I refocused on the water. I raised the glass to eye level as if inspecting it for traps. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. All I knew was that I was nervous to try to drink it. My gaze refocused on a blurry form that had stilled behind the glass. A man who had been walking down the sidewalk had paused, staring at me. Probably because I was staring at the glass of water like I expected it to attack. I quickly lowered the glass to the bar.
The man continued to stare for a second or so longer. Long enough for me to take in his massive size and his closely shorn dark hair. Before I could really focus on his face, he moved on, the view of the dark shoreline replacing his obstruction. The moon was full and glinted off the tips of soft waves that broke on the beach. It was both a comfort and frustration to know that Therin and Greylin were out there somewhere, so close, yet so far out of reach.
Refocusing on the water glass, I brought its edge to my lips and tipped it gingerly, taking in only a modicum of water before lowering the glass again. I held the water in my mouth, swishing my tongue through the fluid. The coolness was both refreshing and sweet. With a concentrated effort, I moved it toward the back of my throat and had to focus on swallowing to get it to travel downward.
I continued to practice until the glass was empty. Managing to get it all down, save for two portions, one that ended up in my napkins when I choked again and one that went up my nose. Thankfully, my neighbor didn’t find it necessary to try to help anymore.
Walking, talking, and drinking. In all my worries of returning to land and trying to find the vampires, those three never even entered my radar of things to be concerned about. How much worse than I expected was dealing with vampires going to be? Maybe I was getting the worst over with. Right.
Glancing around and not seeing the waitress bringing over my cheeseburgers, I slid off my seat and made my way toward the back of the restaurant. Finding the restroom sign, I slipped into the bathroom. The room was tiny and rather skuzzy-looking. Another man stood in front of the urinal, but the stall was free. I stepped in and locked the door behind me. I waited until I heard the man flush and then exit. No sink sounds implying hand washing.
Without lowering my shorts, I sat down on the seat of the toilet and took a long, slow breath. With closed eyes, I tried to force out some words. This time, to my relief, they actually sounded like English, though not at all like my voice. They were strained, hoarse, and whispered. And, to my surprise, rather painful—making my throat muscles tighten.
Within a couple more minutes, I was able to speak. Still not in my voice, not at any level other than strained undertones, but at least the words were discernable.
Mission accomplished, sort of. I stood up and started to exit the stall, then looked back at the toilet. I didn’t feel the need at the moment, but I knew that was another event in my future that was going to be an unexpected pleasure.
Two cheeseburgerslater, and I was starting to actually feel like the human I appeared to be. The first had taken nearly half an hour to get down, the second in about half the time. It didn’t really hurt, it just took so much concentration. I’m sure if I’d paid more attention in science class, this wouldn’t have been a surprise. I’d been eating the entire time I’d been with the mers, of course. It made sense, now that I actually thought about it, that walking and speaking would be issues. I hadn’t done either of them in months. The only thing I could figure was that there must be some effect caused by the differing pressure between underwater and sea level that made swallowing such a different process.
My goal was to get a burger down in under ten minutes. The waitress didn’t even bother to give me a questioning look when I croaked out the order for two more cheeseburgers. I knew the change in food could cause problems as well, but I doubted it. Sonia and my grandmother had both always kept a running commentary on how my stomach could handle seemingly indigestible quantities of food.
The waitress dropped off the new burgers and refilled my water glass. “Will there be anything else after this, or can I get your check?”
“Sure, the check is fine.” As hard as it was to speak, I was already able to pull it off with a mouthful of food. I wiped at the mayonnaise that escaped the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand.
She nodded, looking bored. “Mucho gusto.”
Now that my stomach’s initial craving was beginning to be satisfied, I was actually able to taste the food. If it had been any other time, I’m sure the burgers would have been lackluster, at best. At least they looked that way. Perfectly round patties, indicating partial life in a freezer, air crusted buns, and sad-looking lettuce and tomatoes. After months with no warm food, they were the best things I’d ever eaten. Despite all that had gone on, the food brought with it a sense of comfort, of home. As if Grandma could be right around the corner.
Night had fully fallen, and the distant sea was black and endless. A few fires dotted across the beach, with small figures silhouetted against their brilliance.
Strings of lights were strung through the palm trees up and down the sidewalk, some strands stretching across the street. If anything, the amount of people milling about had increased, probably all returning from their day at the beaches, swimming and surfing. Many of them were still dressed in beach garb. The women in skimpy swimsuits. The men shirtless, clad only in shorts and flip-flops. Several were dressed in more dressy beach attire—linen pants and shirts, long billowy dresses.
One more burger left.
I was at a loss as to where I was. Too many languages and dialects. Tourists everywhere. Even the menu didn’t offer much help. There were lots of American-type foods, like the burger, but then lots of dishes with rice and beans, plantains, tortillas, and cheeses. That could be anywhere from Mexico to South America. Hell, I could have been back in Old Town, San Diego, if it were a little farther from the beach.
On impulse, I angled toward the big man on my right, who’d kept swaying into me with increasing regularity. His unbalanced equilibrium seemed in direct correlation to the beers he continued to chug, as did the increases in his sweat production. Not that the thick humidity was having no effect on me either.
My voice was quiet enough that the man didn’t hear me the first time. I patted him on the shoulder before trying again. “Can you tell me where we are?”
I wiped his sweat on my shorts.
He turned, his head weaving closer, then farther back as he tried to get me into focus. “Whadday say?”
His words were loud and slurred, making me feel like all eyes in the restaurant had turned to us. I shook my head and attempted a smile. “Never mind.”
He leaned forward too quickly, and I thought he was going to slide off his stool and into my lap. Amazingly, he did some bizarre weeble-wobble trick and remained planted in place. “What?”
I sighed and glanced out of the corner of my eyes. It didn’t look like anyone was paying attention to us after all. Maybe they couldn’t hear us over the soft roar of the crowd. “I just asked if you could tell me where we are.”
The man reared back, again making me think he was going to topple over. He craned his head up, whipping it from side to side in jerky motions. “I couldda sworn there was a sign up on the roof.” He continued his flailing inspection. “I think it’s called The Shack or something. Some tourist shit like that.”
Giving up, he looked back at the bar, then fisted the beer and took another swig.
Regretting it even as I did so, I tried again. “Actually, I mean where are we, as in where in the world. What country?”
His eyes narrowed, his expression darkening. “I don’t care if you are some muscle meathead. I don’t care for you making fun of me. Just ’cause I’m drunk dunnit mean I don’t know I’m in Costa Rica. If you gotta problem—”
