Johnny sat at the table, waiting for Holly to say something. When he realized that she was still too distraught to speak, he decided to tell her his own story. Everything was better than watching her silently wiping her tears away.
"You asked before what I was doing here. It's a long story, but maybe talking about my past will make you remember something from yours. I guess you don't remember this, but in the summer of 1990, I decided to leave Springfield to be with Roxie, my ex-girlfriend. She was showing signs of improvement and I decided that I wanted to be with her."
Holly looked up and said in a low voice: "You left Chelsea?"
Relieved that she seemed to break away from her catatonic state, Johnny continued:
"I know it looks bad, but Chelsea knew how much I felt responsible for Roxie's nervous breakdown. There had been such a great love between us that I needed to see if there was still something there. So we moved together to Tulsa and I continued to take care of her. Then the weirdest thing happened; when she was finally well enough to be in a normal relationship, we both realized that we didn't love each other anymore. I mean, we cared a great deal about one another, but just as friends. The whole thing made me sick; so I decided to leave Tulsa."
"To come here?"
"I went to New York first to find Chelsea, but she had moved on to better things and I don't blame her. That's when I decided that a change of scenery would do me good. I got this job here as a pilot. I carry merchandise from Panama City to this district. The hours are long but I am pretty much left alone, which I like."
Holly got up and went to the window, staring at the endless greenery. "So here you are. Fancy the odds of me running into you!"
"I'd say it was more than chance; it was faith! If I hadn't found you, you'd probably be dead by now, "he replied gravely.
"What else is there in this jungle besides you? There has to be an explanation to my ending up here!"
"Well, there is someone else that lives in these parts, but I am pretty sure he has nothing to do with you"
"Who?" urged Holly.
"Diego Guerrera. He runs a drug cartel that goes from Mexico to Costa Rica. He is extremely dangerous, but since he bought the police a long time ago, he can go as he pleases. He's not the type of guy who would let go of a woman like you without having his way first, if you know what I mean. Since you don't look hurt, my guess is that he's not the one who brought you here."
At the mention of Diego's name, Holly felt a dread come over her. She waited; half-expecting a telltale flashback to rise up in her mind, but none came. She shook her head, reasoning with herself. It was to be expected that she would be afraid of a man like that, but it didn't mean that she had met him.
"You must be right; this name doesn't ring a bell at all."
She started pacing across the hut, thinking of other ways to make herself remember the last six years. "Why don't you tell me what you heard about me since you left Springfield? Surely you kept in touch with people there, like Ed Bauer?"
Johnny gave her a sheepish look. "I haven't been very good at keeping in touch, so I don't know a lot. I do know though that Ross proposed to you not long after I left."
Ross. Holly's heart started to flutter. It seemed to her that she had kissed him and wished him a good day that very morning, when in fact it had been six long years. Were they still together? Was he ok, or was he also hurt and lost in the jungle? Every question seemed to bring up a new one, and she had answers for none. A lone tear ran down her cheek; she had never felt so helpless in her entire life.
Johnny went to her and took her hands.
"Looks like you two got married, from what I can see on your finger."
Holly looked down to discover a wedding band, suddenly hopeful. She hurriedly took it off to look up the engraving. "You are my soul," she read out loud.
She stayed silent for a few seconds, pondering over the words. As romantic as they were, they gave no clue has to who her husband might be. Most probably it was Ross, but there was not way to be certain. She sled the ring back on her finger, silently praying that she was indeed Holly Marler. She loved Ross so much that she wouldn't consider any other option.
"I have to go back to Springfield, Johnny. Ross must be sick with worry. And Blake too! We have to leave right away."
Johnny sighed. "I am afraid we can't."
Holly stared at Johnny, halfway out the door already. "Why can't we leave now?"
Johnny led her back inside and closed the door behind them. "Guerrera and his men are usually out at night. We can't risk running into them; they are the kind of people who shoot first and then ask your name later. We'll leave first thing in the morning, I promise."
Hot sat on the bed, fidgeting. "Can't we use your radio then, to try and contact somebody in Springfield?"
He shook in head. "It's not working; I am supposed to have it repaired the next time I fly to Panama City. I am sorry."
Feeling defeated, she went back to the window. Johnny decided to leave her to her thoughts for a while and cooked them a meal which she couldn't bring herself to eat.
When it was time for bed, he offered to sleep on the floor but she replied that there was no point in being eaten to death by mosquitoes on her account. After insisting some more, he climbed with her on the mattress and neatly tucked the mosquitoes' net under them.
He let the oil lamp burn very faintly on the kitchen table. It gave out a warm light that somewhat cheered Holly up. She lifted herself on one arm and faced Johnny. "What if I never remember, Johnny?"
He stroked her hair in an attempt to comfort her. "I am sure it will come back to you. Just give it time. Tomorrow, we'll go back to the city and we'll see a doctor. Then I'll get you back to Springfield. Everything is going to be alright."
"Yeah, but what it no one is waiting for me there? What if I am not with Ross anymore, or what if someone I care about has died and I just don't remember?" Her voice trailed off and she started sobbing in her pillow.
"Don't cry! You're married, remember? Someone is waiting for you to come back, I am sure of it. Please, don't cry!"
Not knowing what to do, he awkwardly took her in his arms, which only made her cry harder. He continued to pat her hair while she buried her face in his neck, and whispered soothing words in her ear until she finally fell asleep.
God, she's beautiful, he thought as he watched her sleep. He couldn't resist kissing away a tear that had just dropped from her lashes. He reflected that he had always been attracted to her, but the timing had never been right for the two of them. And it still isn't now, he reminded himself as he glanced at her wedding ring. He slowly retrieved his arm from under her head and retreated to the far end of the bed. It was best if he stayed away from her. He had been hurt enough in the last few years.
Roger sat on the beach, at the exact spot where Holly had been eating her orange a week before.
He had to stay strong in front of their daughter, but here he could cry until he wrung himself dry. His stomach growled and he tried to remember the last time he had eaten. The mere thought of food repulsed him.
He got up and went to the water once again, trying to figure out what could have happened to his wife. One by one, he examined the clues he had discovered in the last few days, trying to re-enact the last few hours before Holly's disappearance. She had been seen by villagers walking alone towards the beach. It had been easy enough to retrace her steps in the sand and to find the place where she had sat down. He had discovered the orange peelings himself. There had also been other footsteps coming from behind her. Finally, there was a pair of footsteps that led to the water, and he could tell from the way the sand had been disturbed that the person had been dragging something. Or someone, Roger thought as his throat tightened.
The trail disappeared in the ocean, which meant that Holly could be anywhere by now, including at the bottom of the sea. He looked at the horizon, fighting with all his might not to give way to despair. There had to be something he could do, some clue he could find. He ragingly wiped his tears and walked back to the market for the tenth time.
Passing by one of the fruit stalls, he noticed a sickly-looking young woman he had never seen before. She hurriedly turned away when he caught her staring at him, which made him curious. Picking a pineapple, he greeted her in Spanish and asked for the price. She answered shyly, looking ill at ease. Roger could tell right off the bat that she was hiding something. He decided to get straight to the point.
"Did you by any chance hear anything about the woman that disappeared a week ago on the beach?"
The woman almost squirmed from discomfort but remained silent, confirming his suspicions. He dropped all pretences and whispered urgently: "if you know something, please, you have to tell me. This woman is my wife."
The woman shook her head, looking afraid. He went on: "I can't live without her. If you don't tell me what you know, I swear I'll walk back to the beach right now and drown myself in the water." Upon hearing this, the woman looked intently into his eyes, trying to see if he really meant it. She then motioned him to the back in the stall where she made him crouch beside her.
"I saw her that day, the redhead woman," she said in a low voice. "She bought oranges from me. There was a man following her, one of Diego Guerrera's men."
Roger frowned, searching his memory. He was almost certain that he had heard this name during his time as a CIA agent. Drug and weapon traffic. His heart sank.
"What else do you know?" he asked, his mouth quickly becoming as dry as the desert.
"Not much, but I know that this man is in charge of the shipments between Acapulco and Panama. He travels by boat and comes here once a week. You can never tell anyone that I told you this."
This meant that he would be coming back today, Roger realized as he briskly walked back to the hotel. A plan was already forming in his head; he needed to enlist Ross's help.