1
As agreed, Daros stayed in his room until two in the afternoon, but didn't read a single page. He ended up falling asleep. When he woke, he crossed his arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He didn't really know Greta. He could predict some of her actions based on what he imagined she was going through, but no more than that.
At that exact moment, however, he felt she was gone. He didn't know when. The air was charged with emptiness, abandonment, absence. The kind of air he recognized as his own. He'd lived isolated from civilization for so long that the slightest trace of companionship quickly became evident. Either way, he'd fulfilled his part of the deal, giving the woman space to decide her own destiny without looking for her before the stated time.
Throwing the sheet aside, he stretched and got out of bed. Barefoot, he went to the kitchen and looked toward Greta's room. The door was closed. That didn't mean anything. He put grounds and water in the coffee maker, turned on the appliance, and went to the garage. In the end, he didn't need to suppose anything. It was easy to find out the answer once and for all. When he opened the door, only the Jeep and the motorcycle were there.
He returned to the kitchen, turned off the coffee maker, and grabbed a beer. He took his phone from his pocket and inserted the burner chip. A message from his contact caught his attention on the screen:
ALL OK. VEHICLE PLATE CHECK BY POLICE. ROUTINE PROCEDURE. CONFIRMED.
At least some good news. He typed the response and clicked send.
UNDERSTOOD. TERRAIN TEST CONDUCTED. NO THIRD-PARTY DETECTION. CONFIRMED.
With that, the contact would know he'd been on the move long enough to identify if anyone was following him, and the answer had been negative. It was good that both sides could confirm the same hypothesis. He removed the chip and put it back in his pocket.
He headed to the pool area, took off his shirt, and dove in. Underwater, he held his breath and counted the seconds. The chlorine scratched his nose, and the sun, reflected on the surface, formed blades of light on the bottom. Practicing a new skill always helped when he was dominated by anger or frustration. That day, however, it didn't seem to be working.
2
Greta parked near the town sign. She locked the car and walked to the sea, following the coastline to the hill of the lighthouse.
Halfway there, she sat in the sand and hugged her legs. She wore the sweatpants and T-shirt the criminal had bought for her, much more comfortable than the dress pants she'd worn in a rush. Her wrists hurt less, thanks to the bandages applied over the past two nights.
She remembered the girl she'd been, traveling that same route with much more enthusiasm. That girl who no longer existed. They say our inner child never dies, but that wasn't the case for her. She made a conscious effort to rid herself of the people she'd been, one by one, like a snake shedding its skin. When the burden of being who she was weighed heavy, she found a way to transform into someone else. And that moment had come once again.
It was time to stop being the wife of Valério Galvani, the renowned literature professor. It wasn't easy to leave another skin behind, but she had to. That was the way she'd learned to survive.
She wondered if the incident with the kidnapper was part of who she was, or part of who she was about to become. She didn't rack her brain trying to find the answer. The conclusion would come naturally. It always did.
She apologized mentally to the child she'd been, but the top of the hill was no longer important to her. Not the lookout. Not that path, not the figure of the lighthouse. The magic belonged to someone else now, a distant girl, a dead girl. It fell to Greta to find another symbol, another place to return to.
She had nowhere left to go. And she no longer believed in the word "home." A home isn't a house, but a family or a person you can trust. And there was no one trustworthy in the world for her. There never would be again.
3
The afternoon had already advanced when Daros looked at his wristwatch as soon as he emerged from the dive. Excellent time. The ringing phone hadn't helped with the task of maintaining concentration. But that was raw real life. Daros doubted conditions would be ideal whenever someone needed to hold their breath.
He got out of the pool with a push of his arms. He dried his hands on the towel and grabbed the device left under the beach chair, protected from sun and heat. It was Inácio. No surprise. He could count his friends on one hand. After all, five is greater than two, and Inácio and Lurdes were his only two friends. He slid the green button to answer.
"Hey, kid," Inácio's voice was almost always cheerful, but it didn't sound happy that day.
"Hey there."
"Were you running? You're out of breath."
"No, I was doing that breathing thing."
"Oh, OK. How long?"
"Three forty. The goal is five minutes."
"You're nuts."
"If you say so... Is everything okay?" The question was rhetorical. He knew Inácio wasn't doing well.
Over twenty years ago, his friend's son had died. The only son. Fernando was run over at sixteen while watching a street race, according to witnesses. Everyone knew who was guilty: a kid from a rich family. Because the defendant was a minor, he was never arrested. Daros didn't remember well, but he thought the guy had been sentenced to visit a psychologist. And that was it.
The mother, Lurdes, collapsed completely. Inácio didn't. Inácio threw himself headfirst into police work. And in his spare time, he kept an eye on his son's killer. He was determined to arrest him for anything. Parking illegally, littering, anything at all. He followed the culprit like a shadow for five years, and would have continued for the rest of his life if the guy hadn't been found dead at twenty-two. It was what some call karma. What goes around comes around.
However, the marriage was left in tatters. Lurdes had moved forward, Inácio couldn't. So he left home and began investigating the driver's death. That's when Daros entered the story—and never left.
"I've been better," Inácio replied. "You said you were going to take some vacation this week. Was that a real thing or bullshit?"
"It was a real thing."
"Where are you?"
"At the Torres house. But I'm hitting the road to Florianópolis tomorrow. You in Porto Alegre?"
"Yeah. I can head over there. Then I could use the chance and stay at the ranch for a few days. I'll even close everything up for you. That is, if you feel like having a few drinks, of course."
Daros did. Sure as hell.