Read Online Shadowline Drift: A Metaphysical Thriller by Alexes Razevich - Free Book Online

to find himself still alive and once again among human company. He blinked back the tears starting behind his eyes.
    “ At the shaman’s compound,” the not-nun said, holding her hands out in front of her as if ready to catch him if he fell. “I’m Pilar Ramirez.” She nodded back over her shoulder, toward the Indian. “That’s Fant.”
    “ Jake . . . Kendrick.” His legs felt wobbly. He feared the woman might have to catch him after all. “I’ve been . . . lost for days.” Later he would have to explain. Later he would come up with a lie or tell the truth, depending on how things played out. When he knew more about these people and could think straight.
    Pilar cupped his elbow in her palm. “Well, Jake, let’s get you out of the heat and into a bed. You look like you need it.”
    The Indian was shorter than Jake , but Pilar was barely taller than he was—which was strange, since he could tell by her voice that she was American. Except for dwarves and midgets, he’d never seen an American woman as short as he was. She must have thought he was jungle-crazy for asking, “How tall are you?” but she said, “Five-four,” as though it were a reasonable question. The blood rushed from his brain and his knees buckled. Everything went black.
     
     
    Rain clattering on the roof over his head woke him. Water hit his back and shoulders but not his face. Something was wrong with that, but he couldn’t reason out what. A mosquito buzzed near his ear. Jake swiped at it groggily, rolled over, and went back to sleep.
     
     
    He woke again slowly, confused about where he was, and forced open his eyelids. He was lying on a small green canvas cot. A thin, gray-blue blanket that felt rough against his skin covered him. Sweat prickled his forehead in the hot air, but he drew the blanket close.
    The room was small, maybe nine by nine feet. Dun-colored mud walls—probably part of the U- shaped mud-brick compound he’d glimpsed across the cane field, but not white inside, not gleaming. One small glassless window was cut into the outside wall. Mosquito netting over the rough-cut hole was held in place with rusted screws. Below it, water stains formed abstract art spreading out down the wall where the rain must have come in. A huge centipede was making its way across a blue-and-brown-striped rug lying on the hard-packed dirt floor. Something about the bug made him queasy—too many legs pumping along. Other than the cot and rug, the room was empty—a cell. It was too much. He slept.
     
     
    When Jake woke again, Pilar Ramirez was sitting near his cot in a plastic chair that might have been bright blue once but was now sun faded and discolored with ground-in dirt. She must have brought in the chair; he felt sure it hadn’t been in the room before. The scarf she’d worn the day they’d met was gone. Her head was down—she was writing in a notebook perched on her bare legs. Her thick, wavy black hair fell forward, hiding much of her face and neck, flowing down over her chest. Jake counted her up in pieces. Sleeveless off-white shirt. Shoulders freckled from the sun. Nice breasts. Denim shorts. Good legs. A faint glaze of sweat on her skin.
    “ Hello,” he said, his voice rusty from lack of use.
    Pilar pulled her head up and glanced at him, stood, and set the notebook on the chair. Hands on her hips, she looked him over with a practiced eye, as though she’d seen plenty of half-dead men stagger out of the rain forest and had become good at judging their survival rate. A small smile crossed her mouth.
    “ Welcome back,” she said.
    It was a relief to know that he was going to live after all. He tried to nod. His head felt heavy, hard to lift. “How long . . .” It was all he could manage.
    “ Have you been here? Six days.”
    Five days in the forest, six lost to unconsciousness. Eleven days for Mawgis to work his scheme. He tried to sit up, but couldn ’t.
    “ Phone,” he said. “The States.”
    She shook