Dead Awake: The Last Crossing

©2016 by S.N.

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To my dear wife my
Bunny,

because she is

perfection.
Love-forever

I hope you enjoy reading
this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please take a minute to
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CHAPTER 1

Remember

I needed a vacation! That
was the answer. I hadn’t taken a vacation for a little over a year,
and it was due to me. My boss had promised one for a very long
time, but somehow things had always gotten in the way.

I was the head columnist for
one of the daily papers in New York, a smaller edition with not too
wide an audience. Even so, it managed to put quite a bit of work on
my lap; enough to keep me busy until the next century. In New York,
there was always something to write about, so I had my work cut out
for me. However, I was never the distinguished writer I had always
longed to be. Somehow all the big newspapers always managed to get
the great stories, while I always ended up with their scraps.
Through the years I’d caught one or two good stories (which were
somewhat interesting and kept me at my job with a semi-decent
reputation as a writer), but I was never good at what I did. I was
there because they could rely on me to have something; even if it
was the sort of story that one sets on the coffee table for a
coaster. The job wasn’t great, but at least it paid the
rent.

After my last assignment, a
high-interest story that earned the paper critical acclaim, I
finally earned my reward for all the hard work I had done. My boss,
Mr. Freior, told me that the paper was going to let me take that
overdue time off in the form of a dream vacation. At long last, I
could leave my reality and relax: pay without having to work, a
company charge card with a $4000 limit, and airline tickets for two
anywhere I chose to go. Of course, he asked me to keep my eyes
pealed for any interesting story that might come up. That meant he
would be expecting something when I returned. He would not get
it!

I made all my reservations
in advance through
It’s a Small World Travel Agency
.
“Anywhere,” I told the agent over the phone, “as long as it is far
from resembling New York City and all its half apples; then it will
be paradise to me.”

Destination: the tropical
island of Natial, west of the Rio Grande Ridge, southwest of the
island of Trinidad, about 45 Degrees Longitude and 30 Degrees
latitude, in the Atlantic Ocean. It is an unknown and unspoiled
island that few have ever heard of. That was the type of place
where I could spend an isolated vacation without the rot of
tourism.

Packing was enjoyable. There
was no need for heavy coats, and I was glad. I hated the cold.
Never knew why I spent all my life in New York. Born and raised, I
guess it was the only place I knew.

I started to imagine what it
would be like if I were taking my wife on vacation with me. I
wouldn’t have to waste one of the tickets, if that were the case. I
had never married, and was not even close to it. Yet single was not
uncommon, for a man of my age in New York. I was only 32, and not
high enough in the game to take the plunge. If I’d had a wife, she
would have been helping me pack, as I shaved in the bathroom. I
would finish and come out to help, commenting to her on how pretty
her outfits were. I would not allow her to carry a single bag down
to the cab, as I strained to treat her like a princess. Yes, it
would have been nice to be married.

* * *

It was a pleasant flight,
with no turbulence and a smooth landing. I walked down the steps of
our plane and before my eyes was paradise, and my escape. My
reality melted with the luscious canvas painted trees, the red and
orange fruits, and saffron-lemon carpet of soft, yellow sand. It
was sand, sand, sand, everywhere sand! I couldn’t wait to get my
shoes off, to throw them out, and squish my feet in it. There were
so many colors. In one place everything was yellow, in another it
was red, and where they met, it blended into a savory brown that
resembled the color of some fruits, making you want to take a bite.
My fantasy had come true, and I was ready to give up all of my
homely troubles and tortures to relax here for the next 31 days, or
forever, whichever came first. The waves seemed to be greeting me
in; each splashing a hello and good-bye, telling me we would soon
meet to form a romance between the two of us.

The airport was so small; I
was amazed the plane had room enough to land. The strip couldn’t
have been more than thirty feet long, just a pin in a stack of
paradise. Outside of the plane, in a gush of warm tropical air, I
took a deep breath. No air could be cleaner. I was renewed with
every breath. Just a few breaths made me feel lighter and stronger.
The luggage didn’t weigh as much, I wasn’t out of breath, and I
felt my age for the first time ever. There was a friendly taxi-man,
just outside customs, that offered to help me with the luggage. I
would have let him, but I wanted to enjoy this feeling of new
strength a while, so I made him feel unhelpful as I put my bags
into the trunk of his beat-up taxi.

It was nice that the travel
agency had set everything up so that I didn’t have to do anything
but relax. My agent said the lodging was the nicest on the island,
but not to expect much. She had tried to talk me into going
somewhere else, assuring me that I would not like it when I got
there, but I wasn’t into luxury. I only wanted to relax; to get
away, and so far this place was perfect. The place I had reserved
offered breakfast, lunch, dinner, laundry, and cleaning. I wouldn’t
have to worry about any of it.

The driver smiled when I
handed him the name of the hotel. “Ah, Blanca, she will take care
of you nice.” That was good, I thought. It was nice to be
reassured. I was going to tip this man well. He also offered to
take me on a tour of the island after I got settled in. He wanted
to take me right then, but I told him that I’d rather check in
first, relax a bit, and then go with him after a nice meal. He
arranged to pick me up at 5:00. The whole tour would be just $10. I
couldn’t believe it! I couldn’t even get down the block for that in
New York.

When we arrived I handed the
man five dollars, which he refused, saying that he would collect
after I was through with his services for the day. It must have
been his way to ensure the later promised tour. I got out of the
car, and this time I let him help with the bags.

The place was a big
rancho-house, not like a hotel. It was big and long with unique
architectural structures, very nice to look at. Not luxurious, but
nice. The roof was about twenty feet up, made of straw and red
tiles. Some spots had more straw than tiles, but it didn’t look as
if it had been the workings of a bad patch job. The walls were
white, with big wooden doors that had no finish. There was a
balcony on the second floor that surrounded the entire house. It
was long and curved like a horseshoe, with a small patio in the
center. It looked like a perfect painting stroked by the hands of a
master landscape artist.

There were some chickens and
ducks clucking about, scratching here or pecking there. A cat sat
on the windowsill and a dog was curled under a table that was set
outside. It didn’t appear as though there were any other guests
staying. A rope hung on the patio, with some clothes hung and
dripping dry, an indication of someone that had been working
there.

The taxi-man took my luggage
inside, into a first-level room that I wasn’t sure was supposed to
be mine, but he looked like he knew what he was doing so I didn’t
say a word. I couldn’t resist a quick peek. It was a large room
with a large bed full of heavy blankets and a ceiling fan. I didn’t
take a long look because I didn’t want to seem like I was
prying.

A little lady came running
from the road. She noticed the taxi had come to her house and she
came rushing. “Mr. Finch, it is yous? I sorrys I come so late. I
have to go look for you in dis airport, but you not der. I so
sorry. I glad you here.” She was very excited to have me there and
had gone all the way to the airport to find me.

It was so completely
courteous of her, I thought, but of course she didn’t find me
there. That was too bad. I felt sorry for her having gone all that
way in vain. She was even holding a piece of cardboard that had my
name written on it. She was very friendly, even more so than the
taxi driver, more like a mother.

“
You find your room okay?”
she asked.

“
Yes, I think this is it,
isn’t it? The taxi-man showed me where it was.”

“
Yes that is the
one.”

“
I’m sorry if you were put
out by me not waiting for you at the airport, but the travel agency
didn’t inform me that I would be picked up, so I took a cab.” I was
concerned about her having gone to such trouble for me and added,
“You didn’t have to walk all that way, did you?”

I’m not sure if she
understood me correctly because she just gave me a confused look,
as though I had spoken in French. “Put out? What dis?” She had not
understood what I had said so I assumed she had walked. That made
me feel embarrassed, to have caused such trouble. The taxi-man
spoke some words to her, most of which I didn’t understand because
they were speaking in Spanish. He must have apologized for me
because she smiled at me.