Promises Pt. 07

Anna yawns, and I realize that I'm tired too, but there's a subject we still need to discuss. "So what do we do about Teri? I just don't feel right about walking away."

She's silent for a long moment. "Peter, it's a really tough thing, but there's nothing that either of us can do. She lives in her own little world and I don't think having a couple of strangers trying to wedge themselves into her life is going to help her in any way. If you loved Kira like I did, I think you need to let her go."

Logically, I know she's right, but it's going to be a painful process.

I help Anna to her feet. Our legs are stiff from hours of sitting, but we're better by the time we get back to the bungalow. We shower together, chastely washing each other's backs, then go back to bed, comfortable with our mutual nudity again. She spoons very naturally to my chest, and I cup her breast in my hand. She seems to accept this as I mean it, just the comforting touch of a friend.

* * * * *

I wake on my back with Anna's arm across my chest and her thigh across mine. I've got a serious case of morning wood, but I know it would be barking up the wrong tree (not to mention rude) to ask Anna's help with it. Still, this totally beats waking alone. I'm going to miss having her around.

I stir just a little, but it's enough. Anna stretches a little and evidently feels my erection with her thigh. "That for me?" she asks sleepily.

"Well, I suppose it would be. Don't worry, though, it'll go away." I give her a chagrinned smile.

"Sorry," she says, looking genuinely apologetic.

"Anna," I ask, more serious now, "how is it that both of us like to touch each other so much? Knowing that you're a lesbian should put me off a bit, but it doesn't. In your case, well, I would think you'd be as turned off as I would be if I woke up laying on top of a naked guy." I only partially suppress a shudder at the mental image. Does that make me a homophobe? part of my mind asks.

Her blond eyebrows scrunch a little as she thinks about that. "My parents were always big on hugs and snuggling when I was growing up, and I guess I just like the feel of touching people. As long as it's not sexual, I'm as good with a guy as I am with a girl."

"You make a great bedmate, Anna."

"You're not so bad yourself," she says. "I haven't slept so peacefully in a long time. And that's remarkable, considering the events of yesterday." She gives me a quick kiss on the cheek, then disentangles herself and heads for the bathroom.

We have just enough time before Anna's late morning flight to shower (separately this time, and I take a couple of minutes to relieve the pressure that sleeping with Anna has built in me.) When I come out, Anna has already packed both hers and Teri's cases. Not having any better ideas of what to do with them, I bring Teri's along, planning on handing them over to her parents at the hospital.

We catch a cab to the airport, using the longish ride to exchange contact info. We promise to keep in touch. I've had this conversation with women before, but this time I mean it. I really want to keep her as my friend.

René has asked Anna to meet her out front, and sure enough, the shorter girl is standing there with her luggage as we pull up. I hop out and help the driver with Anna's cases. Then she gives me a hug.

"Hang in there, Big Guy," she says. I can't help but notice that René looks annoyed. Good.

"You too, Beautiful," I say, making sure it's just loud enough for René to overhear. "Call me when you get in?"

"Count on it." With that, she goes over to René, who wraps her in a hug and gives her a big wet kiss. Two can play that game, I guess. René wins, though, because Anna kisses her back. My spirit sags. It's one thing to know that Anna prefers girls, but it's another thing to see this in action. I quickly slide into the cab's shotgun seat and we pull away before I have to witness any more of it.

I direct the driver to take me to the hospital, where I pay him off and send him on his way. My mind knows I'm on a fool's errand, and in the past I wouldn't have allowed emotions to dictate my behavior like this, but Kira's hold on my heartstrings is so strong that I can't help myself.

I leave Teri's suitcases at the desk for her. Simple and easy. Then I casually walk past Teri's room. The door is propped open just a bit, and while I don't see her on the way by, I recognize her mother sitting at the foot of the bed, eyes down in a paperback. I've retained enough common sense that I don't even stop, but I do park myself in the waiting room at the end of the hall. At least I'm near her now.

I pull out my phone and fire up the e-reader app, beginning to re-read K. T. Zwilling's first novel. If that's what it takes to be just a little closer to the woman I've lost, then so be it.

A couple of hours later, I see Teri's father walking by, wheeling Teri's bags toward her room. Like his wife, he doesn't see me.

A half an hour later, the three of them appear. Teri is dressed in jeans and a nice blouse, and she's riding in a wheelchair being pushed by a nurse. Her parents walk behind her. She's evidently being released.

I get to my feet. As with about any time I stand up in public, all eyes automatically turn to me.

Carl is the first to react, moving to put himself between me and his daughter. Teri has that same look of fear on her face that had wounded me the day before, but then a look of determination comes over her and she grabs the hand rims, braking the chair to a stop. Everyone else stops with her.

Teri tries to meet my eyes but can't. Still, with a visible effort, she musters up the courage to speak to me. "They've told me that you may have saved my life yesterday," she says in a tiny, hesitant voice. "Thank you."

"I had no choice but to help you," I say. "We were in love."

She shakes her head slowly, still not able to meet my eyes. "I don't know you. Please stay away from me." She rolls her wheelchair forward. The nurse takes it from there and the four of them move past, her parents looking daggers at me. I finally have to admit it. Kira is gone forever.

* * * * *

When I'm back in the bungalow, I go online and book the earliest flight north that has a business-class seat available. It's going to Miami and it leaves at 9:55 the next morning. I don't even bother to check for connecting flights to Minneapolis, I just want to be out of this place. In twelve hours, it's gone from paradise to purgatory.

I fight it for an hour, but in the end I walk over to the hotel gift shop and buy a bottle of vodka. I know it's a horrendous idea, but I'm past caring.

After watching my mother's hellish descent, I'd sworn that I'd never allow alcohol to pass my lips. You can't get addicted to something you've never tried. Unfortunately, back in college I'd let down my guard and accepted a shot of whiskey at a party. All had been revealed in that one drink.

It was like I'd been waiting my whole life to discover alcohol, and I knew I'd never be the same. I immediately understood why my mother drank. I now knew that I wanted more, and might never be able to stop myself. Some people are just programmed to be alcoholics, and I had that in the worst possible way.

Six weeks later, I got a DWI while on the way to class at eight in the morning. I ended up losing my license for a year. Spending a whole day and night in the lockup did more than sober me physically, it was the wakeup call I'd needed. I knew that if I didn't make a clean break now, I might never be able to in the future.

I haven't had a drink since, but the memory of how the alcohol eased my pain has been an ever-present companion in the back of my mind every single day. I've fought a good and valiant fight, but now I know that my battle is about to be lost, perhaps forever.

The pain of losing Kira is just too much. I want, I need, the numbness that I know I can find in drinking too much of this clear, powerful liquid. I'm looking forward to that first drink with equal measures of lust and dread.

I'm just walking back in the door with my purchase when my phone rings. Anna has arrived home and she's called as promised. I don't want to drink while I'm on the phone with her, so I place the bottle on the table and plunk myself down on the couch, facing the other direction so I don't have to look at it.

Anna and I talk for two hours, pretty much picking up right where we'd left off. The conversation is good, and somehow the knowing that there's someone out there who cares about me as a person buoys me. I miss Kira horribly, but having someone to share that loss with makes it easier in a way that I know the alcohol never will. It's a revelation to me. By the time we've hung up, the bottle is empty. Drained down the sink.

* * * * *

The next morning I wake at dawn, still depressed, but thankful that I didn't give in to temptation. I've got a few hours before I need to leave, but I start packing anyway.

Right away, I have a decision to make. I've still got the camera I took from the guy on the beach. Now that I know he wasn't a private investigator, I feel a little guilty about having it, even if the guy was a creep and was doing what he wasn't supposed to be doing. I sigh and copy the pictures to an encrypted folder on my laptop (just the ones of Kira and me), put the memory card in my suitcase, then set the camera aside to give to Lost and Found.

I'm not hungry and I don't feel up to going out and doing anything, so I kick back on the bed, watching the clock for when I'm going to have to get myself in another cab. As it is wont to do, my mind is soon engaged in studying the design of a mechanical device, in this case the alarm clock. It's the same model as the one that Kira knocked onto the floor in our previous room (a brand name I'm not familiar with) and it even has a similar crack. Really similar.

I pick it up and realize that the crack isn't just similar, it's identical. This is the clock from our last room. Why would that be, unless the staff thought it belonged to us and moved it with the rest of our stuff? That wouldn't make sense, though, because a resort like this is going to provide basic items like that.

My curiosity is piqued, so I pick up the little unit. The first thing I notice is that the power cord isn't permanently attached. It plugs into a micro USB port on the back of the clock. It's an unnecessarily complicated setup, ripe for petty theft, and certainly not what a hotel would buy in bulk.

Intrigued, I examine the clock itself. It has the normal buttons along the top, but there is what looks like an extra screw hole in the face. I hold it up to the light and see the telltale shine of a tiny camera lens hidden inside. Son of a bitch!

It's what is commonly referred to as a "nanny cam," used to surreptitiously watch what goes on while the residents are away. Upon further examination, I find a slot on the bottom with a high-capacity memory card in it. It's a variety that fits into one of the slots on my laptop, so I pop it in to see what, if anything, is on it.

The card contains a series of digital video files, so I click on the oldest one, time stamped the morning after Kira and I arrived in Mexico. My suspicions about who planted the device are immediately confirmed as Raul's face pops up on my screen. He's adjusting the aim of the clock, turning it so that the wide-angle lens is catching nearly all of our previous room. Despite the tiny lens, the picture is in high resolution. Apparently satisfied, he turns and slips out the door.

I watch a picture of our unchanging room for a while, waiting to see if the camera is motion activated, but the video never pauses or cuts away. The progress bar at the bottom of the screen indicates that this file is exactly one hour long, so I click it a few times, moving forward in increments a few minutes long until I see Kira and myself walking in twenty minutes later, apparently returning from our first breakfast together. Our conversation is crystal clear. Nice mic.

I close the file, then look at the dates of the rest of them. They are stamped at one-hour intervals in a constant stream, starting Monday morning and continuing, with only a six-minute break for our change of room, right up until I pulled the card. Amazingly, it's still at only fifty-eight percent of capacity. I look at the files from the time of the move, and sure enough see Raul come in and shut it off in our old room, then turn it back on in the bungalow.

My skin crawls at the idea that the pervert has been watching the private acts of the girls and me, but then I think about it some more. Raul wouldn't have risked taking the time to download the card until he recovered the clock when we checked out, and according to the timestamps, he hadn't had time. It's unlikely that anyone has seen any of this.

I move forward until I see Kira working away at her laptop in the bungalow, right before the assault. She's facing away from the back door, but it's only three feet behind her. I watch Raul's face appear in the door's window and silently try to warn her, even knowing how useless it is now. The door bursts open and he's on her in less than a second, his hand over her mouth. I'm gratified to see that my arrival is less than ten seconds later, but watching Kira's transition back to Teri again is downright spooky. Her whole face changes as she goes from plucky and self-assured to confused and horrified.

I cringe at how ruthless I was with Raul, then again as I see Gabriela exact her revenge. My slip and fall is out of sight of the camera, but then I see Anna springing into action. Everything on the recording is just as she had recounted. If I had any questions of just how incredibly competent Anna is, watching how she handles herself in an emergency answers them. The girl is amazing.

My first inclination is to take this evidence to the police, but I quickly dispense with that notion. As if the danger of getting Gabriela in trouble weren't enough, I don't want anyone to subpoena the entire set of recordings. That stuff is way too private and the case against the creep (with a full confession no less) is plenty solid already.

So, what should I do with the files?

The idea of keeping the recordings bothers me because it's a gross violation of the girls' privacy -- Teri's, Anna's, Destinee's and Gabriela's. (And I can only imagine what Gabriela's husband would think about me having video of his naked wife.) Still, this card holds a goodly portion of my entire relationship with the woman I loved.

I finally decide that I can't stand the thought of just throwing it away, so I swallow my reservations and copy the files to the same encrypted folder on my laptop's hard drive as the photos from the camera. Then I take both cards out behind the bungalow and pound them to pieces between a couple of stones before scattering the tiny fragments in the jungle. The clock goes in my suitcase. I don't think Raul will be needing it ever again.

I take the camera to the Lost and Found, then go next door to the gift shop and buy a thank you card. When I check out, I leave the card at the front desk for Gabriela. Inside it, beyond my expression of thanks, is a check for ten-thousand dollars and the request that it be used toward the down payment on their house.

I walk out and get in a cab, putting this part of my life behind me.

End of Part Seven

Next: Part Eight -- Spying, a Wedding, a Tragedy and a Deflowering