"The Father" Extended end to chapter 5 and Chapter 6.

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Dr. Mejia was a stout man who loved his cigars as much as or possible more than he loved his American wife. He smoked one in the morning after breakfast, and he had another after lunch and dinner. In between, he chewed and sucked on a cigar the entire day. Once it would become nice and sloppy wet with his saliva, he would then truly begin to enjoy it. Sometimes that stick would be discarded if it fell apart or he would suck on it until he had the chance to light it. Dr. Mejia was a true tobacco connoisseur.

Henry had met Dr. Mejia once before socially. They were both at the same party held by the owner of a private hospital in Tegucigalpa. Henry introduced himself to the fat man who was standing on the balcony that sat high above the park of La Leona with the most breath taking panoramic view of the entire city. Dr. Mejia was alone puffing away on a Churchill sized cigar when Henry spotted him. Henry was interested in learning more about tobacco; it was one of the reasons he took the assignment in Honduras in the first place. So when he saw the Honduran Doctor smoking there alone, he thought it was a great opportunity to meet a cigar friend in the land of tobacco.

They talked for a few hours about a full range of subjects. Tomas, as Dr. Mejia told Henry to call him, gave Henry a 40x5 robusto cigar with a maduro wrapper. He explained the size which Henry learned in the tobacco would is call a Vitola. He taught Henry how to taste a cigar by putting his tongue on the tip as he pulled the smoke into his mouth. “Do you taste amarga, or sour, that shouldn't be there?” He explained how some tobacco companies advertise a spicy cigar and how that was actually a tobacco that was not 100% fermented which causes the spice.

“It takes 2 years to get tobacco to 100% but only 6 month to get it to 75. Most cigar makers settle for the 75%. I only smoke the others,” Tomas preached.

Henry pulled on his cigar and listened.

“Un Bien Puro ne debe picar no debe ser amargo, a good cigar should not be spicy nor sour” Dr. Mejia explained to Henry in both English and Spanish.

They also talked about their professions. Henry told Tomas about some of his most interesting surgeries including what happened with little Michael and Tomas told Henry he was a Psychiatrist that specialized in depression and panic disorders.

After that evening, the pair exchanged phone numbers and promised to get together again sometime soon. That was Henry's first week in Honduras. Neither had kept their promise to contact the other until now, but this was not a social call. After waking up naked not understanding what had happen to him the night before, Henry needed to talk to someone: He needed someone professional he could trust and for a reason he did not understand, he trusted the fat cigar smoking doctor he had met only once.

Dr. Mejia did not feel they needed to meet in his office; they were friends and could meet at his home. He lived in La Alambra which was a hill above the Parque La Leona near the mansion where they had first met. LA Alambra was developed 90 years ago by Dr. Albert Walter, a German Honduran who had fallen in love with La Alambra while visiting Spain. He decided to recreate it in Honduras. Dr. Walter spend 20 years moving stones, some as big as a small house, from in and around an old silver mine just above the town center of Tegucigalpa to recreated his favorite place in Spain.

At one time La Alambra was the German colony of Tegucigalpa. Any Germans living are working in Honduras lived, visited, or partied in La Alambra. Only small pockets of the German families remained. Dr. Mejia's mother was from one of the original German families and when she passed away, Tomas moved into the family home.

After hiking up the street that began just above the basketball courts where more soccer was played than basketball, Henry arrived to a row of nicely manicured homes halfway up the hill. Dr. Mejia lived in the middle house. It was anchored on one side by an ex-president and on the other by a retired Honduran Air Force Colonel who with the help of the United States had been one of the key figures in over throwing the government and installing the current constitution during the cold war. Tomas lived within a tight ring of Honduran power.

The front gate was opened by a beautiful 20 something year old Indian woman in a maid's uniform. She directed Henry to the main door of the house some 10 yard from the front gate. When they entered the main house she directed him to sit in an office just to the right of the front door. She closed Henry in with two 20 ft. high hand carved solid mahogany doors. He had never seen such detail as the recreation of Mayan Ruins carved into these doors. Henry wondered how long it took the artisan to complete and how much they charge for something like that.

The room smelled of stale cigar smoke. There was a glass door leading to a small walk in humidor. There was a desk sitting in the middle of the room that was also hand carved by local artisans. The walls were cluttered with paintings of villages and women carrying bales of corn to the point that Henry could not tell the color of them.

When Tomas entered he went straight to his humidor and offered Henry a smoke. Henry sat down on the sofa in front of the desk. Tomas lit their cigars and paced while Henry told him what had happened a few days before?

Dr. Mejia mostly listened. He asked a few questions but nothing of detail. He just puffed away on the cigar as if he had heard it all before. When Henry finished they sat there in silence for what to Henry seemed like an eternity. After 30 seconds. Dr. Mejia sat down at his desk.

Henry watched as his friend pulled on the heavy desk drawer which seemed stuck. After a few hard tugs the drawer slid open. Dr. Mejia retrieved a large pill bottle and twisted it open. He shook out a hand full of pills and put them into a smaller container. Henry thought they looked like mini M&M's but they were all purple and shaped like an American football, but he knew what they were. His mother lived and died by the Xanax.

Dr. Mejia said, “You've been under a lot of stress, with the pressure of work, your wife's inability to maintain the home and pushing you to hurry home... and this young boy dying on your operating table while you are far away from your own son. I can see why you’re having these panic attacks and hyper real dreams to follow.”

“Panic Attacks?” Henry asked.

“Yes,” Dr. Mejia offered the smaller bottle of pills to Henry. “These are out of my personal medication. Take one in the morning and another 8 hours later. These should last you a few days but you should go back to the States immediately.”

Henry accepted the bottle of pills and shook them like a maraca. He had trusted Tomas and now Tomas seemed to be on Dawn's side. He wondered if they had spoken but he knew that was impossible. He was having panic attacks and then one strange dream to follow and Tomas was nice enough to give him narcotics. Henry looked Dr. Mejia dead in his eyes.

“I appreciate the cigar, the pills and the concern but I'm going to stay my term.”

VI

Henry awoke to the laughter of children. He could hear them from the tropical cave he was exploring and he followed the sound which seemed to be coming from the light ahead. He tripped his way forward in the mud and slush that made the floor of the cave. His thighs began to burn like he was on a leg extension exercise machine but that was not going to deter him. When he arrived at the light the laughter got louder but the light was so blinding that he saw nothing but whiteness. He needed to see who were these laughing children and what the fuck were the laughing at. He stepped into the light and his eyes opened.

Henry hadn't slept for this long or this deep in a very long time. It was near 4pm when the Xanax took his anxiety as well as his resistance and allowed him to drift away. He lied shirtless on his back in the center of the bed. His legs were straight and crossed. His arms stretched out to either side. His palms were facing the ceiling. That deep sleep sweat dripped from his forehead. Drool ran down the left side of his face on to the mattress creating a large round wet spot around his head.

It took a little while for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He blinked over and over and he still could not see. He went to rub his eyes with his right hand and that's when he realized he could not move. He tried with his left to no avail. He felt tied or something. He attempted to pull his legs up but those too felt restrained. His heart began to race.

Blind and immobile the only thing he had was his thoughts and those were beginning to fail him as well. Henry wonders if he was being kidnapped. It was not uncommon for people presumed to have money, such as a foreign doctor, to be kidnapped for ransom in Honduras. Henry had heard the story of a kidnapping of the brother of a Honduran soccer player who played in England. After the ransom was paid, the kidnappers still killed him.

How was Dawn ever going to pay the ransom? How would she handle his death? What would become of Luke? How would the kidnappers contact Dawn? Did they know she existed?

Henry's mind raced from question to question. No answered came just more questions. He felt the sweat and drool dripping down his face.

I've been drugged and kidnapped. Who? What drug?

Henry focused to feel his body. He wanted to find the injection spot. If he had been drugged he was certain that he was injected. He knew that without cleaning the site first an injection site would be sore. He mentally examined his body looking for the location of the injection. He focused down each leg, then his arms and neck. He couldn't feel any unidentified tenderness.

If not an injection then what? Tomas' Xanax? Was it Xanax?

Henry felt guilty accusing his friend but he also thought it could be true. It was the only logical explanation that he could come up with. He had been drugged and kidnapped by the fat cigar smoking motherfucker.

The whiteness he was seeing began to become dark and his eyes regained their sight. The blurry world around him seemed familiar. He was still in his room. He was in his bed.

All of a sudden he could see clearly. It was him. He could see himself in the mirror above his bed as he stretched out in the holiest of ways. He thought he looked like his wife's savior on a crucifix with a halo around his head. Henry laughed.

Are you fucking kidding me?

There was nothing tying him to the bed but he could feel himself being restrained on both wrist as well as both ankles. It felt as if hands were holding him down. He could feel the cold flesh touching his. It reminded him of an old girlfriend he had whose hands and feet were always ice cold. She would piss him off when she tried to warm them on him. But this was not Mary's hands. He was being held down but he saw nothing in the mirror but himself stretched out like Jesus Christ on the cross.

LUNES, MARTES MIERCULES.............

Henry heard them. The kids came back. They were in his yard preforming the same ritual. Pulling as hard as he could with his arms and legs, Henry exhausted himself. He could only lie there and listen to the chanting boys.

Henry did not pause. He kept tugging and squirming trying to break free from the grip of whatever it was holding him down to that bed. He lasted a good 15 minutes then his body had no more to give and there also died his resistance. He lied listening to the boys. He even made himself start to believe that he was enjoying their harmony.

Luuuunes....Maaaaartes... Miercuuuules.......Juuuueves....Vieeeernes....Saaadooo...Domiiiingo..

And like that he was released. His noticed his arms first then his legs. He moved them around a bit making sure that he was truly freed, and then he jumped up from the bed and ran for the back door near the cashew tree.

Exiting the door Henry rounded the house and the boys were not there, nor did he hear them anymore. He chuckled to himself as he thought of a song he used to like by the Ghetto Boy. His mind was playing tricks on him too.

Henry turned to walk back into the house. The moon was directly above illuminating the yard. When he reached the door he stopped and smiled. He was proud of the fact that he could laugh at himself. It had been a long trip and he had a month to go. He needed to just laugh.

“HENRY.”

“Heeenry.”

The call came from behind him.

He turned and there she was. She was as beautiful as he remembered, maybe even more. Long black hair, olive skin that was the most perfect he had ever seen. Maria's ghostly clone stood before him naked glowing in the soft light of the full moon. Henry smiled then laughed. If his mind was going to play tricks on him it might as well send him beautiful naked women.

“What do you want?' He asked her bluntly.

She answered in a whisper, “I want you Henry, and I need you.”

“Why would you need me, who are you?”

An overwhelming calm overtook his body as she looked him dead in his eye.

‘You are the father Henry, come with me.”

She offered her hand out to him. Henry swallowed and reached out to her. The closer his hand got to her the more familiar she felt. He began to feel younger and younger. He was a child again for a moment when he realized what the lady felt like. She felt like his mother.

Henry grasped the hand of the beautiful woman and she began to lead him towards the maid house. His heart warmed and his body felt like a cool breeze was blowing from the sea at night onto wet skin. He followed her to the threshold.

Don't go in Henry. Don't

He heard a child's voice in his head and his back got warm as if someone was staring at him. He always could feel someone’s gaze and this was no different. He turns to see who was watching. Maybe someone had broken into his yard. When he caught the intruder in his sight, there standing in front of the cashew tree was Michael the boy he had killed on the operating table. Michael was alive and well standing before him underneath the fruit tree. He was smiling and still wearing the same mouse shirt that Henry had cut off of him.

“Don't go Henry” Michael warned.

“What?”

Henry felt a pull on his hand. He knew she was still there waiting for him. He knew what he must do. He turns back to the lady. He first saw her bare feet. She was standing in a puddle right in the doorway. A black snake slithered over her foot and climbed up her leg. It all seemed normal to him. Henry looked up to her face and he saw exactly what he already knew he would. It was his mother as she looked in her youth. Tall, radiant and as beautiful as ever she curls her mouth up at her son. His heart felt so warm that it nearly hurt but it was the type of pain that you want to feel over and over again. He was home. He was new.

This is just a dream.

Henry turned back to Michael.

“I am sorry, I am so fucking sorry”

He apologized to the child he had killed, turned back to the beautiful woman who was still holding his hand. Feeling whole for the first time in a long time he stepped inside the maid's house. A large hand carved mahogany door slammed behind him.

VII