isle ambo service, dependent on how fast they got here. “Mor-” I got cut off by the muscles squeezing and choking me out.
“I'll see you later, kay? Bye!” Morgan hang up.
Tears splashed on the tiles and my phone screen at the damning silence. I slapped my wet palms up above any head and dragged myself across the tiles and over the smooth wooden floorboards. The lovely plush rugs weren't spared from my blood.
The open window and its harsh sea breeze speared through the haze of agony and lava. Everything burned,make it stop, make it stop!
The rougher texture of the deck floorboards shredded up the precious silk shirt more than the glass did.
I didn't think twice when I threw myself over the lip of the boardwalk and into the black waters. The moment I flopped clumsily into the water, sweet relief hit me in the gut.
I sunk to the bottom into a deep sand dip. Here I could close my eyes and focus on the breathing/choking issue. The longer I soaked up the gentle current and coolness of the lagoon, the more my veins of lava bubbled and slowed. I grew cool inside and out once the lava didn't drown out the grains of sand and delicious water filtering in and out through my ‘gills’.
Vicious oxygen couldn't choke me. I counted my fingers when I cracked open my eyelids and the dark water filtered any harsh sunlight. All ten fingers wiggled back, greyish white against the dark salty lagoon waters and darker grey sand crystals. Opening my mouth, I let out a stream of bubbles and sucked in a harsh breath through my nose. The salt water soothed my aching lungs, racing through my body.
Ten million tiny explosions popped off under my skin as my muscles gave sporadic twitches. My ankles cracked against one another with the spasms. My burning thighs pressed together as my skin got sticky and hot. The skin was too tacky, impossible to pry apart the limbs. I rolled in the water along the sand, trying to scratch at my legs when the skin pulled tighter around pulsing muscle. I was going to suffocate and would never see the newest Deadpool movie.
I gave a mournful groan that strained into a sharp screech along the current.
8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzU3vKKAkEN
