Page 2 of Delirium

I wasn’t sure how to even respond to her teasing, so I thanked her and turned back toward the dock, thoughtfully munching on my breakfast.

I did my best to shake off the weird vibes the old woman gave me. She was just being nice, and I was being odd about it. Besides, today was going to be a good day. I knew it. I had a feeling nothing could stop me from having an adventure. A real one.

Today, I was going treasure hunting.

Here’s the thing about seeking treasure—it’s addictive. Once you start, you can’t stop. It’s all you can think about. There’s a reason those adventure movies have so many sequels. Not only does the audience crave more, but it’s logical to think so would our handsome adventurer. He wouldn’t stop at just one hunt, ever. There’s always a chance you might miss out on your next big find.

There’s something else about treasure, though. It’s not always the pot of gold, or the chest filled with emeralds and rubies.

Sometimes treasure is nothing more than a pile of ash and rubble, remnants of a full life once lived. Sometimes it’s a pile of bones.

That’s my treasure—the rubble and the bones. The pieces of a past life I can put together, like a puzzle with no picture to reference. I think it’s the reason I went into anthropology in the first place, a natural extension of my love of figuring things out.

It’s probably how I ended up here, now standing on the banks of this churning river, swatting away no-see-ums by the hundreds. Sweat dripped down my back, disproving the claims that my shirt wicked away moisture. The wooden dock I stood on wouldn’t have passed any kind of structural testing, and yet I couldn’t stop the smile from stretching across my face.

“Jesus,” I muttered, batting away another cloud of the tiny black bugs. Happy or not, these bugs annoyed the hell out of me. I frowned as I slapped at a mosquito leaving behind a tiny pool of blood. I hadn’t even felt it bite me.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to let a few teeny tiny bugs ruin a beautiful day like today!” a cheerful voice called out.

An extremely shirtless man stood a few feet away, a length of rope looped around his broad, tanned, shoulders, and a smile a dozen dentists would’ve fought over for their toothpaste commercials.

I laughed. “I’m fairly certain no-see-ums are the least of my problems. Although there are a few mosquitoes in the mix, too. I think I saw a crocodile sizing me up a few minutes ago.” I pulled at my shirt beneath my backpack, shifting from side to side to attempt to create some kind of breeze.

“Mmm…I wouldn’t worry about old Humphrey down there. I don’t think you’re his type.” Mr. Shirtless winked, leaping from the dock to one of the flat-bottomed houseboats that had seen better days. “See, not that you don’t look delicious and all, but Humphrey here has been spoiled by the market. He only likes his meat feathered and squawking, two features you seem to be missing.”

He started rolling the rope up on a hook on the exterior wall of the boat, while I blinked, trying to process the conversation we were having. “...Humphrey?”

The man stopped his job, cocking his head toward me. “Well, of course, darling. Can’t you see he bears an uncanny resemblance to Humphrey Bogart?”

A laugh escaped my chest the man’s positively serious face a stark contrast to the scaly visage of the crocodile glaring at me beneath the murky river. The longer I stared at the croc, the more I could kind of see what the stranger meant.

“Ha! You see it, too.” He smiled, pleased with himself. “But where are my manners? I’m Nash Wright, captain of theCarpe Diemhere. And you are…”

“Scarlett. Scarlett Ward. And I guess you’re my ride.” I looked down at the crinkled paper they’d given me in the city before the bus took me down the winding, muddy roads, deeper into the rainforest than I’d ever been.Nash Wright. Carpe Diem. I glanced over the boat. It wasn’t the worst-looking boat docked, by any means, but there were a few too many pieces of duct tape holding the sides together than I preferred.

“Proud to be the last boat to launch before the rainy season. Everyone else has already chickened out for the year, butCarpe Diemand I aren’t scared of a little rain.” Nash patted the side of the boat with fondness. “She might not look like much, but she’s home, and she’ll get you down the river and back in one piece. I’ve been giving this tour for a decade now, and I’ve never once had a passenger with more than a sprained ankle. Frankly, I told that woman she was too old to go cliff diving, but do you think she listened to me?”

“Captain Wright, I?—”

He brushed off my interjection with a wave of a hand that emphasized every muscle in his stomach. I didn’t realize someone could have more than a six pack, but it looked natural on him. “Just Nash, please. There’s no reason for all those fancy titles on the boat.”

“Nash, I trust your boat?—”

“Carpe Diem. I might not need titles, but she likes them.” Another pat on the side of the boat, like she was a cat, and not a bunch of rusted steel.

I sighed, and tried again. “Nash, I promise I trust youand Carpe Diem. You don’t need to sell me on anything, because I’ve already bought my ticket.”

“Oh.” Nash ran a hand through his thick, dark, wavy hair, and for the first time since I met him looked at a loss for words.

I felt a little bad for disrupting his sales pitch he so obviously enjoyed, but I was literally melting with this backpack strapped to me. “I could use a hand getting my stuff on board though, if you don’t mind.”

He perked up immediately. “Absolutely. What can I get for you?”

I pointed to the duffle bag at my feet. “If you can grab that, I think I can manage the rest.”

Nash hopped over the edge of the boat, the dock creaking and swaying once more. He swung my duffle bag effortlessly onto his shoulder, as if it didn’t weigh a metric ton, and jumped back onto the boat.

I followed suit, focusing on keeping my balance, and took the hand Nash offered me until I was firmly planted on the deck of theCarpe Diem, my home for the next two weeks. Immediately, I shrugged off my backpack, tossing it to the floor and heaving a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank Jesus. I thought that thing was going to drag me down to the pits of Hell.”

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