Mayan Lover (2 page)

Arka rose to his feet and lifted his hands to
the heavens. Though it was absent in the sky, his fingertips tingled
with the warmth of the sun, and the heat traveled down his arms,
through his body, and radiated in the center of his chest. He began
to climb.

Upon each blood-soaked step, Arka bowed and
touched his forehead to the forehead of the skull in the hands of the
shaman. Once the skull was touched, the shaman would raise it to the
heavens before Arka moved on to the next. With each touch he felt
strength, wisdom, and health infuse his cells.

No one knew why the first Maya created a skull,
touched foreheads to it, or stared into the skull’s vacant,
hollow-eye sockets of crystal. The old stories tell of the Sun God
and the Moon Goddess giving the first thirteen skulls to Arka’s
people. Within the eyes of the skulls, the lights of the universe
unfolded before them. Through those heavenly lights and astral
bodies, the magical power of time was revealed. A cycle of new life,
youthful vitality, maturity, and death compiled and denoted by the
steps of this sacred temple.

At the top he knelt to one knee and bowed with
his forearm braced at his thigh to the Sun God held high above his
father’s head. He could hear the shuffle of the twelve shamans
coming up the steps behind him to encircle the stone altar that
awaited him. The illumination from the skull faded away. Arka met the
tear-filled eyes of his father one last time, rose, and strode
proudly to the stone-slab altar.

With eyes closed, the twelve shamans began to
chant low in their chests, giving off an eerie vibration sound. Arka
felt the cool stone on his back when he lay down. A wealth of jade,
shell beads, pearls, obsidian, raw quartz and pyrite were placed at
his head and feet. The face of each skull held high by the shaman
reflected light down on him. His eyes were captured by the one held
directly above him in his father’s hands as it descended with
its face to Arka’s heart. His father backed away, empty handed,
disappearing behind the circle of shaman.

The tone and intensity of the chant increased;
lightening arced wildly in the sky. To his amazement the thick clouds
parted directly overhead, revealing the moon in full glory, so close
he felt like he could reach up and touch Ixchel, the Moon Goddess
herself. She bathed him with the moonlight of her daughter. A single
tear rolled to his hair from the honor he felt.

The chant grew to a continuous rolling harmony
of indistinguishable sound. Twelve bolts of lightning hit the raised
skulls simultaneously, sending blinding rays out of the eye sockets
directly into the Sun God skull on his chest. He held his breath,
waiting for it to scorch his flesh, yet it remained cool as it glowed
brighter and brighter, forcing him to close his lids. His corneas
burned behind his closed eyelids. In an instant thunder overshadowed
the chant, and the blinding light turned to blinding, silent
darkness.

Slowly his muscles relaxed under the weight of
the skull at his chest. The pitch black brightened behind his lids.
He opened his eyes to see a clear, cloudless night sky. The moon,
full and bright, sat high above him. The silence was broken by an odd
hum in the distance, and the sounds of the forest returning to life.
It was as if even the creatures had been holding their breath for his
arrival. He grasped the skull, cleaving to it with both hands as an
anchor against the dizziness he felt. He drew a breath, ensuring he
still lived. It had a metallic taste to it.

“How am I supposed to say no?” Gwen
felt trapped. Her mother had called an hour ago to spring the already
planned farewell dinner on her—her mother knew she wouldn’t
want to go and had a manipulative twist of guilt at the ready when
Gwen tried to decline.

Her best friend Maggie gave her a hard look. “By
saying: ‘Hells no, Carol.’ How did she even find out
about your internship, hmm? I’ll tell you how—that psycho
ex-husband of yours.”

“He can’t be there. The restraining
order is still in place.” At least she hoped it was. Her nerves
were already frazzled from having to sit across from John in the
courtroom this morning. He’d argued with her attorney, Martha,
before a judge for over an hour to get the restraining order removed.
The judge was supposed to make his decision by the end of day. Of
course, her mother planned the dinner for 4:30. If the judge decided
to throw out the RO, John would show up with a rolled-out red carpet
invitation from her mother. “Even if he did … I don’t
think he’d try anything in front of my mother.”

Maggie choked with a can of Diet Coke to her
lips. “Restraining orders are put against people who need to be
restrained
. It’s not safe, Gwen. I still can’t
believe you dropped the charges against him.”

Usually Maggie steered clear of the painful
memory. Gwen knew she brought it up now to emphasize the risk of
going to her mother’s for dinner. If Maggie hadn’t shown
up when she did, there wasn’t a doubt in Gwen’s mind that
John would have killed her. “It was the only way Martha got him
to sign the divorce papers before my internship starts. I can’t
afford to go back and forth for two more years fighting him in
court.”

The drink sloshed with the impact of Maggie
slamming it down on the cafeteria table. “He’s the reason
you can’t afford it. Jesus, it’s not like he had anything
to fight you over. You gave up the house, cars, alimony …
everything.”

“And I’d do it again. All I wanted
was my maiden name back; the material things just gave him power over
me.” It had taken intensive therapy before Gwen saw any value
in herself, let alone put self-value first in her life. “My
bags are packed in the back of your truck. Will you just pick me up
from my mom’s when you get off work?”

“I will be there by seven. If you need
anything, call me. And don’t you dare tell that woman where you
are going. Martha went to great lengths to keep that information
sealed.” Maggie stood, her chair scrapping loudly across the
worn linoleum floor of the University of Mississippi Museum’s
break room.

Gwen paused at each exhibit case on her way to
the door. The sophomore boy sitting at the information desk quickly
closed a magazine and stuffed it under the desk before giving her a
goofy crush smile. “Hi, Gwen.”

She was leaving tonight, might as well give her
biggest … okay, second biggest and at least semi-normal
pursuer a moment of her time. At least this one was harmless,
theoretically. “Hey, Matt. Boring day?” She let her eyes
fall to the partially obstructed flesh visible from the crumpled
magazine next to his chair.

He glanced down with a blush and kicked it
further under the desk. “I saw you at graduation.”

That freak-out feeling caught her for an
instant, Gwen shrugged it off … mostly. “Why would you
be at graduation? Did you have friends graduating?”

“Just you.” He gave her a meaningful
grin full of invitation. As if someone Gwen knew only from work and a
few tutoring sessions showing up to watch her from afar was a
compliment. Before she married it might have seemed endearing; now it
creeped her out … big time.

Only ten steps to the brass bar on the oak door
that lead outside; it was a heavy door that would slow her down …
might be faster to run back toward Maggie. She glanced up at the
clock. The night security wouldn’t arrive for an hour, and day
security was nowhere in sight.

Matt chuckled and added, “Plus you know my
dad … he makes me go every year so he can look good for the
alumni.”

Adrenalin rushed like a ruptured dam out of her
system. She giggled with relief even though what he’d said
wasn’t particularly funny. Her therapist told her to not
question or hold back emotion.
Don’t worry about propriety
if you feel something; let yourself feel it. You need to learn to
trust yourself, trust your instincts.
That was easier said than
done. Her instinct a moment ago had been to run screaming bloody
murder through the hallowed halls of the museum over a kid who at a
scrawny five foot six stood maybe an inch taller than her and was
ruled by his parents.

“So I heard you had a boat-load of
internship offers.” He lifted his brows with curiosity.

Gwen started taking the ten steps. How many
times would she have to deflect the same question? Finding out the
location of Gwen’s internship had become a challenge to the
entire science department. Maggie outright lied when people asked
her. Greece, Honduras, Egypt … she gave everyone a different
country, which probably stirred the pot of curiosity.

“Come on Gwen.” He stood and
followed as she backed to the door. “I got ten bucks in the
pool.”

The brass rod touched her center back. One push
and she’d be free. “What did you bet on?” she asked
with a grin she hoped remained friendly on her face.

“Tasmania.”

Gwen caught her breath. That had been her
choice, but at the last minute she’d changed her mind. Matt’s
smile widened as he watched her reaction. No reason to burst his
bubble, right? “You win.” She used her chin to indicate
the desk. “Your paper dolls are waiting.”

“Really? I knew it!” He air punched
and she almost felt guilty. She ducked out the door without saying
more for fear of saying the truth.

After her day in court and before the call from
her mother, Gwen had been wandering the campus that practically
defined her life, for what might possibly be the last time. She was
only six when her father had moved them to the quiet college town of
Oxford, Mississippi, to be a professor of archaeology. Gwen had sat
in on her father’s classes her entire life, accompanied him on
dig sites. She adored him … away from their home. When she’d
graduated high school, her academic career was already set. Then
she’d met John and everything changed.

Knowing he was in Oxford this very minute
instead of seventy-five miles away in Memphis gave her goose bumps.
She walked quickly to the bus stop, the sound of her sandals on the
concrete heightened the feeling of being watched.

The bus pulled up and she climbed in. “Hi,
Henry.” Without a vehicle, she relied on public transport as
her mode of transportation between school and the apartment she and
Maggie shared nearby.

“I’m surprised to see you, Miss
Kramer … or should I say Dr. Kramer, now. Congratulations on
your graduation. I thought you were leaving today.” Henry
pulled the door of the bus closed and smiled to reveal the deep
wrinkles that came from a lifetime of smiling often.

“Thank you. My flight leaves tonight.”
Gwen sat behind his seat and looked out the windows for the source of
the “being-watched” feeling. Nothing seemed ominous, but
the feeling persisted when she stepped off a few blocks from her
childhood home. She almost asked Henry to wait in case she needed a
witness.
You’re a grown woman, Gwen.
Because of her
school load, finding the time to take self-defense had been
impossible. Right now, she wished she had lifted it higher on her
list of to-dos.

Henry waved goodbye as the bus accelerated from
the curb, billowing black smoke. After weeks in the hospital, Gwen
had hidden from John in a battered women’s shelter for a few
months. Then one day Martha had come to speak about legal protection,
etc. Gwen’s heart had raced in her chest as fear coursed
through her body, yet somehow she’d broached Martha afterward.
Martha had listened to Gwen’s brief, downplayed version of her
marriage and immediately taken Gwen’s case pro-bono.

She pulled her cell phone from the pocket of her
shorts and dialed.

“You’ve reached the voicemail of M.
Lacrosse. Please leave a message—” Gwen shut the phone
and gripped it in her hand. Most people had the single-digit speed
dials programmed for friends and family … all of hers went to
911.
You can’t spend the rest of your life clutching the
phone like a security blanket.
Gwen forced herself to put it back
in her pocket.

With Martha as the buffer between Gwen and the
monster her husband morphed into, she’d eventually gained the
courage to return to Oxford and complete her degree at an accelerated
pace. At first she’d moved back home with her mother, only to
learn her mother was reporting everything she did and said to John.
That was when Maggie had offered Gwen the couch in her tiny
one-bedroom apartment.

Her relationship with her mother had never been
particularly good, yet her mother siding with John had broken Gwen’s
trust beyond repair. They lived less than a mile from each other, but
Gwen had only seen her mother a half-dozen times since then, and most
were the result of small town life—accidental bumps in a
grocery store, diner, or hair salon.

Only once had Gwen reached out to her mother for
anything—her father’s dig tools. She needed them for a
course. “You have a husband to supply the things you need,
Gwennie. He’s apologized so many times. I raised you to show
forgiveness,” her mother scolded. Gwen had borrowed, traded,
and begged to get the tools elsewhere, even though brand-new tools
showed up on her doorstep. Those she donated to the archaeology
department.

Since she had been legally married to a
successful man, Gwen didn’t qualify for grants. Maggie had
gotten her a part-time job at the museum to supplement the meager
student loans and the money she earned tutoring in her spare time.
With the divorce finalized, Gwen had finally qualified for an intern
grant coupled with the scholarship she’d been awarded and the
five hundred dollars she’d managed to save, and at least some
of her financial difficulties had eased. Even her therapist had waved
the balance Gwen owed, saying, “call it a graduation present”;
Gwen had blubbered the rest of the session with gratitude.

So why did she feel obligated to come to her
mother’s dinner? Hope her mother might miss her? That her
mother might finally understand why she’d had to leave her
marriage? Not likely. Her father had given all of his love to Gwen
while constantly verbally and physically abusing her mother until the
day he dropped dead of a heart attack. Gwen had been a freshman at
UM. Carol had justified and taken responsibility for the abuse.
Somehow it was always Carol’s fault, never her father’s.
“Marriage is a forever commitment, Gwennie.” “I was
watching my programs and overcooked the roast, Gwennie.” “My
laziness in ironing his shirts made your father rightfully angry.”