"THE FATHER" FIRST 5 CHAPTERS

This is the first 5 Chapters of my novel "The Father." "The Father" is the first book of a trilogy that I have been working on. The pages here have not been edited but I don't mind if you don't.

LOGLINE: Returning home to his wife and children from a mission trip to Central America a young self absorbed Doctor is starting to lose his mind, believing he's been possessed by a demon on his trip. When he starts to imagine that his wife has been impregnated with the anti-christ, he must Stop the child from being born.

Please comment in the comment section and share with anyone who would enjoy.

Thanks
Rene'

I

Hospital Escuela

Tegucigalpa, Honduras

There was blood everywhere.

Dr. Henry Le Blanc leaned over the body of his 6 year old patient. His hand shook like a leaf in the wind passing the oscillating saw to the nurse. He had begun cutting into the boys chest when the unmaintained saw stopped working. He would have to open the boys chest the old fashion way, with brut force.

Henry feared cutting into such a small body with what was basically a hack saw. Nevertheless, he motioned toward the saw. Then the nurse, Maria, passed it to him.

Maria was a beautiful woman with the presence of a goddess. Her long black hair was shinny like a fine silk yet as thick as the mane of a show horse. It fell down past her soft olive colored flesh that not a pore show itself on. Her eyes were copper and deep as the ocean and could make or destroy a man with a single glance. Her legs stretched out for miles. Henry enjoyed rubbing his lips up them to the curves in her thighs.

Nothing compared to her smile that transmitted so much joy to anyone who was fortunate enough to be honored by it. Henry danced in the warmth of her happiness on more than a few occasions over the last month. He had found her button and when the need came he pushed it. She would laugh and sunshine would fill the void that he always felt in his chest. Then the hairs on his arms would stand up and salute her radiance. Never had such a smile been seen by a man before.

Maria barely spoke English and Henry spoke even less Spanish. They learned to communicate by looks and gestures over his first month working as a Doctor for The Daughter of Mercy's medical mercenary trip to Honduras. Even when they slept together they did not speak much. She knew what he wanted and was eager to oblige the handsome young American.

Marie passed him the hack saw with a slight smirk on her face. Henry let his hand overextend the reach of the saw to steal but a touch of her. She looked into his eyes and smiled. She knew that American doctors aren't accustomed to such primitive methods and what he needed. She was happy to fortify his courage with a simple smile. He would thank her later that night when they were alone in his bed.

Henry was certain that he was the best doctor ever to grace the walls of this dilapidated hospital. He was better than the chipped lead paint that peeled from the ceilings above. He was better than indigenous patients that filled the hallways on beds because the hospital was always overcrowded. They should be proud to have him. In his short career he had saved many lives with emergency heart surgery. He once brought a priest back after he had been clinically dead for more than 3 minutes. He was God inside the operating room and he had been in this situation before. The only difference is he had never operated on a child. At 28 years old, he understood that the age of the patient should not change anything but it does. There was more at stake here. God could not fail this boy.

Henry's wife, Dawn, did not want him to go on this trip. Their 6 year old son had been having emotional issues and she felt that a man's place is at home with his family. Henry knew better. A man's place is out in the world making a name for himself, besides Dawn was a great mother and capable of two months alone with Luke. She'd be fine.

He met Dawn in his first year of residence. She was tall and blonde, with legs that he imagined wrapped around him from the first moment that he saw her walking down the hall of the hospital. He went home and wrote her name down next to his on a napkin. He was a fly who could not resist the sweet nectar of the paper. He was stuck.

She spent most of her time in the Hospital chapel. Henry later found out that she was the daughter of a terminal patient with days to live. Dawn was the most innocent beauty he had ever seen; A perfect blend of elegance and sadness. He had to have her.

He had many women before but never before did he want more from any of them than a quick fuck. He fed his ego by acting like they never existed after having his way with them. The lucky ones, as he thought, got to have a second round but never more than two. He was careful to never let a feeling take root.

Dawn was different. He could not put his finger on it but from the moment he first saw her he knew that she was the one for him to spend his life with. He imagined her barefoot and pregnant in a little house with a white picket fence. He had to devise a plan.

At first he was reluctant to approach her like a shy boy staring at his first crush from across the school yard. Being that she was still in high school did not help; People look down on that sort of thing. He spent weeks learning everything he could find out about her without being too obvious. He finally began hanging around the chapel pretending to pray even though he had lost his faith years ago. He pretended to be a good Catholic, rosary in hand.

After 3 weeks her father died and Henry began talking to her. Within days he had her at his apartment feeling her up. So young and tight. He was turned on by her innocence. He was turned on by her sadness and making her feel better. The thought of corrupting her made his mouth water, but the joke feel on him. He would get worked up and then nothing. Day after day, week after week she denied his sexual advances. They would get naked and lie in bed holding each other. When he tried to do more than kiss and touch she would stop him.

"I can't", she would say as he tried to penetrate her.

"Just a little please, let me just feel you" Henry would reply.

"I can't"

Over and over again he found himself taking cold showers after her visits.

The first time that she saw his temper was after one of these episodes. They had been kissing and like always Henry tried for the first prize only to fall short. He threw a glass of wine across the room shattering it against the wall. He stared at the crimson fluid flowing down the wall, as Dawn cried and ran out the door.

He backed off of the relationship but maintained a friendship until she graduated from high school a few months later. At her graduation party, he stunned her family by getting on his knee in front of her family and friends and asking her to marry him.

She said yes.

The child had been rushed into the emergency room in the arms of an elderly indigenous woman. He was shoeless and his feet dirty and cracked. His brown skin was now purple. His head slumped over her shoulder as if he was already gone. The woman cried out “Ayudame, Ayudame”

Apparently the boy had collapsed in the street while trying to sell bags of green mango slices with salt to passing cars. When the woman was asked did she know the boys name she didn't, nor had she seen the boy before that day. She figured he is one of the thousands of children living on the streets of the Honduran capital.

Dr. Le Blanc was just arriving to the hospital from a filling lunch of Yucca con Chicarones. The Honduran Doctors had just told the elderly lady that there is nothing that they can do for the boy. Henry overheard the conversation and interrupted. He looked over the chart and rushed into the examining room.

“ I can save him” he scream at the Honduran Doctor

“No there is no way”

Henry grabbed the Honduran by his neck, “ Get the fuck out”, then screamed to the nurses to get the kid to OR#4, “YA”

The boys name was Michael or at least that was the name of the previous owner of his Mister Mouse T-shirt. It was carefully written right under the collar with a black sharpie. Most street kids get there clothes from bultos, which are used clothes from the States that have been rejected for resale and are given away to the poor. Henry knew this and so did everyone else at the hospital but with a nameless child unconscious lying before them it felt comforting knowing that he had a name; Michael.

Henry flanked the gurney as they race down the crowded hallway towards the operating room. His hand was placed on the boys cold chest and He could not help but think of his son, Luke, who he had left back at home in the States. He looked down at the little brown boy.

“Michael, This is Dr. Le Blanc. You are going to be ok.” He declared. “ Va estar Ok” he repeated in his attempt at Spanish.

Michael did not move as Henry tried to figure out if he were a blue shade of brown or a brown shade of blue. He caught his thoughts drifting to the unimportant and snapped back into focus. He was going to save this child today and show all of these Honduran doctors who was the best. Henry knew that he was the best surgeon he has ever met, even better than his abusive alcoholic father that he barely got to know growing up despite living in the same house. His father couldn't save Michael, well maybe he could but these Honduran doctors couldn't. He was God in the operating room he thought, right before he realized that Michael was a blue shade of brown.

Small Town, Louisiana, USA

Resurrection of our Lord. Catholic Church

The classroom was the last one down a long hallway with 5 doors on either side. At one time the Church had an elementary school attached to it but it closed after the scandal. The building was still in great condition just a little much for only hosting catechism classes on Saturdays and Sundays before mass. Most of the classes where empty with plastic covering the desks. The walls in the hall and Dawn's classroom had been painted blue the year before by a group of volunteers. They thought that the blue had a welcoming calming effect on the children. Dawn didn't see any difference in her students from the previous color, but she was grateful for the effort and made sure that it was known.

She, with a group of ladies from the Church, decorated the walls.

Dawn enjoyed working with the ladies but grew tired of the constant question about her husband. The ladies had not seen him at church in a while. Was he sick? Was he a heathen? Did he leave her? “Oh my what kind of man leaves his wife and child.” Dawn learned to ignore their inquisitions and go about her work. She felt that they can think and believe what they want and gossip amongst them selves. Who was she to judge. As she did with everything else she gave it to God to do with as he pleased. Yes as HE pleased, every good Catholic knows that god is a man.

Dawn has three classes every Saturday for 35 minutes a class with each presenting their own challenges. The first classes, the teens, is at 8:25 sharp. She made the teens the first class of the day after what happened last years where she caught a group of the boys and Dana Hayden in one of the empty classrooms doing the ungodly. At 8:25 am this couldn't happen it was way to early in the morning. Her second class of the day was the younger kids. They were simple and kind but they liked to ask a lot of questions. Nothing that faith can't solve. The final volunteer catechism class of her Saturdays was a group of 5 kids and one adult with Down's syndrome. It was her favorite class of the day because she believed, as many Catholics do, Down's kids were truly special,that they possessed pure spirits and were here on Earth to teach lessons to sinners such as herself.

The Parents and caretakers of the 6 special students were expected back in 15 minutes.

Luke was sitting on the floor playing with his latest toy of fascination that he would be bored with in a matter of weeks.

The class had gone by just as it usually did. The only excitement came from when Noel Smith, a sweet 17 years old who always wore the same black polyester pants and white short sleeve button up, pissed his pants causing an uproar of laughing and pointing. Dawn calmed the class and then explain what Jesus himself would have done in that situation. Luke wondered how would she know what Jesus would have done but then gave it no more thought.

Dawn was looking at her watch when she notices Luke. He had stood up and walked to the window and was staring out at something. She tried to see what it could be that had attracted his attention from his favorite toy but she did not see anything.

Noel Smith began to tremble first, Dawn thought he was still embarrassed about the accident he had earlier. Then Sarah, the fat girl of the class who wore glasses so thick that some would call them bullet proof, began shaking her hands in front of her face uncontrollably. The rest of the class began screaming and laughing. Dawn tried to calm them but it was as if she had not been there at all. No one paid her any attention.

The chaos grew louder and bibles began to be tossed around the room. Luke stood still fixated on the outside. Dawn, on the verge of crying, began picking bibles off the floor. The youngest of the class, Stevie Brown, had crawled under her his desk. While picking up a bible, Dawn noticed he was in fetal position sucking on his thumb. She approached him to assure him that everything was ok. When she touched him, she felt a warm wetness drenched his clothes. “Piss” she hissed. Immediately she asked God to forgive herself for her anger and God took it away just as he always did.

Getting Stevie off of the floor, Dawn noticed that he had not only pissed himself but he had sweat streaming out of his pours. She forgave herself for feeling disgusted then put him into a chair where he continued to tremble.

The others where running about and screaming “NO”, over and over again.

Noel was at the front of the class when he made his run.

With the speed of olympic sprinter, he darted across the class jumping over three desk on his way to the window. Dawn saw that he was going straight for Luke. She pushed chairs out of her way violently trying to get in between Noel and her precious son. The adrenaline of a frantic mother kicked in, but her speed was lacking.

Noel tackled Luke to the floor and began pounding on him with his balled up fist.

“No” Noel screamed as each blow landed on Luke's tiny frame.

“Get off of him” Dawn blurted in a voice she had not heard since her childhood.

She pushed Noel to the floor where he stayed. He seemed to realized what he had just done. Wet and afraid he began crying out, “ I'm sorry” over and over again.

Dawn knelt down over Luke lying on the floor staring at the ceiling as he had not just been attacked.

Dawn asked, “ Are you ok baby?”

Luke did not respond his eyes remained steady ahead with out blinking not once.

Dawn, “ Sweetheart what is?” She began to shake him by his shoulders. “What is it?, tell me!'

The classroom had gone silent and the student where back in their desk with their bibles as if nothing had happened.

“What is baby, you can tell mommy.”

Only his eyes moved. Luke stared into the eyes of his mother.

“Michael” was all he could say.

Hospital Escuela

Henry sawed in the chest of the boy. He then slowly spread apart the cut halves of the tiny sternum with a retractor. Michael's entire chest was open and his heart looked out at Dr, Leblanc. After a quick examination, Henry could not find anything wrong. The boys heart was stellar, as Henry's father used to say. Henry was in disbelief, something had to be wrong with the boys heart. He decided to examine further yet he found nothing.

The heart monitor began to to beat normal perplexing Henry even more. He wondered had he just sawed open a boy for fainting. How could he have done this.

Henry looked over at the nurse that he had fucked the night before and tightened his lips together while taking a deep breath. She closed her eyes. She knew what he was feeling and he knew that she felt sorry for him. He knew that she looked up to him but maybe now she wouldn't anymore. His ego hit the floor shattering into tiny little pieces as all he could hear was the beep, beep, beep of the heart monitor.

At least the kid was alive Henry justified. He knew he was too quick to play God but he would keep that to himself, as far as he was gong to be concerned he followed proper procedure.

Beep, beep, beep.

Henry called for sternum wires and his nurse friend went to get them. They had been in such hast to open the boy up no one had time to prepare to close him.

As she turned to reach in the cabinet the heart monitor began to beep faster, and faster. Henry, surprised, took a second to react.

He turned back to his patient as the beeps kept getting faster. He could see the heart racing like a carburetor on an old 1970's hot rod.

“What the fuck” , Henry looked over his shoulder hoping no one heard his outburst.

When he leaned back into Michael, he saw his heart inflate then deflate like a bicycle inner tube then he noticed a rupture in his Aortic isthmus, near where the left subclavian artery branches off from the aorta. “ How in the hell did I miss this?” He thought to himself. He was certain that he could fix it and regain his credibility as God again.

Henry called out to his nurse friend as he was reaching into Michaels chest to get a better idea. She did not answer, so he turn to look for her.

She was with her back turned digging into a disorganized drawer. She threw sterile packages onto the the black and white checkered floor. Her hands shook. She could not find what it was that she was looking for. Henry thought that must be the story of her life. He knew that things should be well organized, then brushed off the thought like lint on a winter coat. He was still in the third world and he found it a bit amusing the way things ran here.

Laughing he called out to Maria. She did not respond and Henry was getting annoyed. Fucking deaf bitch.

The hairs on his arm stood up. Goose bumps ran down his arm as if thousands of needles suddenly needed to escape his body. Then the chill hit his spine. The touch was cold on his left wrist. A small hand with little blue or was it brown fingers scratched at his forearm. He resisted the urge to look, he knew no one else was in the room. There wasn't any chance that Michael could be conscious. The hand gripped his wrist and pulled him in towards the gurney. Henry turned and looked.

Michael with his blue lips and bloodshot eyes was awake.

“Holy Shit” Henry exclaimed as Michael's head rose up looking dead into Henry's eyes.

“ la casa, El la quiere, no regreses la casa” Michael whispered.

The blood from Michael's hand left a trail down Henry's arm as the little hand fell off the gurney. The heart monitor flatlined. Michael's heart stopped. Maria, who had been lost in the world of the cabinets and drawers, turned around. Henry, fighting to not piss himself, was trembling as they stared at each other.

II

El Patio de los Pobre, as the locals called it, was an outdoor establishment on the busy Boulevard Morazan in Tegucigalpa, Honduras. It was bustling as usual on a Saturday night. A local musician who fancied himself Elvis Presley did his best to mumble the english words of Heart Break Hotel while thrusting his hips about in a manner that the King himself would envy. No one really noticed that he did not speak english nor did they care. They were too busy drowning themselves with Port Royals, Salva Vidas and rum. The beer and rum always came with a complementary order of pupusas or taquitos. It was the perfect place for a group of American Doctors to unwind with their Honduran colleagues after a hard day at Hospital Escuela.

As usual, Henry was there with two other American doctors, Steve and Dave, one Honduran doctor, Carlos , along with Maria and a few other staffers from the hospital. Carlos had become a good friend of Henry's over the last month. It was a natural connection. They both liked to drink and chase women.

Henry did not seem like his normal self since they arrived. He normally was loud and carefree. Known to get up and help the aspiring Elvis with his lyrics from time to time, this Saturday he wasn't getting up, he wasn't singing, not even on the inside. He slouched down in his plastic chair, gripping onto the neck of his beer as if someone wanted to take it. He had not even had a bite of the pupusas he had come to love, nor had he touched Maria under the table. He wasn't ok.

The waitress, dressed in a traditional long red skirt,white blouse covered by a black vest and a red bandana covering her naturally black hair, had just put a fresh round of Salva Vidas on the table. Henry enjoyed the beers of Honduras but Salva Vida had become his favorite and El Patio (de los Pobres) had become his favorite after work watering hole. He was still on his first round while the others were starting their second. That was odd. Henry usually would be a beer or two ahead of the competition.

Henry felt the tension coming from Dave. He knew Dave was an opinionated son of a bitch that was bound to say something that they both would regret. Dave wanted to speak. Henry had just spent the better part of an hour explaining what had happened earlier that day in the operating room. By their facial expressions and body language, he could tell that they all were sympathetic, but they did not believe a word of what he said. Dave seemed the most uneasy with Henry's story, and Henry was regretting ever bringing it up. He held tightly onto his beer. If this fuck says something stupid, I'm gonna smash his head with this fucking Salva Vida, and he'll need someone to save his life.

He laughed to himself. Proud of his clever word play from Spanish to English, he concluded his Spanish was coming along after all.

Henry took a deep breath through his nose as he felt Dave leaning forward in his chair. The grip tightened around the neck of his “Life Saver”. He closed his eyes as he exhaled, and that was when Dave took his chance.

“Could it have been a nerve reaction?” Dave asked.

“No, he looked me in the eye as if he knew me”.

Dave looked to Steve for validation with a condescending smirk.

Henry pushed Maria's hand away as she tried to squeeze his leg in support under the table.

Steve, “ But Maria did not see this, correct?”

“No,” said Maria, trying for Henry's leg again.

Again he pushed her away.

“ She did not see anything, her back was turned. I went through all of this before.”

“Sometimes, when we have been working long hours without sleep, our mind plays tricks on us.”

Lifting the longneck Henry spoke through his teeth, “ What the fuck, am I a child? It happened.”

Henry realized he was too close to following through with smashing Dave's face in with the Salva Vida. He took a deep breath through his mouth.

“I am sorry. I should not have spoke to you that way, It's been a long day and I'm exhausted. I should go.”

Dave, “ No problem. Just get some rest.”

Henry stood up and dug deep into his pockets. He still had not gotten used to the Lempira. To him its was like play money with no real value. He pulled out a crumpled up one- hundred and threw it on the table. He was certain this would cover his beer.

Outside he walked to the busy boulevard. As usual, there was an indigenous woman at the street with a homemade mahogany table set up. On the table she had a spread of various assortments of gum, chocolates, candies, matches and single cigarettes. Henry approached the table thinking, what a waste of some very nice wood.

He had not poisoned his lungs voluntarily since his first month of medical school. Calculating his pack year history, he determined he had smoked roughly 10 cigarettes a day for about 5 years from his senior year in high school. According to this calculation he had a 3 pack year smoking history. Although he had preferred it to be zero, he felt that his risk factor was still relatively low, especially if he would quit.

He quit cold turkey that day and never thought about a cigarette again. Until now.

He fumbled through the gums and found the ones that he liked. Digging deeper he found a wad of crisp red 1 lempira bills from his pocket. He paid the lady 3 for the gum when he decided that maybe he wanted some chocolate. The urge for chocolates grew. He was a middle aged woman on a chocolate binge, so he felt. He knew it was lie.

The hunger grew. The open packs of Belmonts and Royals were out before him like a fine smorgasbord. He grabbed a single Belmont and a match as the little indian lady looked on. He lit it, inhaling in the smoke as if it was the fresh air of a tropical beach morning. He felt invigorated breathing in the familiar poisons. Something felt right about it.

Henry felt a touch on his shoulder. He knew it was too heavy to be the lady looking for the 2 lempiras that he now owed her. Don't let it be a armed robber. Tegucigalpa was a dangerous place and Henry knew that an American standing out alone on the Boulevard was not well advised. I'll give them what they want but I'm not giving them this Belmont. He waited too long for that puff to just give it way. The hand tapped him again and he was sure he wasn't being robbed.

He turned around exhaling smoke into the face of Carlos.

“Sorry.” Henry wasn't but he said it anyway.

“ It's ok”

Carlos spoke English with a British accent. He was high born Honduran and at 5 his family moved to London for his father's business. He attended the London Boy's Academy and the manners he learned there never left. He lived in London until his father was murdered on a business trip to Colombia. Carlos was 10 when his father died and his family soon returned to Honduras to live in poverty until his mother married a decrepit man 30 years her senior.

“I must talk to you about the kid.”

“I don't think that I want to talk about that anymore, no one believed me.”

“I do, well I think I do.”

“What do you mean?”

“He said that you should leave the house. Correct?”

“Yes. He told me to stay away from the house.

“There is something about that house that you must know.”

“Yeah.”

Carlos checked his shoulders. No one was listening. His voice lowered as he spoke.

“ People talk about things that have happened there. I'm not one to believe in this sort of thing but I'll tell you. No one has lived there in over 50 years, I was actually surprised when you rented it. A guy that lived in the house murdered his wife and children 50 years ago. His wife was pregnant. The people say that it is the site where the Spanish had the first Catholic mass in the Americas. Some people believe that the reason they had the mass here in Honduras was that one of the Spaniards impregnated the daughter of a Mayan priest, who later died during the pregnancy. The Mayans blamed him and it was thought that a spell or something was put on the Spaniard. He began to show signs of what was thought to be demonic possession. The priest that traveled with the Spanish fleet attempted to preform an exorcism. The man died during the exorcism attempt and they buried him. The next day they had the first mass ever in the Americas at the site of his grave in an attempt to bless the land. That's where your house is. Now since that time it's been said that many people have been killed there, the last being 50 years ago.”

“What a story, you had me going for a minute.”

“No I am serious, there is a book about it. I read it in college. I may still have it at my mothers house. And you know what else?”

“What's that?”

“The Spaniards name.”

Carlos shook his head. How could he have not made this connection before.

“What,” Henry asked.

“Don Miguel, Michael”

“Well that's interesting folklore that you just told me but the fact is there is no such thing as demonic possession.”

With that Henry had had enough of his cigarette. He inhaled his last drag of tranquility and blew the smoke over his right shoulder.

He hailed a taxi and jumped in leaving Carlos standing with the little indian

The taxi was a beat up white Toyota Corolla. The backseat was a waterbed riding every bump and turn of the Honduran Capital.

“ A donde,” the driver yelled from his perch.

Henry spit out the direction to his rented house then laid back to enjoy the ride.

He had fallen asleep in the 10 minute drive and was awoken by the driver touching his pocket. Henry jumped up scaring the man.

“Cien”

Henry paid the driver 100 lempiras even though he knew that he had come close to being robbed. It did not make sense to accuse a taxista and anyway he just wanted to get to bed. Stepping out onto the dirt road that led to his house, Henry noticed for the first time that there were no street lights leading up to the property.

It was a good 100 paces to the front gate from where the taxi had stopped. The house was surrounded by a 10 foot wall made of huge stones carefully stacked on one another and being held together by mortar. It stretched the length of a football field in both directions.

How old is this wall?

He could not help but think about the murderous husband sweating in the hot Honduran sun. Carefully he would have placed the stones one by one, building a fort to protect his family from the dangers of the outside world. He imagined the man's pregnant wife, young and beautiful with long thick black hair, greeting her knight in shining sweat with a glass of fresh mango juice made from hand-picked fruits from their own trees in that very yard. God this mango juice is bitter, I think I'll slit her throat.

Henry's path was lit by the yellow moon yet he could not see more than 10 feet in front of his face. The fog was settling in as it did a few times a week. Sometimes it would be so thick that he could not see his hand in front of his face, but never before did he feel this uneasy in the darkness.

The property was at least 5 acres with every type of fruit tree that Henry could have imagined. There was a very old mango tree that must have been 75 feet high that put out so many mangos that thousands of ripe mangos fell to the ground and rotted. What have you seen in your days my friend? What have you seen? His father once told him that no one picked fruit from a poisonous tree and the seeds of the rotted mangos would sprout new mango trees so that there was always 50 or so baby mango trees surrounding their father all competing for root space, for life.

There was also guava, avocado, mangostine (the fruit of the gods), ciuelas and more.

Then there was a strange looking tree. Henry had no idea what that tree was. The fruits looked like bell peppers of various colors that were deformed by some plant fungus. It's branches were crooked as spinal meningitis. Its leaves were broad as a lily. One day, Maria had made him some special juice from the fruits. He dared not drink it. Witch Juice.

Then she took the top part of the fruit that connected to the branches and wrapped it in news paper and lit it on fire. When the fire went out she dug a shell out of the ashes. Opening the shell she presented it to Henry. A fucking cashew. Maria had taught him something.

There is a first for everything.

Henry continued advancing cautiously towards where he knew the gate to be. The dirt road slithered beneath his feet as if he were not walking at all but gliding. The clouds raced across the moon that had silhouetted the the giant mango tree. Henry thought that he had seen the outline of a man hanging from one of the middle branches. As he advanced, it proved to be nothing but the angle from which he was viewing a hanging branch that had broken in a heavy rain some time before he arrived in Honduras.

At 20 paces from the gate he heard three or four of what he thought were footsteps coming from the other side of the wall. He stopped and listened. Nothing. Henry took a step forward then stopped again. Nothing.

His pulse sped. The razors on the back of his neck stood up at attention. His breathing became deeper, deliberate. A solitary beed of sweat ran down his chest and into his navel, He could hear everything which was nothing at all. There was someone else there. Their stillness and silence burned a hole in Henry's chest.

Then another blow to the ground beyond the wall just a little behind where he stood. He turned and saw a family of possums eating mangos in the tree and dispatching them half eaten to hardened soil below.

Get ahold of yourself Henry. You are a man.

The keys came from his pocket as he approached the gate. He put the key into the dead bolt and turned.

Someone touched his hip.

There was a small brown boy standing there. He was a handsome fellow. His eyes shined brightly and his cheeks were full and round. His hair was fairly longer than a Honduran boy's and unkept. He looked as if he had been rolling around in the dirt road for the entire 5 years of his life without ever having a proper bath. The feet of an old lady, dry and with craters surrounded by white crust that Betty Crocker would envy, rooted his small frame to the earth from which he came.

Henry took in his visitor with a sigh of relief. He had nearly soiled himself. He knew that Carlos' story was just that, a story. He convinced himself that his fear from the thought of a native, with a knife, about to pounce on him and leave him bloody on the dirt road for his wallet. It's just a story, Demons don't exist, Demon's don't exist.

Relieved, He felt a familiarity with this boy. The darkness and fog did not allow a clear view of the child's face, but the overwhelming feeling that they had met before rained on Henry. He had been to many villages and surrounding neighborhoods and treated many children. Perhaps this was a former patient that had tracked him down. Where are the parents.

The boy stood motionless, his eyes fixed on Henry's. His head was that of an owl; When Henry moved to the right, it rotated to the left while the body from the shoulders down remained rigid. When Henry moved back to the left, the boys head followed.

“Can, I help you?”

There was no answer, only the amplified silence echoed into the fog. Henry looked up to the tree. The possums had stopped their midnight feast and their red eyes stared at the boy. Perhaps they had seen him before as well. The wind danced amongst the leaves and mangos yet made no sound.

Every muscle in Henry's body tighten up, as tight as he had ever felt. He turned back to the boy who was now only a few feet away. Upon gazing into the eyes of innocence, Henry's body relaxed. Limber and loose he felt a calm that he had only felt once before in his life, when he held his newborn son for the first time.

“Este casa se asusta.” The child whispered.

Henry had heard this voice before.

“What, This house?”

“You shouldn't be here.” The boy spoke in English.

Henry had heard enough and swung the gate open violently and stepped toward the house. The boy grabbed Henry's arm but his grip was weak and was easily broken. He did not turn as he darted towards the front door.

The door was 10 yards from the gate Henry just wanted to make it inside and forget this day. Halfway there, Henry tripped. His weight hit the ceramic tile of the walkway like a bag of water. A sharp pain shot from his knee to his heel. This little bastard tripped me.

“You little son of a...” Henry belted towards the street but there was no one there.

He rose to his feet and entered the house.

III

Sundays were church days for Dawn and Luke. Henry never did attend mass regularly, so Dawn did not miss him as much on these days.

As she headed out of the Church she thought about how she enjoyed the fellowship with the other parishioners of Resurrection of our Lord. She even didn't mind the nosey old ladies that bugged her about the absence of her handsome husband. She answers all of their intrusions with a kind heart. Her husband was a busy man and he preferred to pray in private. But, Henry was a devoted Catholic who loved the pope just as much as anyone else.

The old geezers, as Henry called them, would always answer the same. “mmmm hmm”

That did not make Dawn dislike nor judge them. She prayed for them when she thought about it. They were a lonely bunch, who needed something to think about. It might as well been her.

Mass had just ended when Dawn emerged from the Rectangular white brick structure that was surrounded by sugar cane fields as far as the eye could see. Luke, unusually, was not by her side. He had gotten lost in the crowd pushing it's way towards the exit. Dawn figured he would meet her out front.

Monsignor Lavetzi and his young American protege, Father Mike were standing in front of the large mahogany double doors of the church attempting to shake the hand of everyone in their flock.

The Monsignor was a tall, once handsome man that age did not spare. The lines on his face had long ago become canyon-ways telling a story of a hard lived life. He had first hand witnessed two bloody revolutions and was rumored to have picked up arms himself in Argentina many decades ago.

Once a powerful Cardinal, he was now merely a bull that had been put out to pasture. Stripped of his title and power he was sent to this small community in the middle of nowhere Louisiana.

He planned to resurrect the failing community as his last great accomplishment. Maybe he could live with himself after such a nobel feat. Besides, being in another country there was little chance of anyone knowing about the allegations made against him in Paris. His secret was safe in Louisiana.

He had only been sent to the United States 5 years previously and everything had been going according to the divine plan. The pope, a personal friend of his, himself had sent him. He had strict orders from the Vatican to keep a low profile and end out his days in service. For 5 years he had complied fully.

Flanking his left was the 25 year old American Priest, Father Mike who's humility was only over shadowed by his good looks. A former college soccer star, his body was not of heaven for the temptation that it stirred in the majority of the women and a few of the men of the parish.

Dawn had found herself on several occasions fantasizing of what it would be like to know Father Mike biblically. She thought of how it would feel to have his hard body pressed against her soft flesh. His lips were full and made to be sucked she believed. In her mind, they would lie sweaty in each others arms like she and her husband used to. He was everything that Henry wasn't. He was humble, gentle and lived his life in the service of others in the glory of the Lord.

Nevertheless, Dawn had thought of him from time to time. Then she would push these thoughts from her mind after a few minutes of enjoying her one guilty pleasure.

Dawn saw Father Mike first as she stepped out of the church doors. He was shaking the hand of an elderly man. As his hand was freed it was quickly grabbed by an attractive teenage girl. Her smile stretched ear to ear and Father Mike smiled back. Dawn's belly filled with bubbles that rose to her chest like a warm hot chocolate on a winter night.

She felt a warmness. The back of her neck tightened. She pushed her lips firmly against each other as she watch the two smiling and chatting. They must have been ten yards away when she made her move.

She wanted to steal the attention from the young beautiful girl. Pushing past a group of gossiping old ladies in flowery hats, Dawn landed in between Father Mike and Monsignor Lavetzi. Michael as she called him in her mind, was still in a flirty conversation with the young brunette.

Dawn stood patiently for her turn. She listened to every word and noticed every gestures of the conversation next to her. The girl would laugh and flirtatiously touch Father Mikes arm. He smiled and tilted his head while he gazed into the girls eyes. Dawn had had enough when she saw the hair twirl.

“Excuse me Father Mike,” Dawn interrupted.

The young priest turned away from the teenager and she saw him light up when he saw her. They had developed a close friendship over the years. Michael was in charge of the catechism classes.

“I wanted to explain to you what happened in the class yesterday”

“Yes”

“Who was she?”

Dawn could not believe she was jealous.

“Just a member of the CYA”

“Hmm”

A scream came from her left. It was the brunette. She was pointing at the roof of the Church.

The crowd that was gathered around chit chatting all looked up. Gasps and screams echoed. Dawn saw Monsignor Lavetzi's mouth drop. Father Mike turned pink as he reached for Dawns hand.

Oh my, Where is Luke? Luke?

Looking up, the sun baked her retinas. She blinked a few times only seeing the pinkness of the inside of her eye lids before her vision became clear again.

Her vision still blurred, the small figure on the ledge of the roof did not look any more familiar than any other shadow she had seem before. It was a silhouette perched next to the 15 foot crucifix that stood so proudly for all to see. Slowly her eyes began to focus.

Father Mike grabbed a hold of Dawn's arm and yanked her towards him. That's when her eyes came into complete focus. Luke was standing on the edge of the roof some 50 ft above the pavement.

Her arms threw themselves to the heavens as her knees buckled beneath her. Catching herself in mid fall, blood filled every vessel above her neck.

She became aware of things that she had never notices before. The pavement leading up to the church had glass mixed in with the concrete that twinkled as the suns ray hit each piece individually mimicking the night stars that one can only see in the countryside. The air conditioning of the church made a hissing, squealing sound similar to a jet. Monsignor Lavetzi reeked with the stench of slow death.

Dawn yanked her arm away from Michael's grip. The nail of his middle finger dug into her skin as she freed herself. The scratch left a red line down her forearm.

The crowd had thickened. Some spectators showed signs of general concern for the boy on the roof; Others came to see the show. The gazed up to the rooftop as if there was something promised to them there.

Dawn wrestled her way to the door of the church, shoving two of the gossipers to the ground on her way the way a linebacker would on his way to sack a quarterback. She shot herself in the door and turned left and entered a second door that led to a narrow hallway.

She could hear the yelling out front as she made her way to a third door that had a red sign that red. Roof Access. The steps had never seemed so many. Her quads began to burn first, then her calfs. I need to get back in shape. When she reached the top of the stairs she was gasping for air but that was not going to slow her down.

The door to the roof was locked. She rammed her shoulder in to the steel door which bounced her off of it as if it was angry at her. She took two steps back and with a running start speared her shoulder into the door a second time. It did not budge.

Her heart stopped beating for a moment. She could not find a breath. The air was thinning, she was sure of it. All that same blood that had rushed to her head so quickly now had left with equal haste. She gasped for air, then remembering hyperventilating as a child, she stopped and took control of her breathing.

She heard the crowd get louder. Then they went silent. Dawn felt a hollowness in the place where her heart once was. Please no. She would not be able to live if something happened to Luke. He was her reason.

A great collective gasped penetrated the church walls and into her ears. Dawn launched into a second panic. She slapped at the door with the palms of her hands as hard as she could. “Luke!, Luke! Open the door, it's mommy”

She continued to pound away while screaming her son's name. The stinging on her hands felt like she was squeezing caterpillars. Her heart started to race reminded her that she was still alive.

There was no answer, not even a sign of life from the other side of the door. She pounded and pounded and yelled and yelled. Nothing.

Her arms grew tired. They felt like jelly but she did not stop. Her pounds became more like girlish slaps and her yells diminished from a call out to Luke to more of a whisper to herself. “Luke, it's mommy, please answer me” She was helpless to her child.

This was the first time she had felt helpless as a mother. She had breast fed Luke until his first birthday and according to Henry he was still attached to her tit. It was unusual for Luke to get out of her sight much less for long enough to scale the church. Her hopelessness drifted into self-doubt. She was convinced she was a bad mommy like one of those mothers she would see on television whose child had fallen into a well or suffered some other horrible accident. Those things don't happen to children with good mothers.

She had beed distracted since the incident the day before. Luke had not spoken since. He just stared into space as if nothing was there. She was worried but did not want to pressure him. Whatever was bothering him he would eventually get over it or let her know. All would go back to normal.

She back slithered down the wall plopping her butt to the cement floor. Knees up, her head landed perfectly in her hands. She was alone as was her son on the other side of the door.

Father Michael had tried to follow her up the stairs but he could not keep up. He had fallen and twisted his ankle after the fifth stair. Hobbled he limped his way up the steps and found Dawn.

When she saw him she didn't smile or nod, She acted like he was not there. Father Mike pulled a set of keys from his pocket and place the correct one into the door.

Rising from the verge of despair, Dawn took to her feet and pushed Michael away from the door. She walked out calmly as not to startle Luke. She wondered if he was still there. If he was, she did not want to scare and possible cause him to accidentally fall off of the roof. So she crept.

She stepped out into the sunlight. She did not see him. How many times can a heart stop in one day? She decided not to take another breath until she found him safe and sound.

Without lifting up her feet, she edged her way closer and closer to the crucifix. The closer she got the weaker her urge to breath became. She did not see him and could not live without him.

Then she noticed the tip of his blue sneakers that she had just bought for him last week. Walking to the side of the crucifix, her life was there on his knees hands open pressed together just like she had taught him to do. “Luke, It's mommy”

Luke did not respond to her. She could hear him praying the same part of the “ Our Father” over and over again.

Deliver us from evil, Deliver us from evil.

Dawn creeped up on Luke saw that there was a 5 point star drawn in the dirt in front of him. She knelt down beside him, putting her arms around him. “Mommy is here, Sweetie, Mommy is here.”

When she felt Father Mike behind her, she erased the pentagram with her hand as she turned to him.

“I got him. He is safe” She looked at the priest to assure him that his help wasn't needed.

That night when they arrived at the house Dawn wanted nothing more than her husband to be there waiting for her. She was tired of being alone and felt unsafe like someone was watching. Besides Luke was not well. She needed Henry's help.

The top of the house rose like a southern cathedral from the sugar cane that was planted for miles around and could be seen from at least a mile away. It seduced the young couple in with dreams of raising a family in solitude. They could hide from the outside world beyond the cane.

What had drawn her to the house now was less accommodating. The high ceilings and open spaces made her lonelier than she did when they lived in a small apartment next to the medical school.

The loneliness grew as the hours passed. Luke had been in his bed for some time. He did not want to watch TV nor did he even glance at his new favorite toy. He just lied in bed looking at the wall.

Dawn had attempted to bribe him with ice cream but that did not worked. Nothing worked. He was not talking, not about what happened, not about anything. Something had changed. It had been damaged inside of him and she as a mother needed to know.

Maybe he would talk to his father.

The phone sat next to her as she rocked in her great grandmothers chair. She attempted to read. First a book that she had been into then the newspaper, but the lure of the phone was a constant distraction.

Henry had called each Sunday at the same time since he left for Honduras. 5:30 sharp. It was 5:32 and he had not called yet. The clock on the wall was never fast and never slow. It was the same clock that her parents had over the stove in her kitchen growing up, Ole faithful. She would have sworn by it if she were the swearing type.

When it was five minutes to six, Dawn began to worry. Maybe Luke sensed something, she thought. Her Aunt claimed to be able to see things but no one in their family ever believed her. Dawn wanted to but her faith told her that it was not right. Only satan would give someone such a curse. Dawn now wondered if it were possible.

The phone rang at 6pm. She jumped to her feet as if someone told her that the house was on fire. Pausing and taking a deep breath she answered the phone with a false composure, “Hello.”

“Hi how are you?”

Disappointed she answered Father Mike, “We are fine thanks for asking, but I need to keep this line clear.”

“I just wanted to check on the boy, is he ok?”

“Yes he is fine, it was nothing, but I must go.”

With that she hung up with the Priest.

The phone rang again instantly. Frustrated Dawn snatched up the phone and thrusted it against her ear nearly striking herself.

“I told you I needed to keep this line clear..”

“Who?” Henry asked.

“Oh baby I was hoping it was you.”

“I see that my love, how are you.”

“Not good”

“What is it my Angel?”

“It's Luke, He needs you. He hasn't spoken in a day and he isn't right.”

Henry became angry. This is the same argument they had right before he left for Honduras and he decided to go anyway. She needed to get over it.

“Awe sweetie, I am sorry.”

“Can you come home, now? I can't do this alone anymore”

“I'll be home in a month, before you know it. Why don't you hire some help my Angel?”

Dawn paused.

She needed him now more than ever but she also knew there was no sense in arguing. Henry does as Henry pleases.

“Ok, I'll find someone.”

“Sorry I have to run I'm being paged into the ER. Love you honey bun.”

“I love you too”

But Henry had already hung up.

IV

She had placed an ad in the local paper looking for a live-in maid. Dawn wanted to spend more time with Luke and needed help around the house. Besides having another adult there would keep her from feeling lonely.

She spent the day interviewing applicants. A few college girls had come by but they were too young. She like them, yes but she also knew better. She didn't need any boyfriends hanging around. There was one who seemed especially nice but Dawn felt too nice. Something about her did not sit right, like one day she would come home to a meth lab or everything they owned would be gone.

Luke was in his room. He had not left it since church on Sunday and Dawn did not want to make him. He could rest as long as he liked. Plus it gave her time to get things done knowing he was tucked away in the safety of him bedroom.

She brought his meals on a little wooden tray and put cartoons on the television. He ate very little and did not seem interested in the TV, but she kept it on anyway to keep him company.

There was one more appointment for the day. Already feeling discourage, Dawn answered the door. At least the applicant was right on time. When the door open, there was a little, old timid Latina standing there in a skirt that went to her ankles and an old t shirt covering her saggy breast. Her hair was in a silver bun and she smiled like woman 50 years younger than herself.

Dawn liked her at first sight.

Something must be wrong with her.

“Hola, I'm Suyapa.”

The stranger spoke with a deep Central American accent.

“Where are you from?” Dawn asked.

“Honduras.”

Suyapa entered the house and Dawn led her into the living room.

“Que grande y hermosa esta la casa.”

“I'm sorry, I don't speak Spanish.”

“You have a very nice home.”

“Thank you!”

There was something odd about this little lady but Dawn could not put her finger on it. She thought it could be the accent. She had not spent much time with people from other countries and did not want to be a bigot.

Suyapa took her time getting across the room. She rubbed her hands across the fabric of the sofa and spun around taking in the beauty of the house. She came upon a family picture on an end table and picked it up to get a better look.

“What a nice looking family, perfecto.”

“What is perfect.

She explained that she did not want to work for a family that wasn't nice. Dawn was flattered and left it at that.

Suyapa placed something on the coffee table as she sat down but Dawn could not make out what it was from her angle. With the last week she had had, it could have been anything.

Dawn walked around the back of the chair and then to another chair that faced Suyapa. That brilliant smile met her as she eased back into her chair. The smile was seductive and inviting and Dawn felt comfort in it. She could use a smile like that around the house.

Dawn did not want to feel desperate and she still felt the need to ask Suyapa the same questions that she had asked the others before she could make a decision. She unfolded her prepared list and looked up. She now could see what Suyapa had placed on the table: A Bible.

“When can you start?”

V

The house was more quiet than usual, Henry thought as he entered. He imaged Maria was waiting in his bed wearing no more than the sex suit he had bought for her the week before. She has her own key and sometimes likes to surprise him.

It had been a long day in the Emergency Room and as much as Henry loved playing with Maria all he could think about was pouring himself a glass of rum. He learned to drink his rum with only couple of ice cubes. The locals didn't bother cutting it with cola, why should he.

Throwing his white coat onto the shitty dusty sofa that he picked up from a second hand furniture store, he headed to the refrigerator. Two ice cubes hit the glass. He opened the cabinet where he kept the Flor de Caña, twisted of the top and turned the bottle up over the glass. Nothing came out. Fuck me. Henry slapped the bottom of the bottle four times and tried to pour again. This time the safety pour mechanism that they put into bottles in this part of the world. It opened up and Henry watched the rum melt the ice and blend.

As he raised the glass to his mouth he heard something coming from his bedroom. Henry smiled; She was there waiting for him. He would be treated like a king, like a man tonight.

But first he would enjoy his drink.

He took the first sip and felt the heat of the rum burning down his esophagus to his waiting stomach. He liked it. It made him feel ancient and alive like a pirate on the bow of his ship, He was setting sail in the heart of the Caribbean in search of something to rape and plunder. The American Captain before he lost his leg, in love with the wealthy stranger, he was young and invincible, ready to kill.

Then the burning sensation changed course. It lifted out from his stomach and climbed up. He first thought that he felt it in his esophagus. Am I about to throw up? A sharp pain ran down from his left shoulder to his finger tips and then entered his left hip and fell to his toes. It wasn't his esophagus. It was his chest. It was his chest. The sharp pain ran back up his leg and settling with the dull pain that he felt in his chest.

Henry thought to check his pulse. His heart was racing. His chest, full was tightening. Sweat dripped from his brow. The little finger on his right hand twitched.

I'm having a heart attack.

Glass Shattered on the floor forming a puddle of shattered ice and rum.

No you are not, you are too young, and you are healthy. You are having a heart attack.

Slipping on an ice cube, Henry darted to the bathroom.

I can't die, not here.

The faucet was old the sink was cast iron. Rust formed around the edges. He splashed cold water into his face. Why is there no hot water in the god forsaken country? Why am I here, why is my chest hurting? I'm in shape, I'm healthy, Is this a heart attack? Was I poisoned? The rum, No. Was it? No it can't be. This house scares people. That's ridiculous. What is that?

His body was thrown forward into the mirror above the sink. The pain came through his back and out of the left side of his chest then repeated itself again and again.

His breathe, fast and short got faster and shorter. He moved slow crouching down to the floor. His right knee made it first, then the left. He rested his head onto his knees the rolled over on his side into a fetal position. Breath deep, feel everything, is it your heart. Am I going to die, wait what was that? I felt it again, on my left side. It's my heart, no it's not.

Henry jumped up and stepped into the shower. There was only one handle for water. Hot water did not come from the pipes. Hot water came from an electric shower head device that heated the water as it was coming out called a douche'. It wasn't unusual for it to spark and smoke as well as deliver a nice hot shower.

Henry turned the handle and with a huge spark water started to pour out of the douche' head onto him. He hadn't bothered taking his clothes off. There was no time for that. His mind raced. His chest burned. His Body twitched. He was dying.

Relax. You are not dying.

His knees fell weak and Henry dropped to the shower floor. He rolled to his back and looked up at the sparks and watched the electric water pour at him. His breathing continued at a relentless pace.

Calm down before you hyperventilate. This is not a heart attack.

Henry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He repeated again and again,

Dawn once forced him to take a 10 week yoga course with her. It was a pain in the ass but it made her happy. Happy wife is a happy life. They would sit in the middle of a room with their legs crossed with a grown man in a white robe and a long beard teaching them how to breath. In the nose and out the mouth, deeper, hold and exhale slowly.

You are in control of this.

Henry used his Yoga breathing. His heart rate began to slow down little by little with his breathing. He was in control again. He was too strong for this. The pain faded with each breath. In the nose and out the mouth, he focused only on his breathing.

Taking his time, Henry crawled from the shower floor down the hallway leaving a trail of electric water. He did not want to stand. He did not want to give the feeling a reason to come back. He kept it nice and slow making his way into his bedroom. He pulled his clothes off in the darkness and left them in a wet pile close to the door.

He felt around with his hands until he found his bed.

At the foot of the bed Henry rolled onto his back. He was going to take his time before trying to get into bed. He wondered why this happening. What had he done wrong to deserve this? Is it stress? Is it Michael?

When he finally got to his back in the bed, he was so exhausted that he could barely think. It was as if all the blood had been drained from his body and been replaced with that of a 90 year old man. He felt old, weak and could taste death in his mouth. His eyes were heavy, his breathing was slow. He did not recognized his own body by the way if felt. Then he noticed that he had a hard on.

His penis has stiffened to the point that it felt like it was going to explode. He grabbed it with both hands and faded away as if he was floating. He could not keep himself awake.

Just before he passed out he searched both sides while maintain one hand on his cock.

Maria? Maria? Maria!

She wasn't there and he was out.

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

The sensation to urinate awakened him slowly. Deep tinging in his lower abdomen; Henry had been dreaming of being stranded in the arctic. The cold penetrated his body down to his bones. He shivered naked in a fetal position fighting not to fully wake up. Like most homes in Central America there was no air conditioning but the air felt like he had been locked into a deep freezer. It was still just a dream he thought. But he still had to pee.

Henry slowly gaining awareness opened his eyes. It was still dark yet moon light had crept into the one window making a hazy beam of blue reach down in a diagonal illuminating the cheap Honduran tile. He looked around trying to gain the rest of his senses. What the fuck happened, did someone poison me? Then he heard them.

It had been there all along but in gathering his senses he did not pick up on the chanting at first. Once he realized it, he knew it had been there all along, the chorus of young boys in harmony.

“LUNES, MARTES, MIERCULES , JUEVES........”

Henry knew enough Spanish to know that these were the days of the week. He learned them from Mrs. Holloway in middle school and he was certain that that was what he was hearing. What he wasn't certain of was who, what and why.

Henry rose to his feet and grabbed the blanket off the bed wrapping it around his shoulder to drape over the rest of his shivering body. He needed to know where this chanting was coming from yet part of him just wanted to get back in bed. His bare feet traveled slowly across the floor as Henry stepped into the blue light. His body glowed as he reached the window and looked out.

There were four brown boys, none over the age of 10 skipping sideways around in a circle 10 yards across. They were looking into the circle where in the center a five pointed start had been scrapped into the dirt by a stick or something. Around the pentagram was a ring with the days of the week forming another layer. Lunes, Martes, Miercules, Jueves, Viernes, Sabado, Domingo. Each day was separated by a double line drawn into the dirt. An outer layer with symbols that Henry had never seen before completed the design. The boys danced chanting over and over again as Henry stared at them out of his window.

Henry wanting a closer look walked out of the bedroom down the hall. The floor was still wet with a path were he had dragged himself hours before. When he reach the kitchen where the back door was, he nearly stepped in the broken glass but realized it just in time.

Out the back was a strange tree that grew fruits that looked like deformed bell peppers the locals would blend down and mix with sugar and water to make a natural juice. He didn't know what type of tree or fruit this was until one day Marie had taken the tops of the fruit and wrapped them into newspaper and set them on fire. After the papered had burned it out she took the fruit tops out of the fire and handed them to Henry. After tossing the scorching hot pieces back in forth in his hands until they cooled down, Henry looked to see Cashew nuts in his hand.

Henry rounded the cashew tree almost on his tip toes. He did not want to disturb the boys so that he could get a better look at what they were doing in his yard. He crept slowly towards them. His body hairs began to stand. He could feel energy; a presence that he had never felt before yet he was comfortable with is as if he was home. The wind blew from the south and the boys continued to sing.

The closer he got to them the slower their chants became. He took his steps one by one and they seemed to be in unison with his breathes. When he would inhale he would step with his right foot. When he would exhale he would step with the left. He crouched down lower and lower the closer that he got. The closer he got the more he picked up on a distinct smell that reminded him of rotten eggs or sulfur. It began to burn the inside of his nose.

When Henry was 15 feet away the boys stop in their track. The kept the chant going. LUNES, MARTES, MIERCULES …. They turned and looked at Henry. One of the boys was familiar. It was the same boy who had warned him of the house a few nights earlier. The other boys were not familiar to him, but they all stared directly into Henry's eyes. LUNES MARTES MIERCULES.....Henry now repeated the chant in his own head.

“What are you doing in my yard,”? Henry yelled out at the boys.

The boys continued to chant and all turned their head at the same time toward the maid’s quarters.

The maid’s quarters was a small cinder block building on the edge of the property about 30 meters from the main house. It had been painted white once about 25 years ago and was in need if a full renovation. The door was solid mahogany with carvings of Mayan warriors. The roof seemed like it was going to cave in at any minute and weeds were growing out of the cement block of a porch.

The boys stared towards the maid’s quarters. Henry followed their eyes to the waiting beauty behind them. Marie! She had never been so beautiful, or was it not her. She was veiled in white and naked below the neck. Her skin had a slight glow to it as if she had bathed in some type of olive colored florescence. Her hair was longer than Maria's as it rested over her firm round breast.

She moved with and elegance and grace not of this world. It was as if she was under water slowly stepping towards Henry. Her feet seemed to float above the high grass and her movements were not in synch with her steps.

The trembling began in his knees. There was a break in his force. He felt the earth move beneath him as he watches this woman that resembled Maria coming towards him. Quickly his hips began to shake then his torso all the way up to his chest. His chest was pulsating as if his heart was going to be released from beneath his sternum.

The feeling was similar to what had grown inside of him a few hours before. It grew into a pain that rained down his left side. Not again, Not again. I am losing my mind. This cannot be real. I am not going to lose my mind in Honduras. Just Breath in....and out....in and out....breath Henry.

A thump shot out of his chest. No! I tear ran down Henry's face. He had lost his focus, He has lost control.

He looked over to the boys for help but they were gone. They only thing that remain was their drawings in the dirt. Henry had no need for the drawings. He was alone with the floating woman. His heart was going to arrest and he was going to die on dirt in another country. The boys did not wait around to see.

Heart pounding, pains shooting everywhere, Henry fell to knees. A little bit of the dirt flew into his mouth when he landed. He spat at the ground trying to clean the sulfur taste from his tongue. That's when he felt her touch.

The naked woman was standing above him looking down at his pathetic soul. Her hand touched the back of his neck and peace settle throughout his anxious body. Henry's eyes rose to see the silhouette of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was backlit by the moon and felt like somewhat like his mother.

Henry calmed as if he was never anxious. That had past as if it had not happened. It was quickly replaced by physical arousal. His penis became hard even though he had not a sexual thought in his mind. It was as if it was being controlled from outside of him, like it wasn't even his.

The lady took a hold of Henry's left hand and lifted him up to his feet. As he rose, he felt stronger and stronger. Confidence had overcome his fear. His gut told him he knew this woman but he knew better. She resembled Maria and felt like his mother yet was a stranger. A wonderful stranger was holding his hand naked next to a pentagram drawn in the Central American soil.

She pulled his hand towards her and Henry stepped forward. The lady turned and walked towards the maid’s quarters. She lightly held his hand and Henry followed her like a child following his mother. Their steps were slow and deliberate.

They reached the threshold of the pentagram and Henry hesitated. He was not crossing that drawing in the dirt. He attempted to walk around the side but the lady stopped and looked into his eyes with her deep brown eyes. He had not seen such depth in a person’s eyes before. It was like looking into the pain and suffering of a million people. She seemed to be crying yet no tear ran down her face. He was filled with compassion for her. He wanted to hold her and make the suffering stop. He wanted to save her.

She pulled his hand and Henry stepped onto Wednesday and then proceeded to the center of the star. She kept walking and he kept following.

When the reach the door of maid’s quarters the lady let go of Henry's hand and walked in. When she stood just past the door frame she turned to Henry and nodded for him to follow. Henry stood frozen. Her beautiful body before him, he did not want to go into the maid’s house. He was strong and this was a fucked up dream. Looking up into her eyes to tell her no once again he felt her sadness.

He knew that she needed him and that he needed her in some way too. He took one step forward towards her. She opened her arms and offered him into her waiting breast.

“NO” Henry heard a voice behind him.

He stopped.

She tilted her head to the side and bit her lower lip.

“Passe.” She spoke to him.

This is just a dream.

Henry closed his eyes.

“No leave me” He screams.

This is just a dream and I'm not going anywhere.

Henry opened his eyes. He was not in the yard. He was in his bed naked on top of the covers staring straight at the ceiling. A pile of wet clothes were by the door.