In a Dragonfly's Eye: Nymph

By Wright L. Cooper

For Lucas Gault, his twenty-third birthday brings with it the gnawing sense that his privileged life isn't adding up. A sense driven deeper as he examines himself through the lovely eyes of a poised young woman he meets at a New York nightclub. To Luke she represents getting back to the values his father raised him and his twin brother on--if only he can convince the disciplined and focused "working man's" daughter, that he is more than just a shallow celebrity. However, Luke has some major issues to work out, not the least of which are, toning down his decadent British rocker lifestyle and reining in his impulsive sexual nature. These challenges and breaking away from his controlling brother prove to be harder than he thought. Worse yet, just when he begins to make headway with her, he finds himself embroiled personally in the burgeoning AIDS epidemic of the '80's.

Raena, wants to be more than "Daddy's little girl," an insurmountable endeavor, especially considering who her father is and the far-reaching influence he wields on either side of the Atlantic. Initially Raena does try to take her more worldly-wise cousin's advise and remain a "good girl," focusing her attention on her studies and her passion, dance. However, the power of coincidence, curiosity and physical attraction prove to be strong pulls for her and she soon finds herself heading down a questionable road she is not equipped to travel. A road she has paved with deceptions that could very well lead to something way worse than heartache.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 25, 2013
• ISBN: 9781477153451

Book preview

1

I cannot return without you, Manuel,* huffed the young Brit. She’ll never forgive me if she loses you too. He cried as he shielded the dying man’s face from the driving rain.

My daughter was born into this war and has lost much to it. She knows that it is not your fault. The older man paused as he tried to speak through his pain. We have lived this war for decades before you. Ah’bel, you must leave me here and go to her. We’ve been gone many months now, and she will need you.

I can’t, Manuel. I just can’t.

"This war has taken her mama, brothers, cousins, uncles, her childhood, and her innocence. We have sacrificed much for the fight. I cannot sacrifice anymore to it, Ah’bel. My life is the last that I am willing to give of my family." His voice weakened to a huffing breath. I will not sacrifice her love and her future for a few more moments of breath. Leave me, Ah’bel, the dying man commanded in his native dialect.

Manuel, we can make it, said the young Brit through quivering rain-soaked lips while searching the older man’s dilating eyes.

Manuel had been the young biologist’s tracker and close friend for years before Abel married his daughter. They had left their village to travel to a cartel farm to attempt the rescue of several of Manuel’s enslaved children, neighbors, and friends. They were able to free many of them without detection. Three of Manuel’s sons met death; four got away with the others and were last seen heading back to the jungle to find the rest of their sisters. Abel and Manuel managed to find a radio in an unattended shack and send out a message to the regional military base. Before they could slip away, however, soldiers captured Manuel and beat him within an inch of his life, his bloodied and broken body tossed into a mass grave. Abel had climbed down into the pit and found he was still breathing – barely. Refusing to leave his friend and convinced that if they could just get to the meeting point they could survive, Abel hefted his father-in-law for miles into the jungle.

Take your wife, your future, and my nena, Seeta, and go away from here to give them a life. Leave the boys at the mission. The priests will find homes for them. He coughed. Abel resisted the notion only not aloud. To leave the boys behind would devastate the family, exposing the boys as prime targets for the cartels. The cartels paid well for slaves, and with hunger and fear rampant, Abel did not trust that the young boys would not become chattel. Or worse yet, that the eldest boy, Chino, a short, stocky fourteen-year-old ball of courage and natural leadership, would either end up dead or groomed for a life of crime.

The young man lifted the older in defiance of death’s grip on him.

ERRRRGH! the young man growled. A sniper’s bullet shattered the older man’s neck, spewing blood and torn flesh into the younger man’s face as it ripped his esophagus out of his throat, nearly severing his head. A spray of bubbles from the torn esophagus followed as his last breath left him. The young man now had no other choice but to put him down to run for cover as the drug lord’s soldiers advanced. It was only after he was in the brush did he realize that the bullet had cut clean through his shoulder and that the pain was excruciating. He could not, however, cry out for fear he would be found. He grimaced and choked on the pain as he bandaged himself with part of his torn shirt and made a sling with the rest of it.

Several of the machine-gun toting thugs, loosely termed soldiers, came boldly into the clearing. He watched in horror as they desecrated Manuel’s body. Abel stifled his rage as he prepared his weapon, the soldiers’ celebratory gunfire masking the sound. Writhing in heartrending grief, he watched as they disemboweled and completed beheading his father-in-law, his body lurched with dry heaves. They began to spit and relieve themselves on Manuel’s remains. He could no longer tolerate the gruesome display. He stood and opened fire, cutting the men down viciously, catching them off guard. Suddenly, the jungle floor fell eerily quiet. Without another look at the grisly scene, he turned and ran, headed for the village. He hoped to find any survivors who could tell him anything about his wife and her brothers. For many hours, as he pressed on in the downpour, he prayed that he would find them alive. He had only been married three blissful months when he had to leave her; he had been gone more than eight.

The rains abated, and the jungle came to life as animals scampered through the trees, and brightly colored birds fluttered up to the heavens through the mist. Wildly colorful and boldly beautiful flora, made so by the fight to survive and the ardor of their environment, showed off in the spikes of sunlight that pushed through the heady canopy. It was a paradisiacal scene. No one witnessing this beauty and testament to a creator, Abel thought to himself, would believe the horrors this place had seen.

The people, as Abel Heath could readily confirm, were much like the vegetation – beautiful, colorful, and resilient. He’d had come to this far corner of the world four years prior to study the effect of global warming on the flora and fauna of this South American jungle as a biologist under contract for a powerful environmental group. He remembered the day he stepped off the single-engine plane at the makeshift airport in Choco. Manuel and his daughter were there to greet him. Immediately, Abel found himself falling in love with the people’s warmth and kindness, but most impressive was their strength of community and will to survive in this unforgiving environment. Within days of his arrival in the small community, he had witnessed one of many attacks by the cartel bosses and slavers who preyed upon such poor villages. He couldn’t wait to get out. His only fear was that he would not find his family, his wife and her siblings, alive.

Ahead of him, in a stand of trees, he noticed something odd and out of place; it made him smile broadly and speed up. It was a signal that they were in the area. Cautiously, he approached and reached for it, gingerly removing it from the tree limb. It was little Seeta’s Daisy Duck Pez dispenser, the three-year-old girl’s reward for learning to count in English. She would most assuredly ask for it the moment she saw him. The head was back, so he looked in the direction of the chin. During his time with Manuel, he had learned to track expertly so he was able to notice the hidden signs that they had left him until he came upon a fell of rotten trees overtaken by moss. He made clicking sounds, imitating a Simian native to the area, in a patterned sequence and waited. He did it several more times. Finally, he got a return. The moss in front of him moved, and a tiny face peeked through a crack. The clicks came again. Abel smelled fire and could hear machinery in the distance; the soldiers were not going to give up. His father-in-law was right he had to get them out of here to a better life. He went around to the backside of the makeshift shelter and peeled the moss back. The brothers were there! Manuel’s sons had made it! His initial joy quickly faded as he searched among the faces, but neither his wife’s nor the little girl’s was among them. Chino pointed into the jungle and took off, hacking at the overgrowth with his machete as he proceeded. The young Brit slung the large heavy firearm he had stolen from one of the dead in his escape across his back, picked up the youngest boy, and followed.

The stocky young leader fell to his knees, and he and his brothers began to clear away the leaves covering the jungle floor. The young Brits’ hopes caved as he thought this was her burial site, but the boy’s frenetic energy told him differently; they were uncovering a pit. Light poured into the pit; the occupants screamed as they covered their faces. It was the women and children. Abel’s heart raced. Women began to climb out, pointing back into the cavernous hole. One by one, the boys lifted mud-encrusted babies out of the pit, some wailing and others staring blankly, their features obscured by drying earth. Unable to identify them, he passed them on craning his neck to find his wife and her sister, his fear and anxiety mounting with each passing child. Just as he had begun to lose hope, another child landed in his arms, this one sucking her thumb. As Abel reached for the waif, he searched the child’s face for some recognizable feature. Two large round eyes stared back at him, immediately brightening with recognition. The little girl popped the thumb out of her mouth; it was the only clean spot on her.

¡Ah’bel, Ah’bel, she cried as she clamored for him. Usted vino para conseguirme! The large black eyes shone like lights in the tiny filthy face.

Seeta! Oh, Seeta. Yes, I’ve come for you, sweetheart! the young man exclaimed as he embraced her tightly. The little girl clung to his neck for dear life; she could not bear the thought of separation from him until she caught sight of her brothers. He was trying to ask her about her sister, but there was too much commotion. He could hear the machinery getting louder.

¿Seeta, Seeta, dónde esta, Manuela? he yelled to over the din.

Ella está en la espalda y ella lucha por un bebé!

The young man’s face went ashen. He thought about the translation. Maybe he had misunderstood. Seeta said she was fighting for a baby. Dumbfounded, he gawked down into the hole, then at Chino, who nodded gravely. There were only a few women left in the hole, and they were huddled in the darkness at the back of the deep cavity. He jumped down into the foul-smelling pit and waded through the filth and mud scrambling to the back, his breath rasping harshly and his eyes bugged with fear. The women parted when they saw it was their in-law.

¡Manuela! ¡Manuela! ¡Mire usted, él ha vuelto! ¡Su marido ha vuelto! ¡Usted no puede rendirse, él está aquí! they cried, trying to encourage her, telling her that her husband had returned, but endless hours of wicked pain and despair coupled with hunger, dehydration, and hopelessness had drained the mother-to-be. Her vacant eyes told of her resignation to death, preferring to die with her child rather than bring it into this madness without him. He shouted that they must get to the clearing immediately as he went to his wife. The next oldest boy climbed down behind him.

"Manuela, love, don’t give us. Please, I’m here!" he pleaded. For many moments, she was incoherent, as she believed he was an apparition. Shocked by her condition, Abel wept as he knelt over his wife, lifting her head, trying to coax her out of her catatonic state. He covered her face with tender kisses. I love you. Please, please don’t give up, love! We must be together. We have too much to live for! he cried with his hand on the swollen ripe belly.

His voice and touch eventually broke through the trance, and her eyes began to focus on his face – the will to fight creeping back into her in the form of color in her cheeks.

Ah’bel.

They had to get out of there. Abel searched around for an answer; it was going to be difficult with her in this state. Once again, Chino took the lead. He threw down a blanket and told them to put her on it and to tie the rope, that he and the remaining brothers would lift her out. It worked.

The rag-tag families ran as fast as they could to the clearing. The four young men carried their sister with care. He prayed that the message had gotten through in time, and that the military helicopters would be awaiting them. Shots rang out, screams ripped the air as a few of their number suffered injury. However, for each one that fell, there were two to pick them up, and none was left behind. Covered in filth and blood, both his and his father-in-law’s, he would not know until later the full extent of his own injuries. Fairly throwing them, he handed off the children he carried to some of the others so that he could fire back into the jungle behind him, attempting to cover his family to buy them time to make it to the helicopters.

Suddenly, blasts sent debris flying everywhere. Soldiers screamed as shrapnel bit into their flesh. A hail of bullets rained down from above into the jungle. Flames devoured the foliage. Piercing screams filled his ears, temporarily disorienting him. He searched for their source, but they were not human. A circle of flames closed in on the young man. Valiantly, he fought for their lives, but it looked to him that he was to become another memory they would share when they gathered to remember their fallen. Just then, a missile exploded nearby, the blow-back extinguishing the flames in front of him, clearing an escape path. He uttered a quick prayer of thanks as he ran.

Abel looked heavenward to find the source of the screaming – helicopters and fighter jets flying overhead. His message had gotten through! He left off firing his weapon and took off for the last helicopter. He boarded with the help of two of his in-laws. As the helicopter attempted to ascend, a jeep full of angry men broke through the flames, bent on destroying them. Abel prayed. A lob from above incinerated the vehicle and all its occupants. Trembling in his effort to retain consciousness, Abel thanked God. His son took his first breath and cried; so did he. The uncles all cheered. This is what Manuel meant when he had said he refused to sacrifice her future. The young Brit had not known his wife was pregnant. She forbade her father to tell him when it became clear that he would have to leave her.

Seeta popped out her thumb again and climbed into his lap. ¿Ah’bel, es mi papá muerto? she asked. Abel, wincing from the pain in his shoulder, still pulled her to him. Her brothers all bowed their heads. He cradled her round little head in his hand and pressed it against his chest.

Si Seeta tu papa is muerto, he answered empathetically. She looked up at him with the large eyes full of unflinching assurance that both warmed and perplexed him.

El papá dijo que tengo que escucharle porque usted es mi papá ahora y Manuela es mi Mama. Abel marveled at her resilience. She had already made peace with her loss and had fully accepted her new reality.

"Yes, I’m your papa now, and Manuela is your mama, for you and your brothers," he reassured her, cupping the tiny mud-streaked face in his hand. Chino’s eyes beamed with new life, pushing light through his sadness. Relieved by the new development and excited by what this meant for their futures, he turned to the younger boys, and they began to chatter excitedly among themselves.

"And now you all have a little brother." They both looked over the seat at mother and child. Abel reached over the seat and stroked his wife’s hair. As his eyes filled, he could feel the little girl’s tiny finger poking him in the chest.

¿Ah’bel, dónde está mi mustache de aver Bonita, his new daughter asked expectantly.

Oh ya, here it is. He chuckled and shifted in his seat, digging down in his pocket and producing the Pez dispenser, much to her delight. A wide, sanguine smile grew on his face as she snuggled into him with her thumb in her mouth. Her prized and only possession clutched tightly against her chest, the small child rested easily in the bosom of the reconfigured family’s new patriarch. Abel rested his hand on the suckling newborn’s head, his wife reaching up to touch his face. Their eyes communicated love and relief as the helicopter cleared the jungle, carrying them to freedom and a new life.

A loud bell rang, and the director yelled, CUT AND PRINT! That’s a wrap, people!

A raucous cheer went up throughout the set as they celebrated noisily, the end of filming. There wasn’t a dry eye on the set. No one was happier about it than Lucas Gault – the young Brit.

I need a phone! he yelled irately as he handed off his tiny co-star and climbed down out of the helicopter. NOW!

2

All of New York is abuzz, the reporter proclaimed. The list of candidates for the Nobel Prize is out, and in the category of science is none other than one of New York’s favorite son’s, Dr. Guillermo Santiago. But nowhere is the buzz louder than in his old neighborhood, a section of the Bronx, where he grew up and is hailed as a living legend.

Luke nervously waited in the diner, trying to look calm. The television behind the counter was on a show he had heard of before, Good Morning America. The reporter talked about a doctor who was originally from Cuba and grew up in the Bronx, now very famous for his groundbreaking research in DNA. There was to be a parade and several other scheduled festivities in the Cuban and other Hispanic communities throughout the city. Now they were talking about his childhood and other pertinent facts. There were people telling stories about him and shedding tears of sentimentality over his many contributions to his community. The reporter stated that the doctor had never forgotten his humble beginnings. Luke tried desperately to act as if his mind was on this man’s life and not the possibility that the girl had changed her mind. The reporter segued into the weather report.

Luke reached into his pocket to check the time on the old pocket watch. It was an exercise in futility; he knew it. He believed the action had become more so a tic or a form of gratification, like biting a pen, than a matter of function. The watch hadn’t kept good time in years. Every so often, he would look at it; have to add twenty minutes and subtract an hour to come up with the correct time. Worse yet, it was still set on English time so he had to subtract another six hours; sometimes it would stop altogether. It had become a joke with everyone who knew him, but he could not bring himself to get it repaired. The antique had originally belonged to his great-grandfather, and his father had handed it down to him. Luke feared that if he allowed someone to tinker with it, it would spell the end of what value it did have.

Glancing down the wintry street one way and up the other, he clapped the relic shut and replaced it in the pocket of his black Guess jeans. The one good thing about being in New York City, he thought to himself in the moment, was that he could sit in a public place like this in the relative peace of anonymity. Back home in England, there would be no way he could do this. His life in Europe in general had gotten to the point where he had great difficulty doing even the simplest of public activities or engaging in the most ordinary of pleasures. He could not remember the last time he was able to go into a chippey or a pub for his favorite meal of beans, sausage, and a pint with his mates. Although a few of the other diners glanced at him now and then with a glint of recognition in their eyes, and one or two, after some closer inspection, had drifted over to get an autograph, he had been able to sit in peace. However, he was everything but peaceful. Inside, he was a bundle of jumbled nerves.

Luke, you’re an idiot sitting here waiting for a girl who doesn’t give a fly’s bum who you are, he reproached himself, shaking his head as he stared into the bottom of the half-empty unsatisfactory cup of tea – Americans just could not get the knack.

He’d caught up with her in the club last night. It had been a total fluke seeing her there. He’d sent Barry, his security guy and driver, to catch up with her just before she was about to leave, to get her to come to the party in the VIP section of the club. She’d blown off his invitation, albeit politely, but it had been a blow off nonetheless.

I’m sorry, I’m with my cousins, and we have plans, she’d replied politely.

He had then proceeded, now that he replayed the scene in his head, rather arrogantly, to remind her of who he was and what the night could hold for her if she came along.

No, thank you, she had replied without the slightest hint of rudeness or reservation. Furthermore, it seemed that she was not in the least bit impressed by his revelation.

Ouch! Barry had hissed. Recalling the moment now, more than seven hours later, still forced a rush of color and warmth to Luke’s face. He gulped down the last swallow of vile tea and signaled the waitress for another just to take his mind off the god-awful memory of his embarrassment.

Pardon… Ann? he addressed her, looking at her name-tag as she approached. Can you just bring the water, and I’ll make me own cuppa… oh and Ann… hot please, dear, if it’s not too much trouble. Ann, an older woman, obviously seasoned at her profession, with an awkward orange-y tan and drawn-on lips, raised an unnaturally burgundy red, overly arched eyebrow at him, and pushed her pencil back into the same-colored rat’s nest on the top of her head.

Is ya friend still comin’, or would ya like to go ahead and place an orda te-day maybe, dear? she asked, pursing her withered red lips tightly and nodding her head toward the front of the restaurant where, frozen New Yorkers seeking nourishment and respite from the plummeting New York temperatures waited for seating. Luke checked his tone and attitude for fear of ejection; yet another reminder of his not-so-celebrity status here in the States.

No, mum, if you could bear with me for just a few more, I think she… I mean they are on the way. Ann rolled her eyes at him and proceeded to welcome the next customers as they took their seats. Luke turned to the window with renewed angst.

For weeks after the ballet, that girl had occupied his mind, and he’d sworn that if he ever got another chance to meet her it would not be in vain. Luke couldn’t help but color with chagrin as he recalled the result of his third attempt.

Well, they’re more than welcome to come with. He’d offered generously, while stepping into her personal space and peering down at her with his best smolder. It would be my pleasure to see to it that you are all treated like proper queens. Ahnythin’ your hearts desire. He remembered thinking there was no way she could hold up to the heat of his sexy invitation. He was, after all, Lucas Gault, and he was employing his most alluring attribute – his eyes.

She’d turned him down – cold.

She’d left him positively flattened.

She walked away on the impossible heels and breathtaking legs to get into a cab with her cousins, but then she turned, tossed her waist-length, jet-black hair over her shoulder as she was sliding in and asked him where he was staying. He told her.

Have you seen much of New York? she then inquired.

N-no, I-I haven’t seen anything but the insides of clubs and restaurants, he’d replied clumsily. That’s when she’d set up this meeting.

Wear your comfortable shoes and dress warmly! Oh yeah, get some rest! she forewarned over her shoulder as she got into the cab. As the cab pulled off, he realized that he hadn’t asked her name nor had he taken a breath.

The best way to describe his reaction to what had happened would be to compare it with a dog’s confusion when its dish is missing from its long-time location. A study in confusion, Luke had remained, numbly staring after the cab’s diminishing brake lights. When he’d finally turned to go back into the club, it was as if he had just awakened to find himself out on the street and didn’t know how he had gotten there. Worse yet, the look on Barry’s face said it all.

Smooth man, ree-al smooth, Barry quipped, shaking his head.

Luke felt like an ass. He had never experienced such thorough rejection before leastwise, not from a beautiful woman. Luke, quite literally, was left scratching his head. Never before had his good looks, his celebrity, or the prospect of an evening of drink, food, deferential treatment, and let’s face it, he thought, sex been turned down so coolly and politely. He was still confounded.

Barry pat him on the back sympathetically. I gotta give it to you, man. You got great taste. He whistled and snapped his fingers. She is a bacon burger dog with extra chili. He gripped Luke’s shoulder and continued his assessment. But obviously she got it goin’ on in her own right, man, ’cuz I ain’t never seen nothin’ like dat, and I been in the game a long time. Luke squinted, painfully mirroring the pained expression of sympathy on Barry’s face. Look, don’t worry, I’ll get you there, but, man, if she actually shows up tomorrow, I will eat my hat. He joked as he pointed to the black leather kufi he wore. Luke smiled and shook his head

You’re cruel.

New York was Barry’s hometown, and he bore all of the characteristics of a native. These combined with certain physical attributes made for an imposing figure of a man, perfect for the job. His appearance, menacing, and manner, serious, the large dark-skinned, bald-headed black man was one of the best in the business. He had done security work for Duo for several years. Luke didn’t go too many places without him, and their relationship had grown to include close friendship. Barry was often a voice of reason, but never interfered. He was fiercely loyal, unflinching in his duties, unwavering in his commitment to his ward. He could snap a neck in one move. Of all his invaluable characteristics, the most outstanding were Barry’s blistering honesty and frankness. They had, however, felt like salt in the wound at that particular moment.

The rest of the evening, Luke was off his game. Matt, his identical twin, noticed, and it had the expected affect on him.

What’s the bug up your arse about? Matt had asked him frankly. Luke hesitated to say. Frustration over one female, when there was a veritable smorgasbord of willing femininity in the club, would only set Matt off. Only a few hours into the night’s festivities, and Luke was ready to throw in the towel; all of his steam was gone. This infuriated Matt. Barry drove Luke back to the hotel where he called it a night, watched a couple of movies, and was in bed sleeping fitfully by 2:00am.

Some rock star I turned out to be, he’d grumbled as he turned out the light.

The reporter’s voice broke into his thoughts: Doctor Santiago is married to noted African-American poet-laureate, writer, author, sculptor, and women’s health advocate, Emmajean Santiago, and is the father of a teenage daughter. A picture of the doctor and his family flashed on the screen. All will be attending the highly anticipated gala in his honor.

They then talked to many children who knew of the doctor and wanted to be like him when they grew up. They talked to a woman that they said was his aunt. Luke peered out of the window as the report featured a brief snatch of the city’s current mayor, hemming and hawing through a speech in the doctor’s honor.

Today is, uhh, a proud day uh, for umm many in er-um a community where many uh, feel uh they are uhh, short of heroes.

The host, Joan something or other, an attractive blond with an infectious smile, laughed openly while she interviewed the handsome, charismatic doctor, whose quick wit and warm New York/Cuban accent offset what could have been an otherwise very boring conversation about DNA and the Nobel nomination process.

As the music queued for the next story, Luke turned back around to see the time on the television: 7:35.

He started