Evil Under The Sun

By Chrissy

Makala stared down at the dead body in horror. Eyes bulging she looked up again at Luis. Casually he blew on the silver weapon in his hand to cool the barrel before tucking it into the back of his jeans. His calm indifference struck her as even more macabre than the fact that he had just shot the family cook between the eyes.

"You shot her!" she stammered stupidly. Her heart pounded so much she could hardly hear her words.

"Hey! You're smarter than you look" he returned with cold sarcasm.

Her brain reeled. "But she's our cook. She looked after me. I loved her," her words were soft and incredulous, stumbling and stuttering in shock.

"Well, boo-fucking-hoo," he sneered nastily. He began opening cupboards and rummaging through the contents. "The bitch came at me with a knife. What was I supposed to do?"

Makala's mouth gaped stupidly open as she looked down again at Bella, lying so awkwardly on the terra cotta tiles of the kitchen floor. The red dot between her eyes growing no larger, no blood coming from the small round wound. This HAD to be a joke. A silly joke between Luis and Bella to frighten her. Bella couldn't possibly be lying dead at her feet. They had planned it together. Planned this little farce to make her laugh. But as her brain searched for a shred of sanity within madness she knew it must be true. It really had happened.

And she was imprisoned in her home with a monster and his gun.

***

It had all begun so innocently. Her mouth had hung, too, that first time she saw him. He was so incredibly good looking she could not believe that people walked by as if passing someone ordinary. Couldn't they see how beautiful he was? Impressionable Makala had fallen head over heels in love the minute she laid eyes on him.

But why would he have any interest in her? Plain and average, that's what she was. She hated the fact that she was so tall. Almost six feet tall. She had towered over most of the boys during her early teenage years. She wouldn't have minded if she had been reed thin, like the lofty supermodels. But no matter how much she dieted, she remained solidly heavy, her thighs plump, her waist thick. It wasn't fair. She had fought her weight since she was twelve.

Makala's life had been one of great wealth and prestige, but also one of claustrophobic sheltered protection. Her father held a high position in the Spanish government and feared scandal as much as he feared his own death. He treated his daughter with distant criticism and a strict hand. Her mother buried herself in religion, hardly surfacing to acknowledge her lonely daughter.

During her formative years Makala attended a convent school, where nuns would administer a strict and cold counsel. Her spare time was spent embroidering, praying, singing hymns. She knew nothing at all of men; she was almost as ignorant of their natures as if they had been members of another species. But she was clever and quick. She won a scholarship to university and finally tasted independence away from the stifled cloisters of convent and home. She made friends at university and she worked at the campus bookstore earning spending money for herself. A fact she kept from her parents. Despite their wealth they were miserly in their ways and thought money would turn her head.

In the year of her 19th birthday she returned home for the summer break. After a few days in the house she thought she might go mad. After months of freedom, she was quickly returned to the old life of suffocating confinement. Nothing had changed. Her parents would always keep her under their thumb. Even at 19, her father insisted that she be home by 11 pm. She had to report on her whereabouts to him on a constant basis. She was not allowed to wear blue jeans. Frowned at if she wore a trace of makeup. She could not have her university friends call her on the phone. Nothing that would harm her father's high profile in government.

"When you're in politics you have to be careful," her father would lecture. "The media is always looking for something. For skeletons in the closet. It is for that reason that I expect you to behave with honour and respect for yourself, Makala."

"I do papa. You know that I do."

His face would tighten. "The young people today disgust me. Sex and drugs. Sex and drugs - that's all they think about. And the outfits!! Why, the young women of today walk around half naked from morning till night. I tell you - no woman whose intentions are innocent would display herself so cheaply before a man. I would earn myself the gratitude of all Spain if I outlawed such manner of dress."

Makala would stifle a giggle and listen respectfully. She never dared cross her parents. Not to their face, anyway. When they weren't looking she would roll her eyes and bite her lip holding back a curt retort. The two of them still lived in the dark age of Franco.

Oh, life was so deadly dull. Her evenings were planned for her. She was expected to accompany her mother to church service after supper. She sat through tedious dinner parties, listening to elderly bureaucrats discussing political theories with her parents.

Just when she thought she could stand it no longer, her father decided that the family would visit their villa in Marbella for a three week vacation.

Beautiful as it was, Makala did not wish to be jailed at the Marbella villa. She had other ideas. Her plan was for them to go and to leave her alone in the Madrid house. Her quick mind settled on an idea.

"I can't go with you, papa!" she cried.

"Why not, young lady?" her father glared.

"I have to study. "

"You can study just as well in Marbella."

Her mind worked quickly, "I have to visit with Professor Cruz, papa. We will be at the Madrid Library every day. She's agreed to help me with my research for my thesis."

Her father's thin lips pulled tight. "You are coming with us, young lady. I'm not having you here at the house all by yourself. It's unthinkable."

"But Bella will be here with me," she had declared. "And if I work hard this summer I will be a whole year ahead with my studies. You will save a lot of money on tuition fees. Oh papa, Professor Cruz is offering to give up her own free summer. I can't let her down."

None of this was true, of course. Professor Cruz had already left on her own vacation in the south of France. However, one thing Makala knew about her father was that he would not lower himself to check up on a story. It would not enter his head that his daughter could be conniving enough to lie to him. Her story would be taken at face value.

The quarrel lasted several days. However, Makala finally won the argument and had her way. Smug with triumph she waved a goodbye to the family Mercedes, Juan the family driver at the wheel, her mother waving a white-gloved hand from the window.

"Behave yourself, young lady. I want no disgrace in this family!" her father's stern words as the car disappeared down the gravel driveway were met by a solemn obedient nod.

Then she let out a wild whoop of joy! She had three whole weeks of total freedom!

At a mad run, she entered the house and phoned her friend, Lusa.

"They've gone!" she cried. "Let's have some fun!"

It was agreed that Makala, Lusa and their other girlfriend Nomi would all take the train into Madrid that very evening. The three girls had become firm friends whilst at university, enjoying some fairly wild times. Her parents had no idea how their daughter had changed while away from home. Sudden freedom had gone to Makala's head during those first months at university and she partied through the night with the best of them. However, she remained a virgin.

It was that first night in Madrid that had Makala seen him.

The three girlfriends had visited a crowded, noisy underground mall, a popular hangout for the night crowd. It was bustling with people and dense with smoke and, after a couple of beers, Makala was primed for some fun and excitement. Dressed in the tightest of blue jeans, her lips red with newly acquired lipstick, Makala purchased cigarettes with the money earned from the campus bookstore. Novelty cigarette lighters hung from the counter and, on a whim, she bought a lighter in the shape of a gun.

It was then that she saw him.

He passed right in front of her. He was so handsome, her heart had jumped painfully and banged against her ribs. She watched as he bought cigarettes and put one in his mouth. Filled with bravado she walked passed him again. He smiled right at her, but kept on walking. He patted his leather jacket as if looking for a light and stood for a moment watching the closed circuit TV screens.

Not knowing where she found the courage, Makala positioned herself in his path and flicked the lighter for him to use. Her breath caught in her throat as he lowered his cigarette to the flame. Up close he was even more handsome than she could have imagined. His eyes were a warm amber brown and they crinkled as he smiled at her. For a moment her heart pounded so hard she was breathless, her knees trembled, her ears rang. He spoke a few words, but she could not hear them.

Makala was instantly spellbound. Everything about him seemed wonderful to her. His swarthy good looks, the powerful grace of his body, the deep smooth gentle tones of his voice which lapped over her like a warm tide. There was a sensuality about him that was almost a physical force. Makala felt as though she stood for a dizzy moment in a blazing light and all the rest of the world in darkness. She swallowed hard, trying to recover her senses.

He seemed quite taken with the gun lighter and with a flirtatious flick of her head she opened her hand and offered it to him. He took it and walked away smiling. She thought he might have stopped to talk and was disappointed when he kept moving and sat down at a table with a much older man. Then, to her further dismay he gave away the gun lighter to his companion without a second thought.

Her girlfriends left her to move on to a dance club, but Makala stayed. Through enchanted eyes, she watched the good looking man for several hours as he sat with his friend. They seemed an odd couple. The other man appeared much older and it was obvious from the clothes he wore that he had money. Makala didn't like him at all. He acted tense and strained, his jaw tight, his eyes flicking around the room nervously.

Unlike his older companion, the much younger, good-looking man sprawled in his chair, at ease and relaxed. Sometimes he even laughed out loud, although his tight lipped friend never once laughed with him.

The two men ordered coffee and sat for hours smoking cigarettes and talking.

Makala watched and waited, hoping the older man would leave. What on earth could they find to talk about so intensely? But the two of them stayed until the wee hours of the night, smoking and drinking coffee after coffee. Finally giving up her vigil, Makala caught the last train home and dreamed about the handsome man all the way.

She HAD to see him again. Leaving the house early during the next few weeks she would take the train into Madrid every day, where she would walk the distance from the station expecting to see him on the street, maybe only a few feet ahead in the crowd. Each time she entered the noisy underground mall her eyes swept over it, searching. She would saunter about keeping an eager alert watch for him. A dozen different times she thought that she saw him. But it was always someone else, someone who did not really look like him at all.

He filled her mind and emotions until she was conscious of nothing else. She HAD to find him. She just HAD to see him again.

However, no matter how many hours she spent at the underground mall, he never returned.

Until that fateful day on the train.

It was Sunday morning. Three weeks had passed quickly by and her parents were due home. Makala had spent the whole of Saturday night in Madrid. But the mall was closed. A mass shooting had taken place there the night before and police were everywhere. Terrible things were happening in the city. Dozens of shooting deaths had occurred over a short period of time and the newspapers were saying armed madmen were on the loose in Madrid.

Her heart heavy with the knowledge that her parents were returning from Marbella and that she would not taste freedom again for a long while, Makala took the morning train home. Morose with disappointment, she stared from the train window. She had to face it. She would never see her handsome stranger again. The train jerked suddenly causing her to glance along the aisle of the train carriage.

It was incredible, but a few seats away - there he sat!

Panic assailed her. She had to do SOMETHING quickly. Her heart pounding, she took out a cigarette and swaggered down the train aisle to where he sat.

Not knowing where she got the courage, she sat down opposite him and asked him for a light. Running his eyes over her with bored interest, he patted his jacket and shook his head. With a cheeky grin, she took out her own lighter and his warm hand covered hers as he guided the flame to the tip.

"My name is Makala. What's yours?" she moved to sit on the same side of the seat next to him. She could not get over how good looking he was. She HAD to make the most of this opportunity and not let him slip through her fingers again. She would never get another chance like this.

"Luis," he replied absently, his eyes flicking over her face and hair and down to her breasts.

She smiled quickly. "What a coincidence! That's my father's name. Luis. Luis Fernandes."

The name obviously meant nothing to him, but she continued. "My father is in the government. He is the Secretary of State Security." She waited for some indication that she had made an impression, but he remained distant. They fell silent for a few minutes and she searched around for something else to say. He obviously was not going to make the effort.

"If you look up there," she pointed through the train window. "That's my house - that one up there on the hill."

He followed her finger with sudden interest, his eyes widening at the beautiful centuries old mansion which stood amid immaculate gardens atop a sloping hillside. "I have to get off at the next station," she said. "This is my stop."

Then his eyes narrowed as he turned from the window to look at her. "You live there?"

"Yes," she smiled. She could see he was impressed. "I have to get off at the next station." She stood and was pleased that he rose up from his seat as well.

"You live in a fancy house like that yet you ride the train with the rest of us peasants?" A note of skepticism was obvious in his voice. "Why don't you drive.?"

She began to move along the carriage aware that he followed behind. "My parents are at our villa in Marbella. They have taken the family car. My father says I cannot have a car until I am 21. But I know how to drive," she finished brightly.

"What's your name?" he asked, his mounting interest becoming obvious. The train was slowing.

"I told you. Makala. Makala Fernandes."

Suddenly he smiled. "Hey! I've heard of you," he remarked snapping his fingers. "I think I've even seen your picture in that magazine…what's it called?"

"Hola," she replied. "They did a whole spread on our house once. Mother was beside herself with pride." The train had stopped and she jumped down lightly to the platform. She turned as he jumped down next to her.

"Want to come back for a coffee?" she asked, her heart pounding with hope. "There's no one there now. Two of the servants have gone to the villa with mother and father. Only Bella stayed behind and she visits with her family on Sunday. I have the whole place to myself."

"Well, I've got nothing better to do," he returned, a lazy smile on his lips.

Heart banging with excitement, Makala led the way along the small platform toward the exit steps. He followed behind and then caught her hand, pulling her back.

"Hey, Makala, you got any money?" he asked.

"Money?" Makala stared, taken off guard. Why did he want money?

"Yeah. Got any?" He held out his hand, a smile on his lips. "I left my wallet at home."

She was bewildered, but did not want him to see that she was uncertain. He had to think she was cool. She rummaged in her purse and brought out some bills. He snatched them quickly from her hand and disappeared into the small station shop they were passing. She stood for a few minutes feeling unsure and puzzled. What was he doing?

He emerged grinning, a plastic bag dangling from his hand. He reached in and pulled out a chocolate bar. With an exaggerated bow he handed it to her. "For my new girlfriend," he joked, "A gift."

Her breath caught in her throat. Girlfriend! He had called her his girlfriend! She looked down at the chocolate bar in her hand. She was touched that he had bought her a gift, even if had been with her own money. However, he had also treated himself to a whole carton of cigarettes and he ripped open one of the packages.

"Gotta light?" he asked, patting his leather jacket.

"What happened to the lighter I gave you?" she asked, pulling her Bic lighter from her jean pocket.

His beautiful brow creased. "You gave me a lighter?" he asked, "When?"

She was hurt that he did not remember. It had been such a momentous moment in her own life. "I gave you a lighter in the shape of a gun. Don't you remember?"

"Oh, that was you?" he replied, lighting his cigarette. "I lost it somewhere, I guess."

She pouted. "You gave it to your friend. I saw you."

To her surprise, he spun at her sharply, his amber eyes filled with molten fire. "What the fuck are you talking about? What friend?"

His sudden outburst frightened her. "You were sitting at a table with another man. I saw you give it to him," she stammered, unsure of why he had become so hostile.

"Are you a fucking spy or something?" he yelled.

"No," she replied awkwardly. He was scaring her. "I just happened to see you sit at the table with another man and you gave him the lighter I had just given you. That's all."

His anger dissipated as quickly as it came. He smiled and took her hand as they walked. "Eat your chocolate, sweetheart?" he said pleasantly. "You know what they say about chocolate, don't you?"

Makala was flustered. She couldn't keep up with his swift mood swings. A second ago he was filled with rage and then without warning it was all gone and he was his cheerful self once more. For the first time she experienced a twinge of uncertainty.

But she smiled, anxious to have him like her. "No. What do they say about chocolate?"

"They say it's better than an orgasm," he threw back his head and laughed. "Well, for a woman. Not for a man. Nothing beats a good hard fuck. Nothing! Not fucking chocolate, that's for sure!"

Makala flushed looking away with embarrassment at his easy reference to a subject that was totally taboo to her. Makala was a virgin. Sex with a man remained an unknown for her. And sexual feelings scared her. They were too powerful. Made her lose control. She didn't like losing control. Lying in bed, sometimes her fingers would find their way to a special place between her legs and she would squirm and writhe as feelings of intense pleasure flooded her sweating loins. When it was over she would lie in the darkness of her room, shaking and cringing with guilt. Masturbation was wrong. The nuns would be horrified. One day God would strike her down.

"Go ahead," he was urging, a grin on his face. His teeth were very white. "Eat the chocolate."

She removed the wrapping and took a bite. "Mmmmm," she smiled. "Better than a man any day."

He laughed out loud at her joke, his hand left hers and he casually swung an arm around her shoulders pulling her in close.

They were quickly approaching her small hometown and Makala knew the nosy residents would be curious at the sight of the daughter of their most famous citizen walking along sidewalks with a strange man.

"Let's take the path through the woods," she said steering him off the sidewalk. "I don't want everyone staring at us."

"Staring? Why the hell would anyone stare?"

"I told you," she laughed, resting her head on his shoulder. If she stooped a bit they were the same height. "My father is in politics. I have to be careful. Everyone knows me. They know who I am. They love a bit of gossip around here and if they see you with me - well, the gossip will be fast and furious and then my father will find out and then …"

"Then what?" he turned to her.

She looked down. "Oh, My father would lecture me day and night. My father worries so about his reputation, you see. It makes life very difficult for me." She didn't want to say too much. She didn't want him to think her uncool.

They strolled in silence for a few more moments. A breeze played across them as they walked. The woods were beautiful at this time of the year. The trees noisy with the chatter of songbirds. The air clean and sweet.

They came to a section of the trail where a small, fast running river ran close to the footpath. "This is called the Wishing River," she said gaily over the rushing sounds. "Let's make a wish."

But he was walking on, pulling her with him. "Oh wait, Luis," she laughed, tugging at his hand. "I want to make a wish. They say if you make a wish it will come true in a year."

"Go ahead," he shrugged, uninterested. She crossed to the small river and dropped to her knees, plunging one hand in until the cold water covered her wrists. Closing her eyes she made a silent wish.

I wish for him to fall in love with me.

For a moment she remained still, concentrating intensely, and then lifting a cupped hand she drank the water.

"Don't you want to wish too?" she asked eagerly, jumping and brushing grass from her jeans. But he shook his head impatiently and walked on and she had to run to keep up with him.

The woods were fragrant with the smell of flowers. The heady perfumes filled Makala's giddy senses. Her romantic soul almost burst with girlish love for him. She saw visions of a married life with three - no maybe four - children. She felt she had never been so happy in her entire life. She wanted this day to go on forever.

"What about your parents" she asked after a while. "Are they nice?"

To her surprise he snorted in bitter amusement. A scowl crossed his handsome features. "Nice? Are you joking?" The arm around her shoulder suddenly tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh.

"There was nothing nice about my parents. They died in their own vomit. Drank themselves to death, you see. I was on my own when I was ten. I grew up on mean streets, honey, and I learned to be just as mean as those streets. Still, at least no one told me what to do. I did exactly what I wanted."

Makala didn't know what to say. His outburst had been so unexpected. With his boyish good looks she had assumed him the product of an ordinary, hard working, middle class family.

He smiled a hard smile and looked at her through narrow eyes. "You went to school will a full belly everyday, didn't you? When I was a little kid my mother used to light me up a Camel and send me on my way. She told me a cigarette would take away the hunger pangs. Fuck! I would've starved to death if I hadn't been smart."

"What did you do? How did you live?" Makala asked breathlessly. Was he teasing her? Was this all true?

"I survived. I'm a survivor and I learn quickly."

Makala was totally unprepared for the way the conversation had gone. An innocent question had brought a totally unexpected reply. Was he making it all up to scare her? Or to impress her? But his next words sounded even more incredulous.

"Anyway, when I was eighteen I joined the police force. They offered me the kind of work I like. Blowing people away." He said the final three words with a slow deliberate emphasis. He looked at her for a moment, waiting for a reaction. In his eyes and the expression about his mouth was a kind of lazy amusement. It embarrassed her, made her feel helpless and tongue-tied and awkward.

Makala had the uncomfortable feeling that everything he said was a lie. He was testing her to see how much she would believe. But then he went on to mention the name of a prominent police superintendent who had recently been shot.

"Oh, I know him" she declared. "He often came to the house for dinner with my parents. He was just killed. Shot to death. The papers were full of it."

Luis's face held a sneering contempt. "He got what he deserved, the pompous little prick! I fucking hated him."

His nails ground into the flesh of her shoulder. "You don't know what a pleasure it is to know the fuck is dead."

At that moment the woods cleared and they came upon the rear entrance to her home. The three hundred year old stone mansion stood imposing amid glorious flower gardens. The wide, manicured lawn glistened green and lush, they had only to cross the grass and she would unlock the door to the large sunny kitchen where Bella prepared the family meals.

But now Makala hesitated. She had become unsure. Was it a good idea to let this stranger into her home? She was beginning to think he was not the man she had first thought?

Her mind jumped about trying to think of a way out. They were crossing the grass and nearing the door.

"Maybe you shouldn't come in," she whispered turning to him.

To her total surprise he pulled her into an embrace and he kissed her gently on the lips. "You're not scared of me, are you?" he asked softly and his velvety lips brushed hers again. His eyes were filled with amusement.

Makala sighed, closing her eyes and almost stumbling. She was powerfully aware of his closeness and sensuality. She could smell him. Smell the leather, smell his skin, smell his masculinity. She was suddenly tormented with a powerful longing for him. She drew in a quick breath, trying to still her runaway senses.

"No, no, of course not." She pulled out her key and opened the back door. She smiled inwardly. Everything he had said had been a fabrication. He was only teasing her. Her sheltered life had cut her off from the normal day to day interaction of men and women. She would have to learn how to take his words in fun and react cleverly like other girls. She was just too straight. She had never experienced joking banter with a man.

They entered the large family kitchen and Luis closed the door behind them.