DARK JUNGLE

By Jo

PART TWO:

Eden got up and sat on the couch again, looking over at Terry. "Is there any way I can help?" she asked.

"Tell me about him, how you think he'll handle all this."  There was always, dammit, that cautionary in the back of his mind. If he's still alive.

"He's been a hostage before," she said quietly, "and by his own choice."

Terry had read some of the newspaper accounts of that when he was gathering a file on Marshall, but he wanted to hear what Eden had to say about it. "Go on," he urged.

"Two escaped convicts. They were going to take me. He convinced them to take him instead. That's what he's like, Mr. Thorne, Terry. That's who he is. He was even sick at the time. Just tried to hide it from them so they'd take him." She looked in her lap, fiddling with her fingers. "He nearly died from pneumonia as a result, but he found his way out of the forest alone...in

the snow. Did you know, Terry, that snow so muffles the world of the blind that it makes it

ever so much harder for them to find their way? But he did it anyway...a long, difficult way ...and all alone."

Terry was glad to hear it. If the kidnappers didn't kill him with the chloroform, he was more likely to survive because of the kind of man he was. "Sounds like he knows how to hang in

there, Eden. That's good. Very good."

"They left him hanging, his arms tied over a high tree branch." Terry's use of the word 'hang' triggered the memory of that. "Deep in a snowy forest they left him like that." She lifted her chin. "But he found a way."

"We'll get him, Eden. This time he'll have help." He paused, then continued. "About the four million...?"

"It's no problem." An odd sound came up her throat and she looked at him with a slight, wry smile. "I'm not at all used to the fact that it's not. I had no idea. None. I'll call his...our...lawyer back in Pittsburgh. He'll know what to do. Marshall practically owns MetzaLong. I don't
know if you were aware of that, but he does. I'm sure between our lawyer and the corporate attorneys right here in the city, we can have the four million by tomorrow." 

Right now she almost disliked Marshall's father, Jonothan Sinclair, and his damned ability to amass great amounts of money. If all they had was Marshall's salary as a college professor,

none of this would have happened.

She was now absently stroking Wadsworth fur again. "He tracked him, too," she said affectionately. "He was with me the whole way. You see, Terry, Marshall explained to me that Wadsworth sees the two of them as a single unit, that all the decisions he makes are made for

the well-being of that unit and not just for Marshall and not just for himself. So, for him, half

of himself has been taken away. If he can be of any use to you in any way, please take advantage of that. He knows things that elude the best human calculations.

Terry eyed Wadsworth. He was big even for a German shepherd. "I'll keep that in mind,"

he replied. This whole mess was made considerably more complicated by the fact that he had

no communications with the kidnappers. They'd said plainly they weren't interested in negotiating the ransom amount, had provided no means of contact, and the deadline was all

too soon.  If he could figure out some way to use the big dog, he would. That was just another unique aspect to an already unique case.

He'd called Dino shortly after arriving in Campeche , but his partner was still deeply in the midst of a negotiation in Colombia. He stood, then took the tape out of the video player.

"You're taking it?" Eden asked, her voice small.

"I need to review it several more times. See if there's anything I missed."

"I...I was hoping...."

"There may be a clue on it somewhere, Eden. Something that will help me find him." 

She sighed, knowing he was right.

He was glad she backed off. She didn't need to sit there and watch his kidnapping over and over.  "I'll talk to you shortly. Why don't you try and get some rest?"

"Where are you going?"

"Want to review the tape. Also need to see what I can find out about the courier who delivered

it to the hotel. You rest and I'll get back to you with any news I have, all right?"

He left and she wandered toward the bedroom, but stopped in its doorway just staring at their bed. She'd slept in it the last two nights, what little she'd managed to sleep, but hadn't known what had happened to him on it. Now everything had changed. Rather like a double exposure

of vision, she could all too clearly see him pinioned there by the dark figures, his struggle

against the chloroform, his collapse of consciousness, then the rough manner in which he'd

been hauled off it. No, she would find no rest there. Not there. Turning, she headed back to

the couch, lying down on it.

Terry had taken a room two floors down in the Hotel Coronado. He sat for a long moment in

a chair, just staring at the tape in his hands. It had no box, no markings or labels, was just a cheap tape anyone could buy in dozens of stores in the city. He needed something, though, anything, so he slid it in the slot and sat back to watch it again.

The chloroform in the cloth evaporated and though the cloth remained over his face, after a

time Marshall roused. He lay there for a while wondering why the blanket had been pulled up

so high in bed and why he couldn't seem to move his arms to push it back down.  Waves of nausea quickly flowed through him and he thought he'd better make a quick run for the bathroom. He tried to sit up, found he was somehow attached to the bed, but managed to lift

his head. Instantly he felt like his brain exploded into a headache beyond imagining. Gasping,

he lay it back down. The cloth had slipped and was now only over his mouth. He didn't like it there and he blew on it, which caused his headache to increase, but the cloth slid down his

chin and he gasped air through his uncovered mouth.

Something was wrong. Why couldn't he move? He tugged with both arms, but they remained firmly out and up as though they'd been attached to something. He tried to bend his knees,

but his legs were widely separated, totally held in position. A sense of panic rose in him and

he tried to control it with his breathing, making it slow and regular. That also helped the nausea. Had he fallen ill? Was he in some hospital? "Eden?" he called softly, but there was

no answer. What had happened?

He lay quietly, trying to pull up his last memory. He'd left Eden at the hairdressers. Yes, he'd definitely done that. Then he and Wadsworth had gone back to the hotel. That was right. He

was going to get in his tux for the dinner that night. Then what? He remembered getting out

his key card, opening the door, talking to Wadsworth. Then Wadsworth's sharp yelp came to mind. God, had something happened to him? There had been the feel of fur under his hands then...what? The bed! Yes, he'd been on the bed! This bed? Was this his bed? Hands were holding him down. He remembered utter confusion, shock, then he couldn't breathe.

Everything had become distorted, sounds of people breathing around him magnified as loud

as steam escaping from a locomotive. Then...nothing. Nothing until this moment. What about Eden? This hadn't happened to her, had it? He was horrified at the thought and pulled more with his arms.

Just then he heard the creak of old door hinges. "Is someone there?" 

The sound of soft shoes on dirt came next and the side of his bed went down as though someone were sitting on it. "Why...where...where is this?" he asked.

"I am sorry, Señor," came a small female voice, "but they will kill me if I do not do as I was told."

She had a strong Spanish accent and within seconds he could smell a sweet odor. He remembered it all too well. "Please! Please...don't!"

"I'm sorry. I am so sorry," she said, but the cloth was wetted and came firmly down over his nose and mouth.

He managed one more feeble, muffled, "Please!" before the whole horrid process began like

it had the first time and his throat tried to close, his pulse raced, his body twisted, and after enough time had passed, he shuddered and sank into oblivion. That he fought so desperately,

that really upset her. She was only making him sleep. It was not so terrible a thing.

Then she did as she was told, wetted it again and placed it back on his face, got up and left the little shack, pausing once to look back at the man on the bed, sighing, then closing the door

after herself.  Once outside, she crossed herself, and began to run down a narrow path. She

had to come several times a day to do this to him. Always before she had come when he was

not yet fully roused and it was easier to do what she had to. But his 'Please...don't!' had gone through her like a blade. It was her fault he had awakened. She'd waited too long this time or maybe didn't use enough of the strange liquid on her last visit. She didn't know. She would be sure and come back again before he woke. She'd used a lot more this time because he was awake. Pedro had told her it didn't hurt him, just made him sleep. And, yes, he would be just barely rousing and when she gave him the cloth he simply slid easily back into slumber. But

not this time. This time he'd tried to struggle as though it was something bad. She wished
Pedro would do it himself. But Pedro said he had more important things to do than keep someone asleep. He'd also said they would only keep him like that for two more days then let him go. She wondered about that.

She lived about five minutes away in a little shanty house where her parents raised a few goats, had chickens and one cow. They'd had two cows, but last week a jaguar had taken one, dragged it off into the jungle. It made her nervous to walk the path alone now and she ran hard, bursting
through the door.

"Consuela!" her father shouted. "You will break my door off its hinges!"

"Sorry, Papa," she said quickly.

"Did you do it?"

She nodded, "Yes, Papa."

He looked at his daughter's face. "What is the matter with you?"

"He had woken up. It was hard to do this time."

He frowned. "You must do it as Pedro said. Exactly as he described."

"I know, Papa."

"You go back there, go back now. Stay there. Do not come here again until the two days are passed. You must do as Pedro asked. You know that!"

Her mother packed her a few corn cakes and gave her a glass jar with water. "You are not to give him any," her father directed.  "You know what Pedro said. Nothing! Nothing but the

cloth. Only the cloth."

"Yes, Papa," she replied, taking the jar and small bundle of cakes from her mother. She was glad it was still daylight. Jaguars hunted most frequently near dawn and dusk. Still she ran,

ran as hard as she could.

She opened the door to the shack quietly, as though she might wake him. There was one small wooden chair in the single-roomed building and she set her bundle and jar on the dirt floor, pulling the chair close to the bed. Time passed and she simply sat, only getting up once to kill

a scorpion that was climbing up one of the bed posts. More time passed and then he moaned

so she gave him more of the liquid. Pedro said he would sleep longer and she wouldn't have to

do it so often if she placed both hands over the cloth and held it firmly on his face. So she did that. It was easier this time because he couldn't ask her not to do it, didn't struggle at all.  She liked it better that way. Yes, she would keep him asleep all the time now. It would be better

that way. Better for him, better for her. She would make sure the struggle never happened

again. So she held the cloth down for a long, long time then left it there and sat in her chair.

Pedro might show up at any time and she needed to show him she was doing just as he wanted. The day passed very slowly and every time he would even slightly move, she gave him more liquid, always using a lot, holding it firmly, relieved there was no struggle.  There was a shelf with several bottles on it. Pedro told her to use all she wanted. She had no idea what it was or how it worked. Pedro said she didn't need to know things like that. She was only seventeen and was only a girl. But he'd twisted her arm hard and told her if he came back and the man was awake he would do things to her and then he would kill her slowly. She believed him. He'd

killed his own brother two months ago. She was just a cousin, just a girl cousin.

Watching the man on the bed, she wondered about why Pedro wanted him kept there? And

why two days? That was not her business. She knew that. She also wondered about the clear liquid. It looked like water but it had a really strong smell. How did that make the man sleep?

It certainly did, though. If some on the cloth made him sleep for just a while and then that made her have to do it over and over, what would happen if she just poured a whole bottle on the pillow and then put that over his face? Would he sleep all day then? She pondered trying that. She really did not want him to beg her again, to struggle against it so. Why did he fight it anyway? All you had to do was smell the sweet odor and you went to sleep. It seemed simple enough. Yes, she would definitely use the pillow when he began to show signs of waking.

He stirred again and she sighed, picking up the bottle she'd been using. There was only about

a quarter of an inch left in the bottom and the simple fact of that led her to put off dumping a whole bottle on a pillow. Next time. She'd just do her usual now. She lifted the thick, folded

cloth off his face and poured the remainder of the bottle's contents on it. It got wetter than

usual, some of the liquid dripping through it onto her fingers. She was leaning over the bed, getting ready to put the cloth on his face, when she suddenly got very curious about the sweet scent, and lifted it to her face, inhaling deeply. Being small and female, it affected her differently and she instantly grew utterly dizzy, dropping the bottle on the floor, the cloth on his chest.

"Oooooh!" she gasped, her hands going to her throat where it seemed her air was being cut

off. Her knees buckled and she toppled forward, her head and arms across his chest, the right side of her nose and open mouth lying atop the cloth, her wet hands close to her face.  She couldn't seem to move herself off the cloth, couldn't get her arms to push her body up. She lay there, inert, for two minutes then shuddered violently and lost all consciousness.

After several more minutes, Marshall roused, the headache and the nausea firmly entrenched. He lay, trying to deal with it, breathing carefully, aware of the sickly sweet odor nearby but

not in his face as usual. The nearness of it, though, increased the waves of nausea and in a moment he had to turn his face to the side as far as he could, throwing up on the rag that was stuffed beside his head. Afterward, he lay gasping, his head pounding even worse.

Something heavy was on his chest, making it harder for him to get his breath. There was no

way to tell what it was, though, because he couldn't touch it and it didn't seem to be making

any sound. After what seemed like endless minutes, whatever it was moaned and moved. He tensed. Was an animal on his chest?

Because she lay atop the cloth, its vapors kept flowing into her system even after she'd passed out, making it take longer for her to wake up. It wasn't until all the liquid in the cloth had evaporated, which chloroform did quite well, that she could even begin to rouse. She felt awful,
lifted her head and promptly threw up on the ground beside the bed. It was a sound Marshall easily recognized. "Holy Mother of God," the little female voice gasped and she managed to

sit all the way up, holding her head.

He remembered the voice. She had told him she was sorry.  "Miss?" he tried. "Is that you?"

Oh, God...he was awake! He was looking straight at her, too, but something wasn't right about it. She waved her hand and he didn't blink.  "You...you cannot see me?"

"No, I can see nothing, nothing at all."

She sat, holding her head between her hands so it didn't split off her neck, staring at him.

Pedro had said nothing about the man being blind. "Why are you here?" she asked.

"Where...where is...here?"

"Here, in this place. Why are you in this place?"

"I...I don't know where this place...is."

"How can you not....ah...because you were sleeping. This is why you do not know?"

"How long? How long have I been...sleeping?"

"They brought you here yesterday morning. Now it is today...late in the afternoon."

"Who? Who brought me?"

"Men. Six of them. I only know Pedro, though. He is my cousin."

"Why did they bring me?"

"This I do not know. Pedro did not speak of it." Pedro, in fact, had not told her not to talk to

the man, probably because she was supposed to keep him asleep. "I am supposed to make sure your cloth stays wet. That is all I am supposed to do. Wet your cloth."

"My...cloth?" He wasn't sure what she was talking about.

She picked up the now-dry cloth from his chest. "Yes. This cloth."

"I can't see it," he said softly.

"Well, it is just a small towel, I think. Folded four times. I am to put the liquid on it and keep

it on your face so you will sleep."

"Liquid?"  Oh, God...that was it! They were keeping him chloroformed.

"Do you understand what the liquid is?"

"No. Pedro told me I did not need to understand. But I was curious this last time and smelled

it myself. I think I fainted onto your chest."

So that was the weight he'd felt. "Then you understand now what the liquid does?"

"I did not like it. Not at all. I felt like I was choking. It frightened me that I could not move."

"It's like that for me, too. This is why I asked you not to give me more." He licked his lips. "Please, will you not give me more? I don't think I will be able to...."

The sound of a Jeep engine suddenly roared up close to the shack. "Pedro!" she gasped. "He must not find you awake! He will...he will...." He would rape her and kill her. That's what he would do. She jumped to her feet, grabbing for another bottle.

Marshall heard the clink of glass on glass as one bottle struck against another. "Oh, God...NO! Please, PLEASE...no!"

But she could hear Pedro talking with someone just outside the door now and, frantic, she glugged out a huge dose onto the cloth, her hands shaking, pouring and pouring. Then she clapped it over his face, spreading her hands, even her forearms over it, pressing and pressing. He gagged violently, coughed, then gasped, sucking in a great lungful unintentionally. His

back arched, twisted, then he stopped moving. She looked at his face. His eyes were still open. She pressed more, pushing a large section of towel into his mouth, hoping the vapors would

get inside him faster.  He was still partially awake, but couldn't even move enough to gag, though the towel was part way down his throat.

Her head turned toward the door. Pedro was still talking. "Hurry!" she urged the man. "You must sleep! You must sleep NOW!"  Pedro would peel her skin off before he killed her.  She

was absolutely wild with fear. His eyes remained open. He wasn't completely asleep and Pedro

would know! Her hand fumbled behind her, found the unstoppered bottle on the chair. She poured more directly atop the cloth as it lay on his face then tried to keep her hands completely over it like Pedro had showed her. "Sleep!" she begged. "Oh, God...just sleep!" The door latch began to move. In terror she almost bit through her lip. Then the man shuddered terribly and his eyes closed. She almost cried out in relief and, leaving the towel on his face, slumped back into her chair just as Pedro entered the room with another man.

Ignoring her, he went to the other side of the bed, lifting the cloth, looking down at Marshall, smiling in satisfaction. "He is missing out on his whole kidnapping," he said, turning to look

at the other man. Then his dark eyes settled on Consuela. "I was just at your father's house.

He said you are staying here now to do your job." He walked around, letting his fingers trail over her long, black hair. "I suggest you keep at it." Leaning toward Marshall's arm, he unbuckled his braille watch, sliding it into his pocket, turned him enough to get his wallet,

then paused, looking at the distinctive wedding ring, yanking it off and putting it in his pocket, too.

The other man, staring at Marshall, asked, "Is he breathing?" It hadn't escaped him that

when Pedro had removed the cloth, a fairly large section of it came out of the man's mouth.

Pedro looked at Consuela. "How much did you give him?"

"A lot," she whimpered. "He...he was going to wake up. I thought...I thought a lot might make him sleep longer."

"Stupid girl! A lot can also make him sleep forever."

"It...it can kill him?"  She was appalled. That thought had never crossed her mind.

"Of course it can kill him! Idiot!" Pedro put his hand on Marshall's neck. He had a pulse, but just barely. Good. That was all he needed. Alive. If he ended up in a coma, it didn't really matter. Alive was sufficient. "Next time, use less. Enough, but less. The room reeks of it."  He strode to the door, the other man following, and she could hear them talking outside more,

then the Jeep drove away.

Pedro had replaced the cloth, but she snatched it off. Patting at his cheeks she kept saying

over and over, "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I'm sorry...I'm sorry."  It seemed like he was scarcely drawing breath and suddenly that frightened her more than Pedro. She'd killed him! Holy Mary, Mother of God...she'd killed the man! He was dying right there under her hands. He

was. She'd never seen anybody take such shallow breaths. Nobody but that boy who'd fallen

into the sinkhole last year. His father had pulled him out, had breathed his own breath into

him and the boy had lived. No, she would not have it on her soul that she'd killed this man. She put her mouth over his, blowing her breath into him.

She had no real idea what she was doing, but her breath diffused the vapors that were overwhelming his lungs just enough so that he didn't die. She blew and blew into his mouth, beseeching Mary to help her save him. He didn't wake up, but neither did he die. His

breathing became somewhat deeper and she sat back, emotionally drained from the day,

tears rolling freely down her cheeks.

ON TO PART 3

BACK TO PART 1

BACK TO LIBRISCROWE

BACK TO MARSHALL'S STORY, THE CAVERN OF DEEP HARMONY