Chapter 2: Marrakesh

Algeria

July 4th 2020

It’s been over a year since I started traveling with Decker, and it’s been quite an experience. We only spent three months in Brazil before moving on, through Paraguay, into Argentina. Another two months there and we decided to explore Africa. We landed in South Africa and began making our way north. At times driving, other times walking.

Every place we visited, I learned about the culture, the customs, and the language. Decker was amazing with languages. A polyglot, he called it. I’ve learned a lot from him. He had a peculiar way. Anytime we stayed in an area, he started teaching me the language.

Every few months, he would force me to learn a new language. He would start simple, speaking mostly in German or English, and slipping in words from the language he wanted me to learn. Day by day, he would add in more and more words until we were speaking almost entirely in the new language.

It was an effective way to learn. It helped that when we met, I was nearly fluent in German and conversant in Spanish. After Portuguese, we worked on my Spanish before moving on to French, Swahili, Hindi, and now Arabic. Each language got easier to learn than the last. I was only fluent in English, German, and Spanish, but I was conversant in the rest.

Decker taught me much on our travels. More by doing than by telling. I had been in what I thought was good shape, having always been into physical activity, hiking, weight lifting, boxing.

Looking back on when we first met, I couldn’t help but laugh. Sure, I wasn’t overweight, but I was nothing like I am today.

The first thing he taught me was never to fight when there was an alternative. A surprising lesson from someone who has spent his entire adult life fighting and training to fight.

In barroom brawls, boxing events, and schoolyard fights, you beat each other up, one of you gives up or goes down, the fight is over, and you both go home.

Decker didn’t even consider those fights. In the real world, when people fight, one of them ends up either in the hospital or in the morgue.

According to Decker, there was only one reason to get into these kinds of fights: To protect life. Fighting out of anger will result in a meaningless death. If you fight because you want what someone else has, you will die for nothing. If you die to protect a life, you may still die, but it will not be for nothing.

-From the personal journal of Alex Reed.

We were in northern Algeria, making our way to a port city on our way to Italy. The town we were entering was larger than most. I still struggled to read Arabic, so I wasn’t sure what the name was, though I’m sure Decker said it at some point.

Our conversation died down as we entered the city. There were not as many people out on the streets as I would have expected. Most of those that were out were soldiers. The rest were mostly men, and mostly traveling in small groups.

A feeling of unease grew in me. The people here, the ones not in uniform, had an air of fear and defeat about them. None of them would look anyone in the eye. They all kept their eyes on the ground, and they all walked with a purpose. No one was out for a stroll. They were all intent on their destinations.

There was no talking between friends, no browsing the stalls, no one just relaxing. The only ones actually looking at people were the soldiers. They were looking at everyone as if they were too much trouble to let live, like they were just waiting for an excuse to kill people.

“I don’t like this,” I said. “A match could set this city ablaze.”

“Good. You noticed. What else do you notice?” He asked.

I scanned the street ahead and down the side streets as we walked.

“The people keep their distance from the soldiers.” I said after a minute.

“Good. What else?”

I continue scanning the street. Watching the people, the shadows, doorways and windows. Something caused a shiver to run down my back. Not that anyone I could see was watching us. It was more like they were refusing to look at us.

We were both wearing clothes that would blend in, and both had dark tans from our time in the sun, but we would never pass for being from this area.

I paused to look at the wares on display at a booth built into one building. After a moment, I continued on, quickly catching up with Decker, who had slowed down when I paused.

“We’re being followed.” I said.

“Yes. They started when we entered the city.” He said.

“What should we do?” I asked.

“Nothing. Ignore them. They are amateurs. They may try to rob us, but they are not very dangerous.” Decker said as we turned onto a busier street.

I kept finding ways to look behind me every so often, and each time, they were still behind us, maintaining their distance. I trusted Decker, but part of me was still worried.

The men following us were quickly driven from my mind when the storm fell upon us. I didn't realize what was happening when I felt the first raindrop. It had been nearly six months since I had felt rain. So, when the first drop landed on my neck, I dismissed it as sweat. Then one hit my hand. Then another.

Within minutes, the rain was coming down hard. It soaked into the ground until the ground could take no more, then it formed rivers in the streets.

“This way!” Decker shouted over the drumming of the rain.

He led me down a side street. As we hurried, the rain continued to grow in intensity. I almost passed the narrow street that Decker turned down. The rain was so heavy. I was halfway across the street when I realized he wasn’t in front of me. I turned just as he was turning back to get me.

He took us to a building with boarded-up windows and a padlocked front door. I followed him around back where he picked the lock on the back door, letting us in out of the rain.

He locked the door, then searched the first floor before heading up to the second.

“We’ll stay here until the rain stops. Then we will leave this place. It’s a bomb waiting to explode.” He said as he dropped his pack on the floor.

The building looked to have been a store of some kind, but it was obviously unoccupied. Though, like many in the area, there were living quarters above it.

Two years ago, I would have balked at sleeping on a bare floor like this, in an abandoned building. Now, I was just glad I probably wouldn’t wake up with a snake, or other unpleasant creatures sharing my body heat.

Neither of us said much. We didn’t have to. We took off and hung up our wet clothes, and dressed in dry ones. Our packs were waterproof, so everything inside them was still dry.

They didn't board the windows up here, so there was enough light to see by.

One habit I had picked back up after meeting Decker was keeping a journal. It was something I had done for most of my life. But for the first part of my gravels, I hadn’t kept up with it. When I started traveling with Decker, I got rid of most of my possessions. I couldn’t bear to throw away my journals though, so I mailed them to a friend, with a letter asking her to hold them for me and to please not read them.

I tried to write about the places we visited. The people I’d met, the things I experienced, new phrases I’d learned. Every place had something worth writing about. Some towns only got half a page, others got many pages. Maybe one day, my parents would read my journals, and see that my life since leaving had been full.

I pulled out the journal and pen I had picked up a couple of months ago, and started writing in it.

Our travels had been relatively uneventful so far. We went from country to country, on foot as often as by vehicle. Visiting landmarks, or enjoying the life in various towns and cities, for a few days or weeks.

At each place we went, I learned something, about the people, about the world. I learned how to survive.

It was mostly peaceful. I was finally at peace with myself. The thing that set me on this path, while still in the back of my mind, suddenly seemed so remote. I missed my family, but more importantly, I missed her. I still felt shame when I thought of her. Not frequently. But often enough.

When it got bad enough, I found ways to cope. There were countless nights when Decker dragged me back to our room and kept me from choking on my vomit. Other times, I would find someone to go home with for the night.

A year and a half in, I realized something while going through my photos. The women, they all had one thing in common. They were of nearly every nationality, frame, skin tone, hair color, but they all had one thing in common. Vibrant amber eyes. Her eyes.

I drank myself into a stupor for a week straight when I realized that. I thought I had left her behind, had healed. Decker rarely asked personal questions. I preferred it that way.

I saw him watching me as I wrote. I knew this was coming. I set the journal down and looked up at him.

“Go ahead.” I said, resigned to it.

“You are writing again.” He said. Not a question. A statement.

“Yes,” I said simply.

“You mentioned you stopped doing this before we met. Why start again since?” He asked.

“Seemed like a good idea after Morocco." I said.

“Ah, are you ready to talk about it?” He asked.

“Surely you’ve figured it out by now.” I said.

“Some of it. You are running from something,” he said, watching me intently. “A woman, isn’t it?”

“If it is?” I asked, my mouth going dry.

He reached into his pack and pulled out a bundle of photos.

“You were not in a good place when you threw these out. Maybe you are ready to have them back?” He said as he handed them to me.

The top photo was of her. It felt like my heart stopped as I looked at her amber eyes and crooked smile. She had black hair with purple highlights. I kept it with the others, but it was usually in the middle of the stack.

“She is the one you are running from.” He said simply. “You don’t have to tell me, but it might help if you do.”

“Yes. I am running from her.” I said.

“Is she?” he asked.

“Dead? No, but I did something unforgivable to her. Something I can never forgive myself for.” I said.

“What did you do to her?” He asked, his eyes full of concern. “You are not a bad person Alex, this I know.”

“I let her fall in love with me.” I said, feeling tears fill my eyes as shame filled me.

I thought back to that day nearly five years ago.

The summer after I graduated high school. It was the last time I remembered being happy. I was going off to college that fall, so I spent the summer enjoying life. Spending time with friends, with family. I spent a lot of time with Val. I was going to miss seeing her each day once I left for college.

There was a party my friend Kendra was throwing. I rarely went to parties, but I liked Kendra, and she invited me. The party was great. There was a DJ, lots of people, and most of the rooms were lit with black lights. Lots of beer and weed.

I spent most of the night dancing and making out with Kendra. We had been friends for years. We had fooled around in the past. A lot of kissing, and some oral, but we had never had sex. She was going off to college soon. I would go to Cal Tech while she would head to Princeton. After a couple more weeks, we’d not see each other again until the following summer.

I don't know what time it was when she led me upstairs. The party had been dying down for an hour or more. People had passed out all over the place. Kendra took me to her bedroom, which she had locked to keep anyone else out of.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ve got to go to the bathroom, and then I’ll join you in bed.” She said in my ear.

I didn’t bother turning the lights on. After hurriedly undressing, I climbed into her bed to wait for her. It didn’t take long before she joined me. She didn’t turn the light on either, and when she climbed into bed with me, she grabbed my hand and placed it on her bare breast.

She wasn’t my first, but I seemed to be hers. She let me take the lead. I’d like to say it lasted longer than it did, but that would be a lie. We took turns going down on each other. I can still remember the taste of her to this day.

I made out with her as I entered her. I remember the feeling of being inside her better now than I do my first partner. Her moans in my ear. Her legs wrapped around me. Like a moment etched into my memory. The feeling of her back arching, her fingers digging into my back, her legs locking around me as she had an orgasm. Her panting in my ear as I finished inside her a minute later.

I rolled off her, and she rolled onto her side and pressed herself against me. I fell asleep with her in my arms after we finished. A perfect ending to a great night.

My world came crashing down around me when the sun came up. Even after a night of drinking and dancing, I woke early. Partially because of the sunlight stabbing me in the eyes.

I threw the blankets back, and started extracting myself from Kendra’s embrace, trying not to wake her. I hurried to the bathroom, eager to return to bed, both to finish my sleep, and to hold her again.

As I climbed back into bed, I noticed something strange. Kendra was still lying on her side. I couldn’t see her face, her hair covered it. It took a minute for my mind to catch up with what my eyes were seeing. Kendra had auburn hair and was completely against dyeing it. The naked woman in the bed I had just crawled out of had black hair, with purple highlights.

The same black hair with purple highlights I had seen every day for the past year. It wasn’t always that color, but for the last year it had been. I remember when she dyed it. Mom was furious. Not because she dyed it, but because she spilled the dye on one of Mom’s nice towels.

I felt bile in the back of my throat. I scrambled to get dressed. In my haste, I fell into a table, knocking it over.

I realized my worst fear when she brushed her hair away from her face. Valerie.

“Alex, wait!” she said as I ran out of the room.

I can still hear her calling to me. My step sister’s voice.

I made it about a block before I dropped to my knees and puked my guts out as the realization of what I had done slammed into me. That I had slept with her. That I took her virginity. How the hell did I end up in bed with her? I didn’t remember her being there at the party. Mom wouldn’t let her go. Was I so drunk I didn’t remember getting into bed with my sister after I had sex with Kendra? Did I have sex with Kendra?

Memories of her filled my mind as I recounted the story to Decker. The memory of the first time I met her. I had just turned ten when her father moved into the house next door. She was eight. I remember her following me around all summer. Walking with her to school. Helping her with her homework.

Our parents got married five years later, and they moved in with us. We were the best of friends, and now we were siblings. It was the happiest day for all four of us.

I remember when I moved to high school, and I started driving her to middle school. She was so happy when she entered high school with me. I was a junior when she started high school, but we were inseparable.

“What did you do?” Decker asked as I trailed off.

“What could I do?” I asked. “I fled. Nothing made sense. I felt scared, and I couldn’t go home. Certainly, my parents would hate me. Hadn’t I just raped my sister? I knew she would hate me. When our parents got married, I promised to protect her. When she became my sister. I didn’t know the person she needed protecting from was me.”

“You never went home?” He asked.

“Not for a couple of weeks. I went back for my car, speeding away as my sister ran out of Kendra’s house yelling for me to stop. I stayed with a friend of a friend for a while. Val found me one day. I don't know if she was looking for me, or if it was chance.”

I remembered that day clearly. I was sitting in my car, considering what to do next. It was a parking lot of a fast-food place. I was watching my phone go nuts after turning it on for the first time in a week. The number of voicemails and text messages coming in bogged down my phone, making it unusable. The notification sound, a robotic chirp, sounded more like a robot having a seizure.

I’d closed my eyes, just waiting for the phone to finish. I needed to access my banking app to transfer money to my card. After that, I was going to shut it off again.

I jerked my head up as someone yanked open the passenger door of my car.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Val demanded as she slid into the passenger seat. “Do you have any idea how scared I’ve been?”

I just stared at her in shock, my mouth hanging open.

“Well? Answer me, you fucking asshole!” She yelled as tears started flowing from her eyes. “I’ve been worried sick about you!”

“Val? Why are you here?” I stammered.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, you jerk!” she spat. “I don’t know how much longer Mom and Dad are going to believe you’re on a road trip with friends. You’ve got to come home.”

“Come home? Val, after what I did to you, I can’t go home. Why are you covering for me? You know what I am,” I demanded.

“What you did? What the fuck are you talking about, Alex?” she demanded. “Oh my god, you idiot. The only thing you’ve done wrong is to make me terrified something happened to you! What happened at Kendra’s house? I wanted that! I wanted you, you big dummy! I love you!”

I jerked back to the present at the sound of a crash coming from downstairs.

Decker was up on his feet before I had even processed what I’d heard. He held a finger to his mouth as he silently left the room. It sounded like someone was struggling downstairs. At first, I wanted to dismiss it as someone just trying to escape the storm. Then I heard a woman cry out in fear.

I grabbed my belt knife and followed Decker. He was already at the bottom of the stairs, listening and holding a hand up to stop me when I reached the last step. I could hear voices coming from the back room of the shop. There were the sounds of a struggle, then a grunt of pain.

I held my dagger the way he had trained me to, in the ice pick grip, and waited for his signal.

He listened for a minute. I could hear what sounded like two different men besides the woman, who was still crying out.

He held up two fingers and gestured towards the back door. I followed him out of the stairwell and took up position next to the door to the room the voices were coming from.

He took the chance to look through the doorway. His eyes went cold at what he saw. It was not a look I had seen on his face before.

“Remember what I taught you about fighting? This is one time where there is not a suitable alternative. There are two of them, and they have a woman. The one on the left has a gun on his belt. The other doesn't have a visible weapon, but we’d be fools to assume he’s unarmed.” Decker said, his voice barely audible above the storm. “I’ll take the one on the left. You take the one that has the woman. Strike fast.”

I nodded and tightened my grip on the combat knife he had gifted me. He turned and moved through the door quickly. I followed a second behind. The second delay was enough for the armed one to grunt in surprise as he saw Decker and reached for his gun.

Decker was on him before he could draw it. One hand clamped down on the gun as the other drove into the man’s body just below the ribs.

The other man shoved the woman down as he turned to face me. I had only covered half the distance to him when he drew a knife and moved into a fighter’s stance, facing me.

I pushed the fear away. The man held himself as if he knew how to fight. Decker and the other man were on the other side of the room, locked together, raining blows on each other.

The woman looked up at me from the floor, tears in her eyes. I saw a brief look of hope in her eyes. The man standing above her was a different story. All I saw in his eyes was cold disgust. I felt an icy hand grip my heart. This man was a killer. I would not survive this. I just had to stay alive long enough for Decker to finish with the other one.

“I’m sorry, Val.” I whispered as I moved towards what was likely to be my death.

Decker drove one lesson into me above all others. If you can run from a fight, do so. The only fight worth engaging in is one to protect something precious to you. I didn’t know this woman, but in this moment, her life was precious to me, and I would give mine to save hers.

The man jabbed his knife at me, testing me. I held mine in close to me. With the other arm up in a shielding position, I moved forward. He jabbed at me again, and I stepped to the side, avoiding it. Fire along my ribs told me I hadn’t stepped far enough. I jerked my elbow down into his arm, knocking it away, as I slashed at him with the hand holding my knife.

He knocked my knife hand aside, and I cried out as he slashed me across my chest.

His eyes went wide as the woman’s legs clamped around his ankle. This was my chance. If I could trap his knife hand, I might not have to kill him. Even distracted by the woman, he saw me coming at him, and brought his knife up.

I made peace with death as I moved in. My life for hers was a small price to pay. I didn’t need to win this fight. I probably couldn’t. Even with a struggling woman doing her best to knock him off balance, he deflected my strike.

I hissed as his blade sliced open my forearm. I knocked his blade hand aside and moved within his reach. His eyes went wide as my knife plunged into his body, just below the ribs, and angled up. Hot blood washed over my hand as I watched the life leave his eyes.

I dropped to my knees, losing my grip on my knife as he fell forward against me. The air was driven from my lungs when I hit the floor. My head hit the floor, and stars exploded in my vision.

“Alex!” a distant voice shouted.

I don't know how many seconds passed before someone pulled the weight of the man I had just killed off of me.

“There’s so much blood! Where are you hurt?” A voice asked.

I felt gentle hands probing me. Looking for wounds. I opened my eyes and saw the woman kneeling over me on one side, and Decker on the other.

“Not mine, mostly.” I said as I got my wind back. “Left arm, ribs, and chest.”

Decker ripped my shirt open and inspected the wound on my ribs and chest

“The wind was knocked out of me.” I said as I tried to sit up.

“Stay put and let your friend check you over.” The woman said as she held my hand.

I obeyed her and lay there, wincing as Decker checked my wounds. His hands were surprisingly gentle.

“You’re going to need stitches, but none of the wounds are too bad. You did well, Alex.” he said as he sat back.

“Doesn’t feel like I did well.” I said as the woman helped me sit up.

“Oh, I’m sure it hurts like hell.” He said with a sigh.

“What language is that?” The woman asked.

It took me a moment to realize we had been talking in German.

“Sorry.” I said, switching back to English as I shook my head. “German.”

“You’re still alive. You don't need a surgeon, and you took your enemy out before he could kill you or her. Trust me, you did well.” Decker said in English.

He stood and helped me stand.

“Let’s get upstairs and get you cleaned up.” He said.

The woman stood with us and took my arm, supporting me. I looked over at her and then realized that her shirt was ripped open.

“Sorry.” I said as I jerked my head to look forward, trying hard not to look over at her.

“Don’t worry.” She said as she guided me up the stairs.

They lowered me down onto the floor of the room we had been in before.

“Miss, can you see if there is anything you can fill with water from the sink, if it’s still working?” Decker asked as he pulled a first-aid kit out of his pack. “We need to wash the wounds.”

“Of course.” She said as she stood up.

She disappeared through a doorway, returning a minute later with a dented pot half full of water.

“We’re in luck.” She said as she knelt down next to me. “The water is still running, and they left this behind.”

“Perfect,” Decker said as he handed her some cloth. “Can you wash his chest and ribs while I see to his arm?”

Someone pressed a bottle into my other hand.

“Take a couple of swigs.” Decker said. “This is going to hurt.”

I took a swig from the bottle and hissed as the vodka burned my throat. Then I took a second and third swig for good measure.

I handed the bottle back and lay back, letting them work. I regretted giving it back when he began cleaning my wounds with the alcohol.

I must have passed out, because when I opened my eyes again, Decker was busy building a fire in the wood stove. My head was resting on the woman’s lap as she stroked my hair. I looked down at my chest and saw it had bandages taped to it. As did my arm when I lifted it.

“Rest,” the woman said as she continued stroking my head.

I closed my eyes again and fell back asleep.

I woke again sometime later. The woman was still holding me, but this time she had a shirt on, and she was leaning back against the wall asleep.

I sat up, careful not to wake her. Decker was sitting against the far wall, watching me.

“How are you feeling?” He asked once I was up.

“Like someone tried to fillet me.” I said, wincing at the pain.

“Someone nearly did.” He laughed softly. “You’ll have some scars to show for it.”

I looked at the sleeping woman as I stood up. She looked to be around my age, give or take a couple of years. She had tan skin and long and curly chestnut brown hair. From what I remember as she helped me up the stairs, she was a few inches shorter than me.

I hissed in pain as I sat down next to Decker.

“Talk to me.” He said.

“I killed a man.” I replied.

“You did.” He said. “Your first, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. I watched the life leave his eyes.” I said, with the memory fresh in my mind. “But I had to.”

“Yeah.”

I sat there in silence, watching her sleep.

“I understand what you mean now. She saved me, you know.” I said. “He had already cut me up. You were dealing with the other one. He was toying with me. I saw it in his eyes. I knew I couldn’t hold him off any longer, and would likely die trying. As I moved in, I knew I would die with him. But she tripped him. Knocked him off balance enough that I could end it.”

“I didn’t see that. That was a hard choice you had to make.” He said as he placed his hand on my shoulder. “You did well. I would have made the same choice in your shoes.”

We sat there in silence for a while, listening to the sound of the storm and the crackle of the fire in the wood stove.

As I sat there, I watched the woman sleep. I didn’t know a thing about her, but I had been willing to die for her. I nearly did. Would I have made the same choice five years ago? I’m not so sure.

“I don’t think she is from here.” Decker said. “She speaks English like a native, and doesn’t seem to understand Arabic or Farsi. She wouldn’t leave your side once I had you stitched up.”

Her head rocked from side to side, and she started whimpering in her sleep. A nightmare. A worse one than what she just lived through?

I gritted my teeth as I stood and walked over to my pack. The blanket wrapped in oilcloth tied to the bottom of it was thin, but it was better than nothing. I unrolled it and knelt down next to the woman.

I squeezed her hand gently, trying to wake her without scaring her.

Her eyes flew open, and she tried scrambling away from me as she looked around fearfully. When her eyes finally locked on mine, she relaxed.

“Sorry. You looked like you were having a nightmare.” I said. “Why don’t you lie down? I brought you a blanket, and you can use my pack as a pillow.”

She watched me for a moment, then looked over to where Decker sat.

“I will accept your blanket if you sleep next to me.” She said at last. “Please? I want to feel safe, and you need its warmth as much as I do.”

I nodded as I sat my pack down. She lay down on her side with her back against the wall. Laying down next to her, I pulled the blanket over us.

Within minutes, she was asleep.

Chapter 1: First Meeting

March 22nd, 2020

As much as I enjoyed the charm of smaller towns and dusty villages along the West African coast, there was something comforting about a proper city. Marrakesh wasn’t the largest place I’d ever been, far from it, but it dwarfed the town I grew up in. A city with soul, pulsing with music, color, scent, and motion. It offered a kind of anonymity that rural stops couldn’t.

There was always something to see here. Markets that stayed alive well into the night, street food that dared your stomach to survive it, rooftop cafes glowing in the dusk. Decker, however, wasn’t interested in any of it tonight. He wanted rest.

“You go,” he said, already sprawled on his bed in the suites other room. “Have your fun.”

We traveled light, backpacks only. No luggage, no souvenirs. But in cities like this, when we stayed for more than a couple of nights, I allowed myself one indulgence: a clean, well-fitted outfit. Something that didn’t smell like sea salt and sweat.

The club that was recommended to me was nicer than I expected. Not just a hole-in-the-wall with cheap beer and loud bass, but a real place with polished floors, a massive dance floor lit like a kaleidoscope, beautiful waitresses gliding between tables, and a guest DJ from Spain spinning a mix of local rhythms and international house beats. I decided to splurge and bought out a VIP booth with bottle service. No real plan. I just wanted a night without thinking, without worrying.

I drifted between the dance floor and the booth. Sometimes I danced alone, sometimes with strangers. The women were friendly, fun, and gorgeous, but none of them caught my interest beyond a shared dance. After a few songs, we’d part ways. Occasionally, one would follow me back to the booth for a drink and some light conversation, but they never stayed long. I wasn’t offering anything more than good company.

I was just about to call it a night, body aching pleasantly, mind buzzing with drink and music, when I saw her again.

She’d been there all evening. Hard not to notice her. While most women clustered in groups, laughing and moving in circles of friends, she was alone. Not awkwardly so, but deliberately. She had a quiet presence of someone who didn’t need anyone to validate her.

I’d watched her from time to time out of curiosity. She turned away almost every person who approached. Men and women alike. Never rudely, but decisively. She didn’t dance, didn’t linger in conversation. She simply watched. Like I did.

She was beautiful, sure, but so were plenty of women in that club. What drew my eye wasn’t her looks. It was in her stillness. Her restraint. A kind of self-possession that seemed out of place in a place built for excess.

She stood maybe a couple of inches over five feet, with smooth bronze skin, and auburn hair streaked with blonde highlights that caught the light like copper. Her dress was backless black silk, clinging in all the right ways, with red accents that hinted at fire beneath elegance.

But what caught me wasn’t the dress or the hair. It was the moment she looked up and met my eyes.

And then she crossed the room, heading straight for my booth.

The hostess glanced at me as she approached, ready to intercept her, like she had others before. I nodded slightly. Permission granted.

There was something different about this one.

She slid into the booth like she belonged there, crossing one leg over the other, her movements effortless.

“I’m Mira,” she said, voice warm and low, extending a hand with a faint smile.

“Alex,” I replied, taking her fingers and brushing them with a light kiss, half out of charm, half to see how she’d react.

She didn’t flinch or blush. Just smiled a little wider.

The hostess filled two flutes with champagne and vanished again. Mira didn’t touch hers at first. She let her fingers rest on the stem, watching me. When she finally picked it up, I took that as my cue.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Mira?” I asked, clinking my glass gently against hers.

“Curiosity,” she said with a laugh that was warmer than her cool exterior suggested.

“Do tell.”

“You’re an interesting one, Alex. I’ve been watching you tonight. You’re here alone. You bought this booth but haven’t really shared it. You dance, not like someone who is experienced at it, but well enough. You let women join you afterward, but you don’t lead them on. They drink, they talk, and then they leave.”

She took a sip before continuing.

“You’ve been nursing the same drink for hours. Haven’t touched the bottle, really. And when you looked at me, it wasn’t the way the others did. You weren’t sizing me up. You were… observing.”

I raised an eyebrow, impressed. “That’s more than passing curiosity.”

She looked down at her glass, swirling the champagne gently.

“I was supposed to meet someone here tonight,” she said, quieter now. “I don’t think they’re coming.”

“Your husband?” I asked. No ring, but I didn’t know the customs here.

“My fiancé,” she replied, her voice tinged with something softer. Sadder. “Well. Ex, now. I suppose.”

I hesitated, then said, “Want to talk about it?”

She studied me for a moment, as if weighing something. Then finished her drink in one swallow and signaled for a refill.

“Honestly, we’ve been drifting for months. He says he’s working all the time, but I’m not sure. Could be another woman. Could be nothing. Tonight… tonight is the anniversary of when he proposed. In this very club.”

I nodded, letting her have the space to go on.

“I told him if he wanted to salvage what we had, he’d meet me here. Same booth. Same date. Just… show up.” She looked into her glass, the light from the club catching in her eyes.

“Do you know what he asked me?”

I shook my head.

“What was so special about tonight?” she whispered. “I doubt he even remembers it’s been a year since he proposed or where he did. He’s not coming. If he were, he would have been here an hour ago.”

“If you don’t mind my saying, your ex is a complete idiot. And this is absolutely his loss.”

A faint smile tugged at her lips. “You’re sweet.”

“I was about to head out when you came over, but I’ll stay as long as you like.”

“That’s very kind of you,” she said, setting her glass down. “But I have a better idea.”

Before I could ask what she meant, she straddled my lap and kissed me.

There was nothing hesitant about her. Her lips were warm, insistent. I ran one hand up her smooth back, the other settling on her hip. Our tongues met, and the rest of the world slipped into the background. She wasn’t here to be comforted. She was here to feel alive. And I wasn’t about to stop her.

When she finally pulled back, her breath warm against my cheek, she held my gaze with eyes that seemed to study something deep inside me. Whatever she was searching for, she found it. Her expression softened.

“Take me to your hotel,” she said, slipping off my lap.

I stood with her and tossed a stack of Moroccan dirhams on the table. She nestled into my side as I wrapped an arm around her waist, guiding her out of the club and into the warm Marrakesh night.

Thankfully, Decker and I had a suite with separate rooms.

The door had barely closed before she pulled my shirt over my head. Shoes and socks vanished. Her dress slid off beneath my fingers, revealing warm bronze skin and curves I was already trying to memorize.

We kissed as she undid my belt, hands gliding over each other with growing urgency. My hand found her breast, the other tracing the curve of her ass. She jumped into my arms, wrapping her legs around me as I carried her to the bed.

I laid her down gently, kissed between her breasts, down her stomach, pausing just above the patch of hair between her legs. She moaned as I kissed the inside of her thighs slowly, teasing her, building tension.

She grabbed my head and pulled me in to her. Her legs locked around my shoulders as I tasted her, her moans filling the room like music. I reached up, cupping her breast as I focused on her clit, tongue and lips in rhythm. Her body trembled as the orgasm overtook her, and she cried out, hips shuddering beneath me.

When she released me, I climbed up and kissed her. She was still panting, lips curled into a lazy smile.

“That,” she breathed, “was just what I needed.”

“I’m glad I could help,” I whispered.

We kissed again, slower this time, her fingers trailing down my body. When she reached between us and wrapped her hand around me, her eyes locked onto mine.

“I need you inside me.”

She guided me in, and her eyes fluttered shut.

“Oh God,” she groaned.

She clung to me, nails biting into my back as I thrust into her. Her cries grew louder, needier, her body tightening around me with every motion. At the peak, she buried her face in my shoulder and bit me.

The shock of pain mingled with pleasure, pushing me over the edge. I gasped her name as I came, every nerve on fire.

Sunlight filtered in through the windows, dragging me back to consciousness.

I reached across the bed, already knowing she’d be gone. And she was. No surprise. That’s how it always was. Connections made, then left behind. I never expected anyone to follow me on this endless road. Still, I’d hoped she might stay a little longer.

As I stretched and sat up, something caught my eye: a folded note on the desk.

Alex,

Thank you for last night. I will treasure the memory.

And thank you for helping me take my mind off things.

Hopefully, your journey brings you the happiness and contentment you deserve.

I didn’t think you’d mind. I saw your camera on the table and used it.

So you’ll have a memory too.

Who knows, maybe we’ll run into each other again in Marrakesh.

Love,

Mira

Beneath the note was a small instant photo from my camera. A kiss of red lipstick marked the bottom edge. Mira’s smile beamed in the shot, soft, radiant, and real. Her amber eyes sparkled like sunlight through honey.

I pulled out the small box where I kept the other photos from my travels. Inside were two bundles. I unwrapped the first bundle and flipped through it. People I’d met who had left a mark on me. Some I’d helped. People that had helped me. Some just… mattered. A woman holding her newborn baby on a roadside in Brazil in one photo. In another, a boy who had taught me a local dance in Ghana. A fisherman who shared stories of his lost wife.

Each photo had a name, and a place scribbled on the back. I smiled at many of them. A few brought a sting of tears. They were proof that I wasn’t just wandering. I was living, connecting, growing.

Then I opened the second bundle.

Not every woman I’d slept with made it into the stack. Some nights were drunken, forgettable. But others, like last night, felt like something more. Not love, not permanence. Just something I wanted to remember.

I flipped through the photos slowly, thinking back to each encounter. I remembered names, voices, how they laughed, how they moved. They were all different.

And then I froze.

A photo near the bottom that didn’t belong here.

It was Val.

Taken the summer after high school, two weeks before everything fell apart. She was smiling, caught mid-laugh. Radiant. Innocent. It was the only photo I had brought from before I left home. But how had it ended up in this pile?

I placed it on the desk with the others, frowning, my heart suddenly heavier.

I stared at the wall for a long time. The idea of going home started to take root. Maybe it was time. Time to apologize. Time to stop running and start facing what I left behind.

Then something strange caught my attention.

Sixteen photos of sixteen different women. All unique in appearance, different races, ages, builds, hair, skin. Yet every single one of them… had amber eyes.

Just like Val.

How had I not noticed that before? There had been more women, women with other colored eyes, but none of them had a picture in the pile.

I reached for the unopened bottle of vodka I’d bought the day before. Cracked the seal. Took a long, burning swig. Then another. And another.

The last thing I remember was shoving all the photos into the trash… and falling to the floor.

The next few days blurred into one another. Waking up sometime in the afternoon, finding more alcohol, and drinking until I blacked out. Rinse and repeat.

Until one morning, ice-cold water splashed across my face.

I sputtered, blinking up at the blurry shape of Decker standing over me.

“I’m not going to ask what happened, Alex,” he said, his voice level. “Tell me when you’re ready. Or don’t. Tomorrow we’re heading north. Check-out is at seven.”

It took nearly an hour in the shower before I felt remotely human again.

Eventually, I gathered the energy to clean my clothes and pack what little I had. The outfit I wore to the club went into the trash, along with the photos I’d tossed days earlier. I wasn’t sure whether I regretted that. Maybe it didn’t matter.

I hadn’t come to Marrakesh looking for answers, but somehow, I’d left with more questions than ever.

Chapter 3: First Kill