1

  Daros covered the distance between Jaguaruna and Florianópolis in just over an hour. The rental model was far from ideal for such a feat, but he had the gift of extracting the maximum from anything he drove.

  The dash down the highway evoked a funny memory. He remembered a time when he and Inácio crossed an abandoned road in an old Volkswagen Fox, heading to the mountains where they'd camp. From time to time, both took an adventure together, in homage to the chief's son, who never turned down outdoor activities. Unlike Daros, however, Fernando talked his head off. So most of the conversations fell to Inácio. On the few times he was more communicative, Daros used to tell stories from his time as a soldier. Fernando's father never tired of them, mainly because his own passage through the army had been meteoric. It lasted only until the day Inácio told his superior to fuck off. Definitely, he wasn't born to follow orders, but to command.

  On the way to the mountain, Daros maintained eighty miles per hour with the Fox still purring until they approached an urban area at nightfall. He looked at the chief with anticipation, expecting praise for the impressive performance of the race.

  Instead, Inácio stared at him, finally unsticking his hand from the handle attached to the ceiling, whose well-deserved nickname was oh-shit-handle. Face burning, his friend looked hard at him before sentencing:

  "You came real close to taking off, Captain."

  He let out a laugh at the memory. Kate Bush's voice whispered, melodious, from his phone. "Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy, I've come home." He pressed the button to close the car windows, slid his finger across the screen to answer, and left it on speaker.

  "I was thinking about you," Daros didn't lie.

  "Well, I don't even want to know what. I bet it's no good. Where are you?"

  "Just arrived in Florianópolis."

  "What the fuck? That makes no sense, not when you're driving. Did you decide to go on foot or are you driving in reverse?"

  "No, nothing like that. It's a long story."

  "Why do I think I'm not going to like hearing it?"

  "I think you will."

  "Then shoot."

  Daros reflected before continuing. He decided to leave the kidnapping part out of the story for now. It was a discussion he wasn't ready to have, because he simply couldn't justify his actions.

  So he told the rest. He'd reflected on their conversation, thought about acting to prevent rather than remedy. And he'd ended up sweeping the highway in search of her car, which he finally located shortly after the Criciúma access. He confirmed the woman was being followed and approached her, warning about the discovery and offering help. Now he was taking steps to make sure no one else would know her whereabouts.

  Inácio listened to everything, signaling agreement with low growls from time to time. At the end of the report, he kept an atypical silence for a moment. Just before Daros asked if he was still on the line, the chief spoke up.

  "Very good, that's good. Very good. Tell me the woman's full name. I can take a look to try to find out who's after her. I think we already know, but it doesn't hurt to be sure."

  "Greta Salles Galvani."

  "It was great to hear this, son. Really. You know what’s more impressive about the whole thing?"

  "What?"

  "Realizing your skills are getting better and better. You hadn't even seen the woman, didn't know her name, much less the car she was driving. And you still tracked her down. That's instinct, Daros. Pure instinct. Or not?"

  Daros remained silent. Any word would sound like a confession.

  "That's what I thought," the chief reacted to the answer that didn't come. "The story isn't complete. But that can wait. I'll call you when I have something."

  Shit.

  2

  Greta was still guiding the Jeep along the state highway as the sunlight diminished. The cities were dominoes tumbling one after another after being lined up and pushed by an invisible breath. Jaguaruna, Sang?o, Pescaria Brava, everything was being left behind. Each "Welcome" sign was followed by its counterpart, the "Come Back Always" message. And each one was one more step in her journey to freedom.

  The sky painted in shades of orange and pink celebrated the escape, reminiscent of the fireworks exploding on the beach to toast the new year. The smell of sea was getting stronger. Imbituba was getting closer, and with it the certainty of a new beginning. A beginning much stranger and less lonely than she'd imagined. For that very reason, much more promising.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  It was already night when she entered the trail leading to the cabin. The headlights illuminated a narrow dirt path between tall, curved trees, creating shadows that danced in the vegetation. The GPS indicated she was in the correct location, but the darkness made everything more uncertain. Now and then, strange animal eyes glowed in the woods on one side or the other of the path, only to go out again soon after.

  The Jeep's wheels easily conquered occasional holes and stones. The obstacles could only shake the vehicle slightly. The isolation of the place, which had seemed so attractive when she chose the property online, now had a very different aura. There was no trace of civilization there.

  Unless, of course, Daros had already arrived through the woods, as he'd promised. That was a vain hope. The number of miles he had to travel to get there was well over double her route. So Greta prepared for a solitary arrival.

  The Jeep's headlights finally illuminated a solid wooden gate, surrounded by high walls covered with vines. She felt for the mailbox to get the keys. At the same time, she prayed silently that her hand wouldn't bump into a slug, much less a cockroach. Her prayers were heard, and she only found a brown envelope, whose tinkling announced the contents.

  Opening the lock, she flung open the double gate. She used the stones left there on the ground to keep the gates open, driving the Jeep into the dark property's yard. She didn't bother to close it: she was expecting a visitor.

  Two ornate posts emitted a yellowish glow at the car's passage. They had motion detectors, as the ad promised. Besides the light being comforting, it allowed glimpsing the construction details further back on the lot.

  The rustic stone cabin rose solid against the night sky, the accentuated triangular-shaped roof creating a silhouette reminiscent of fairy tale houses. In the darkness, however, it looked like a more appropriate dwelling for the wicked witch.

  Everything was shadow until the headlights revealed the details. She saw the irregular surfaces of the walls, a balcony encompassing the two large windows of the only room on the upper floor, and a resistant entrance door, carved to withstand bad weather. In the back, a long ground-level corridor projected to the right like the tail of a sleeping dragon. That's where the property's second bedroom was.

  A two-seat wooden swing in front of the facade completed the countryside scene, the rectangular shape casting elongated shadows on the dark lawn. The invisible hand of the night's weak wind made the swing oscillate almost imperceptibly. The stone path leading to the front door reflected a flicker of the headlights' light.

  Greta parked the Jeep facing the swing and got out of the car, her feet stirring the gravel under her weight. With the bunch of keys in hand, she opened the cabin door and looked for the switch that turned on the yard posts permanently. She wanted to avoid the thoughts of abandonment that darkness evoked.

  Feeling the illuminated night behind her, she turned on the interior lights of the residence and assessed the place with renewed confidence. The decoration was even more charming in person.

  The kitchen was the heart of the space, next to a small living room. A short hallway led to the bedroom at the back. It was a portal between two different worlds: the dark night devouring the world outside and a cozy refuge complete with a fireplace.

  Greta didn't heed the imperious call of the sofa for her to lie down and rest. She went back to the car to get her belongings. She took the suitcase first, finishing filling it with last-minute purchases from the trip. She could get the food later. She really wanted to take a long bath.

  She climbed the stairs to the second floor. She'd decided to stay in the upstairs bedroom long before Daros crossed her path. Something about balconies fascinated her. They were bridges between two worlds: the safety of a house and the outdoors, the security of the ground and the freedom of the sky.

  She left the suitcase on the bed and headed to the bathroom, where she soon turned on the faucet to fill the bathtub. While undressing, she remembered a night when her psychologist neighbor seemed to read her thoughts.

  Greta was coming back from work when she stopped upon getting out of the car and seeing the house lights on. Her husband should be in another state, where he'd traveled to give a lecture series. The window lighting indicated he'd anticipated his return.

  Instead of being happy about it, she let out a tired sigh. At the time she didn't realize it, but she thought his absence had been too quick. She wanted to have enjoyed a little more solitude.

  She was thinking about this when Vivian appeared beside her, so suddenly that she shuddered. The psychologist let out an amused laugh, and Greta laughed too, realizing she'd brought her hand to her chest.

  Vivian assessed her for a fraction of a second and then asked if she'd accept sharing a bottle of wine. She'd received it as a gift from a patient and didn't like to drink alone. Greta doubted the story. She thought the other had noticed her disgust and tried to help. She gladly accepted.

  The two women went up to the building's rooftop, where they drank and talked about trivialities at first. Vivian had cut some cheese cubes, added pickles, quail eggs, and olives to serve as appetizers. When the second bottle was opened, the conversations took a slightly more personal direction. Greta ended up talking about what had bothered her that night. She explained she didn't feel ready yet for physical contact.

  Vivian nodded, without making judgment or reproaches. When Greta felt a bit dizzy, much later, she saw it was time to say goodbye. She thanked her for the good company and the wine and was accompanied by the other to the elevator.

  While they waited, Vivian commented casually:

  "I also got kind of wobbly when I stood up. The body knows, right? It always knows. It knows when we've already drunk enough. It knows there are clothes that, no matter how beautiful they are, don't fit us anymore. Anyway... Good night, Greta. I hope we see each other more often."

  They didn't. But the neighbor's comment pulsed in Greta's head for a long time. At first she tried hard to believe the psychologist was talking about the wine. Not so deep down, she doubted it. The woman was talking about marriage. And she was right. Her body had been rejecting Valério's for a long time.

  She got out of the bath and dressed. She wanted to have some wine, relax her muscles. There was only one thing she needed to do first.

  Taking her phone from her purse, she accessed the contacts. There was only one: DF. D for Daros. The surname, F, she didn't know yet. Selecting the option to start a WhatsApp conversation, she began typing a greeting. "Hi" seemed inadequate, too casual. She thought of something more direct. Finally, she typed a single question and clicked Send.

  Are you coming?

  She realized she yearned for a positive answer. She yearned for Daros's arrival. And that simple conclusion made her apprehensive.