Page 6 of An Immaculate Deception

“Yes, I—”

A skull-splitting roar erupts from the heavens, accompanied by a blinding flash of light. Like the fireworks from town, but amplified a thousandfold in force and fury. A rage from a wrathful god that vibrates through the air and rattles my bones.

The horse emits a deep, guttural sound and I fear he was struck by lightning. He bolts, and the sudden acceleration pushes me backward. The back of my head hits something hard behind me. I squeeze my eyes shut as pain blinds me.

“Are you hurt?” Leandro shouts through the fierce winds.

I open my eyes. We’re moving at breakneck speed, faster than I ever thought possible, as the beast runs for his life. The fields and sky are a murky blur and a pressure pushes me backward against the seat. I gasp in terror when I see that the driver’s seat stands empty.

The driver fell.

We’re at the mercy of the rampaging horse.

I turn to Leandro and scream, pointing wildly to the empty seat before us.

“Don’t move,” Leandro shouts. “I’ll go untether the horse.”

“You can’t!” I shout, but it’s to no avail. I’m too afraid that if I stir, I’ll fall out, too.

Another skeleton flashes in the sky, leaving a silver halo of itself in its wake. Purple clouds curl around it before fading to black.

Leandro hurls himself forward and grabs the metal part of the driver’s seat. He strains to get his weight on top of it. Light flashes above us again, silent this time, but accompanied by a rumble that shakes the earth. The horse shrieks as it veers sharply off-road into dark woods.

Into the hollow deep we plunge, air blackened and silent as a snake under a rock.

The utmost deep, the darkest place, the farthest from the sky’s all-turning sphere…

It’s suddenly so dark that I cannot see what lies ahead, whether tree or cliff or ditch. I cannot even see Leandro anymore.

A violent force of impact and my body slams hard against something. The world spins on its axis. Pain explodes inside my head, and my hands grasp wildly at air. Darkness folds in on me.

4

I awake with a headache. I’m in a comfortable bed with soft white blankets, a cushy mattress, and fresh-scented pillows under my head. But I don’t recognize this room. It is a simple bedchamber with a window, a small dresser, and a nightstand.

I start to sit up and pain radiates from every part of my body: shoulders, lower back, legs. I grimace as I remember the accident. The earth-shattering thunder, the heavy rainfall, the horse bolting into the night, trapping me and Leandro in the fast-moving carriage. The fear that cut deep. The final, icy spin when the horse veered off-road and led us into darkness, which felt like plunging into an abyss. We hit something and toppled over.

I think of Leandro and am gripped by dread. Leandro was exposed. He was trying to climb up to the uncovered driver’s seat to free the rampaging horse. At least I was protected by the carriage, but Leandro…

I look around me. There’s a full glass of water on the nightstand by the bed. My questions about my predicament become secondary to my intense thirst. Someone’s been thoughtful, anticipated my needs. I hesitate only a moment—I don’t know where I am, after all—before tipping the glass back and drinking it in full. Next I ring the bell that was left at the bedside and wait.

I find that if I don’t move, the pain subsides. The water makes me feel replenished, and soothes the headache somewhat. But where am I? The room has ornate furnishings, a tall window flanked by floor-length drapes. Two glass donzelas sit on top of the dresser with unlit candles inside. A statue of Christ on the cross hangs on the wall. I note brass and marble wardrobe knobs, floral patterned Aubusson carpets. Sun-drenched fields peek through the window. This must be Leandro’s fazenda…Santa Tereza, the old sugar mill. They must have brought us here for medical treatment.

I lift the bedsheets and examine my body for injuries. I’m not wearing my dress from last night but a simple cotton dress that I suppose is some kind of medical gown. There are no visible bruises or injuries, yet my whole body feels sore. I look around for my dress and shoes from last night—perhaps hanging on the back of the chair or folded neatly on the dresser. But I don’t see my clothes anywhere. My stomach tightens with anxiety when I think of the baby. I look under the gown at my thighs, searching for signs of bleeding. I recall reading a story in a periodical about a woman whose baby died in her belly—the only sign had been bleeding from between her legs.

Santa Mãe de Deus…let the baby be well. And Leandro…

The door opens and a physician strides into the room, wearing an unadorned black suit and Balmoral boots.

“Madalena…” He beams. “You’re awake!”

He has such high spirits about him that I immediately feel better. My situation must not be so bad. If Leandro had been seriously injured—or worse—surely this doctor wouldn’t be smiling like that.

This man has sharp, striking features, piercing dark eyes, and a captivating smile. He is tall, broad shouldered, and has the physique of an athlete. His booming voice bounces through the walls and makes me feel at ease. He must be about a decade older than me, in his early to mid-thirties perhaps, with the confidence to match. If one were truly objective, he might be even more handsome than Leandro.

I run my hands over my hair, suddenly wondering what kind of state I’m in. My hair feels frizzy and wiry. I must be a positive wreck.

“I’m Doctor Lobo,” he says. “Physician and alienist. How do you feel?”