Page 2 of Mated in Flames

Alex and Alice are two of my closest friends here. But there was no way, upon their return to camp, that they could hide my abandonment, especially since I had left them alone with two injured locals. As I return, everyone looks toward me. I can see a range of pity and irritation on several faces, and I know I deserve it.

David’s loss hit me hard. But I thought I could function through it.

Obviously, I thought wrong.

“Martinez.”

I straighten unconsciously and look toward the stern woman that’s approaching me. Her eyes are narrowed on my face. I normally get along very well with Yasmin Lopez, the senior supervisor for our area, but I doubt she wants to see me for a chat this time.

“Come with me,” she said shortly.

Damn. The two of us disappear into her office, a tent that was set up nearby so she could keep track of everything that happens here until we’re extracted.

“Why, Martinez,” Lopez asked the moment the flap is down. “Surely you remember what you were told last month?”

I wince at the reminder of defying a direct order in order to comb through reports on David’s incident, getting a very stern warning from senior managers.

“Luciana, I had to report this,” Lopez says tiredly.

“I know,” I say; I’d expected nothing less.

“And action has been taken,” Lopez continues. She lifts her chin and I know, in this moment, that she’s talking to me as my supervisor, not my friend. “You’ve been suspended. You need to take some time off, and now you’re being forced to. We’ll review your circumstances in a month to ensure that you are not going to put yourself and your entire team at risk.”

My mouth drops open.

“What?” I exclaim. “Lopez, can’t you…”

“I can’t,” Lopez says, holding up a hand. “The decision has been made.” Then her face softened. “Take the time, Luciana. You’ll feel better for it. You’re one of our best doctors, and your expertise in toxicology makes you invaluable. But we can’t have you getting yourself killed because you’re not thinking straight.

She’s right. Deep down, I know it, even if I don’t want to admit it. But I also know that it will be futile to argue. The decision had been made in my absence before I could be present to defend myself and hopefully score another chance.

“Why don’t you go home?” Lopez suggests. “It’s summer in Brazil, surely it will be lovely at this time of year.”

I’m sure it would be. But there’s a reason I don’t go home much. There is nothing there for me, not since David went missing.

“I’ll leave you to think about it,” Lopez says with a sigh. “Also, this arrived for you today.”

She hands over a white envelope. It isn’t in the best condition, but it’s still sealed. Lopez claps me on the shoulder and then leaves the tent, giving me a moment to process.

But I don’t want a moment to process. I want to do my job. It’s all I’ve got left in this world, and I know I’ll go insane without it. Needing to think of anything else, I tear open the envelope, allowing two folded pieces of paper to fall out. One is neat and crisply white. The only is a little torn and yellowed.

Odd. I open the white letter first.

Dear Ms. Martinez,

It is with great sorrow that I write to inform you of the passing of Lucas Martinez on the 6th of August, 2019 in Mundaring, Western Australia.

In accordance with his will, you have been bequeathed his property and all entitlements. On receipt of your acceptance, ownership will be transferred.

If you have any questions, please contact…

The letter falls from my numb hands. Well. This was just the icing on the cake.

It has been a long time since I saw my father. We’ve been estranged since I was a young, and I didn’t spend much time thinking of him. But finding out about his sudden death suddenly makes it hard to breath. I try to remember the last conversation I had with him, but I honestly can’t. At most, we sent each other friendly cards on our birthdays, the kind you might send to a distant acquaintance because you were forced to, but that was it.

And now he’s gone.

I sit heavily on the chair in front of Lopez’s desk. And then, remembering that there was another letter, I slowly open it. It’s written in my father’s hand.

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