Reaching for Light

By May Koliander

Who exactly is Jaxon Cairn ? A respected scientist in the field of biotechnology working for Neozymes, he’s plagued by dark rumors about his private life - what happened to Harleth, his wife - a woman obsessed by the Minotaur. Who is looking after his son and what part did he play in the death of Geraldine’s husband, Archer ? Gerri, a tall, sexy 30-year-old brunette needs to get near Jaxon to find out what really happened to the man she loved on the last plant collecting expedition he took part in. But there is a pandemic. Drug companies are scrambling to find new molecules to fight the virus and biopiracy is rife. Soon Gerri, who finds herself far from civilization, alone on a collecting mission with a man who could be a killer, discovers Archer wasn’t entirely truthful to her. But Jaxon harbors doubts about Gerri too, and upon their return to Philadelphia, she winds up being accused of industrial espionage. Luckily, she can count on her friend Lucia to help her sort things out.
The question is, will the chemistry building up between Jaxon and Gerry be powerful enough to finally unlock their secrets, enabling them to reach for a new beginning ?

• Language: English
• Publisher: May Koliander
• Release date: Oct 13, 2021

May Koliander

I was born in the States, the outcome of an Oklahoma - Pennsylvania love story, but bred in Europe. My taste for stories started a long time ago with Mom reading to us every evening for hours and giving us free access to the stash of Classics Illustrated a mile high she had thrown into the great ocean liner trunks along with other artefacts, such as vegetable peelers and pie tins, when she decided to cross the seas with her brood. As we grew in years, we graduated from Uncle Wiggly, Uncle Remus and Pogo to the great epics and then on to the world's classics. I still remember my brother's laughter when we got to The Pickwick Papers and must confess I fell asleep during most of The Brothers Karamazov, but was totally enthralled by War and Peace. I sometimes try to draw up a list of my most loved books, something like a top ten. It would read - today - like this : Lolita by V. Nabokov War With The Newts by K. Capek God's Grace by B. Malamud Anna Karenin by L. Tolstoy La Soif et Autres Nouvelles by Ivo Andritch Ferdydurke by W. Gombrowicz The Barsoom Novels by Edgar Rice Burroughs The Things They Carried by T. O'Brien Le Testament Français by Andreï Makine A Good Man is Hard to find and Other Stories by F. O'Connor Us by E. Zamiatine Frankenstein by Mary Shelley Of course, it's easy to remember the works that have marked generations. However, we don't only feed on 'literature' - there are myriads of other books out there of a less lofty nature that we have read and thoroughly enjoyed, but whose titles or authors have faded from our memory. So, the big blank space in the middle of the list is for all those writers whose work has given me countless hours of excitement and pleasure - writers of genre fiction. One day, however, the unthinkable happens - you reach for a book and after a few pages, you let if fall back down. It's not what you wanted - the shoe doesn't fit - so you pick up another and it happens again... Then there's only one thing left to do - sit down at your computer and start writing...

Book preview

Prologue

I take a step, then another. Before me, Jaxon’s tall shape moves ever deeper into the gloom, soon to be engulfed in the encroaching darkness. I hasten my pace, blindly following him down the rabbit hole. He hadn’t said a word during the few minutes needed to drive up the narrow mountain road. When he took a sharp bend onto a mere track leading towards a thick dark forest, I turned to him. Jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the bumpy earth road, his profile was carved in marble. I’d asked for, demanded the truth, but now that I am going to get it, my mouth is dry, my heart pounding in my chest. And the tension is reminding me of the times when Archer, my husband, was in some Godforsaken part of the globe taking pictures, making films and the phone would ring. The shrill sound cut through me like a knife. I dreaded to pick it up, fearing it would not be his voice, but some stranger’s, telling me my husband had been hurt or worse. But that was the past, the sad past. And sometimes I can’t help wondering if by imagining things too vividly we don’t bring them to life, make them happen…

I almost bump into Jaxon’s back. He’s suddenly stopped. The tunnel we are following opens up onto what seems to be a rather large cave in the channeled light of our headlamps. I watch as Jaxon slowly scans the cavity, the rays of light that crawl along the walls stopping abruptly, illuminating a pile of stones on the cave floor among which are touches of white and red. He draws in a deep breath. Now, he says as he grips my arm. We cross the cave and come to a halt before the heap. I am staring down at bones. Skeletal remains and shreds of what must have once been a bright red dress. That, Geraldine, is the truth. His outstretched hand is steady, his voice hollow…

Chapter 1 – Now - The decision

Come on Gerri, do you really think it’s a good idea ? It won’t bring him back…

Lucia, a petite woman with sharp features and long tightly braided blond hair was fingering the coasters on Geraldine’s coffee table. She had been doing it for the last five minutes - setting them out to create a pattern by connecting their geometrical designs, and then collecting them to carefully stack them up again.

Let sleeping dogs lie and all that ? No ! Something doesn’t tally and it’s the only way I can hope to get information about what really happened to Archer ! Geraldine answered as tears welled up in her eyes and her lower lip began to pull down sideways. She quickly pushed her tongue hard to the roof of her mouth to staunch the flow she could feel coming on. The expression of emotion and particularly tears sent her friend into a kind of panic. Lucia’s hand had already begun to shake and she was taking deep breaths. The coasters - that had done nobody any harm - were being moved around faster and faster. Lucia’s eyes were fixed on them, avoiding Geraldine’s gaze, in typical Lucia fashion.

Gerri seized one of the girl’s hands, although she knew how uncomfortable it would make her friend, who shunned physical contact.

"There’s no way Neozymes can suspect me of anything untoward if I apply for a job there ; I’ve got all the necessary qualifications. If anything, they’ll think I wish to work there to feel closer to Archer."

As his widow, they’ll probably give you preference when screening applications, Lucia agreed grudgingly. She had gently disengaged her hand and her fingers were now running up and down the long braid that hung along her neck.

By chance, I learned there’s a vacancy in the department headed by the man who engaged Archer - a guy called Jaxon something. I remember Archer mentioning he’d done quite a few jobs for him before his last one. Gerri swallowed hard and breathed in deeply. How could she be talking calmly about her dead love, even making plans ? It felt surreal.

So, you’re hoping this man will reveal to you details about Archer’s death that aren’t already in the report ? Trust Lucia to put things bluntly.

By now, she had built an enclosure with the coasters, standing them up on their edges. Gerri was sorely tempted to blow hard to see the structure collapse, but that would have stressed her friend out.

I want to know why Archer was so far out in that desert without the proper equipment and enough water. Gerri was determined to get answers. Something didn’t add up in her husband’s death.

Heatstroke can occur here too, you know, Lucia was quick to remark, and if he was taking antihistamines as you said he was for his allergy to bug bites, it could have increased his risk.

Gerri was silent for a moment. Lucia was unbeatable when it came to facts, whatever their nature. Her voice was bitter when she next spoke. I still want to know why he was out in that Godforsaken spot ! He was hired as a photographer, but hadn’t snapped only a few pictures of the specimens the biologists were out collecting since setting off on that expedition. The last pictures in the camera were of the camp and a few of the scientists who had set it up.

I know, you showed them to me. To be precise, there were five men gathered around the fire, holding white mugs, while two were standing slightly apart. One of these, a rather stocky blond guy was facing the camera, winking at it while the other, a tall man with medium length whitish wavy hair was half turned away, peering into the box he was holding.

Who needs a camera when you are around, ? Gerri couldn’t help remarking. I wouldn’t want to be in your head; don’t you feel like you are going to explode with all the information you collect ?

Lucia stopped playing with the coasters and looked up, addressing the wall opposite. I store it carefully. Took some time, but I’ve mastered the flow of input so it doesn’t overwhelm me anymore.

Gerri knew that her friend, who had a mild form of Asperger, at times suffered periods of meltdown when she seemed out of control of that memory of hers, but they didn’t last long. A seven-day period of solitary confinement in her parents’ well-insulated basement flat outside town did the trick. And she would bounce back, her mind as sharp as ever. Geraldine wondered what it would be like to live without memory, to wipe out the pain and sadness that threatened to engulf her when thinking of Archer. But then, the good moments would be erased too. The caress in his voice as he spoke her name, the sparkle in his eyes when he looked at her. She glanced towards the oak chest of drawers where she kept all that was left of her love, the only token of his fleeting presence on this earth - a lock of hair. She had cut it off when they had brought his body back. Lying in his casket he had looked so thin and dry he was barely recognizable, and she couldn’t refrain from calling out his name, as if the real Archer would open the mortuary chamber door and walking in, agree with her that the hapless man stretched out there was some unfortunate stranger, someone they didn’t know. She had brought a pair of nail scissors with her and cut off a strand of his hair. She desperately needed to have something material of him to keep, but not wanting to deface him, as he lay there helpless, the lock had been a small one. Now she regretted not taking a whole strand. It was all she had left of him, that and a wealth of remembrances of their short time together. But right now, those brought her more pain than solace.

Chapter 2 – Then – The bull, Crete

The sea shimmered turquoise in the distance, almost a purplish-blue right below Harleth. The sun was high in the sky. She plucked a brand of rosemary that had pushed up between the warm stones to spread out over them. Crushing the small curved needles, she breathed in the bitter pungent smell before dropping the sprig. James had told her rosemary was supposed to strengthen the memory and memory was something she could well do without. She shivered in spite of the heat and inhaled deeply. There was a rustle in the leafy tamarisk behind her and a low growl. Eyes closed, she waited. Had the Minotaur, that creature said to have been trapped in the maze under the palace of Knossos, found its way out and was about to carry her off ? Away from boredom, away from her past ? James had told her that the dull sounds often heard in the region, like the muffled roar of a bull, were caused by seismographic fluctuations and these had probably helped shape the legend. A big wooly head pushed hard under her arm, as warm brown eyes peered up at her. The stray sheep dog that now and then roamed the dig had little in common with the fantastic beast she had been dreaming about. The shaggy creature was fearful, scampering away with its tail between its legs at the slightest threat, but hungry for company and affection. She quite liked it. There was a kinship there. She too was afloat, belonging nowhere, earning her keep the only way she knew. She had followed James to Crete because she had never been to the Mediterranean, and he was generous. The island had lived up to its reputation, but she couldn’t say the same for James. Although to be candid, she hadn’t expected much of him; he was just one more man quite beyond his prime, too busy to invest in a lasting relationship, but happy to have a young woman around. More for her capacity to listen to him spinning out theories on his findings than for her presence in bed. Which was mostly ok. She sighed. Sex. Sitting on her rock she thought she had seen it all. There was definitely nothing new under the sun. The rosemary’s warm, slightly meaty aroma mixed with the dog’s dry smell brought her back to the Minotaur, and the Greek legends where animals and humans engaged in amorous trysts. Did Zeus take Io in human form or did he impregnate her in the guise of a powerful bull ? She’d been amazed to see that bulls were everywhere on this island, cavorting freely round pottery, charging gracile acrobats on friezes. There were even giant stylized horns jutting out above entrances. The animal’s magnetism was getting to her. The deep broad chest and narrow loins of the beast were the epitome of stamina, and its blatant maleness made her bite her lip as her heart beat faster. She lifted her face to the sun, welcoming its glare. What she desperately needed was that crude energy locked up in the bull. These past months, she had felt her life force ebbing ever more. It was a wonder there was still any left. And she had her mother to thank for that…

Harleth ! From his tone she could tell James was eager to show her something he’d just dug up. With a last long look at the open sea she rose, the dog at her heels, hoping she wasn’t going to have to feign interest in pottery sherds, bronze beads or a collection of seals and signets. How dreary life could be in spite of the incredibly beautiful nature around her !

As she left the glittering blue expanse behind her, her lungs seemed to shrink in her chest and her feet raised reddish dust as she unwillingly made her way towards the dig. James was bent over some artifact sitting on the ground and as she approached, his pinkish mottled scalp was visible through his thinning white hair. She sighed. Crete was an enchanting land, but she sure was paying dearly for the privilege of being here. Her face lit up with a smile, a trick that had been drilled into her at an early age by her mother, the very second James looked up. Right now, what made his eyes shine weren’t her long shapely golden legs, nor her tiny waist and heavy breasts. Something stronger than his appreciation of female beauty had him in its grip. And when she finally reached him, she understood. The object the team had found concealed in a recess in one of the chambers of the palace was a large blackish stone bull’s head, in pristine state. Squatting, she reached out to caress the broad muzzle, while the dog sniffed at the beast whose inlaid eyes held them in its stony stare. In sharp contrast with the dark head covered in tight stone swirls, the long curving golden horns glowed softly, reaching up towards the sun. Disappointed, the dog wandered off as James came to kneel beside her. You feel it too, don’t you ? he asked. It’s in our specie’s DNA. As far back as the paleolithic, our ancestors revered the auroch. No creature signifies the raw energies of life itself more powerfully than the bull. Some writers have compared the beast’s mighty hulk to a hand grenade of crude virility ready to blow.

Her hand traveled from the rounded muzzle over the bull’s head. The stone was warm under her fingers. For once, James’s gabbing caught her attention. She closed her eyes and imagined the beast alive. Crude virility was indeed desperately lacking in her relationship with James.

What is it ? A decoration ? she finally asked, turning to her companion who was observing her in silence.

It’s a libation or pouring vessel, certainly used in rituals.

It’s the Minotaur’s head… and it’s beautiful, she said softly.

That made the man smile. I see this island and its legends are getting to you. Tomorrow is the dig’s day off. If you are up to it, we can go check out a system of caves where the island people claim one can hear the Minotaur roar. He knew she was averse to dark enclosed places and dreaded tunnels, and wasn’t sure she would let herself be tempted.

She shivered in spite of the sun beating down on them and her delicate nostrils flared as her hand traveled back over the bull’s head, her palm returning to lovingly envelop the warm muzzle.

Let’s go, by all means ! she exclaimed, getting up. Such a wondrous creature cannot be dangerous or malevolent. Her sudden enthusiasm surprised James.

Do remember that the beast trapped in the maze dismembered and devoured the unfortunate youths sent into the labyrinth.

Her smile was secretive when she answered, Perhaps those hapless people didn’t see his true valor or beauty… And paid dearly for it.

That night, they dined on a small piazza under huge fig trees. Harleth enjoyed rubbing their leaves between her fingers to inhale their sweetish, slightly off fragrance. Her arrival in the small taverna had created quite a stir. A good number of the rather short darkish men sitting at the little tables or loitering around the square were eyeing her, some quite overtly. Peasants, fishermen, men she hadn’t the slightest interest in, but she nevertheless took pleasure in leaning towards James so her lowcut white chiffon blouse revealed the fullness of her cleavage, and crossed and uncrossed her long legs more often than necessary. It was good fun. Mini shorts were not common on this part of the island and on their way to the restaurant an old guy had pointed to her shorts mumbling : "micro, micro" which was one word of Greek she understood. She was basking in the men’s attention when a young woman came out to take the orders and all eyes were attracted to her. She was curvy and graceful and her flashing dark eyes and rosy cheeks brought a smile to the face of those she approached. Harleth couldn’t help notice that James’s gaze followed the girl as she moved around the terrace. Harleth’s voice was a little abrupt when she ordered, but James made up for it by being particularly gallant. While waiting for their food, she reached for her powder compact and checked her face in the small mirror. Something in the diet here gave her a few pimples, but she had done a good job covering them with foundation. Her eyes, which were a dark grey, looked great made up like those of the Cretan women dancing merrily on the palace frescoes, their long-coiled hairstyles snaking down their shoulders. From early on it had been ingrained into Harleth to always look her very best, to be ready for the camera. When discovering her new makeup style, James had jokingly observed that intense eyebrows, charcoaled eyes and red lips were the mark of the hetaira. She’d looked the word up. A hetaira was a special kind prostitute, one who had only a few clients at any one time and who provided companionship as well as sex. She guessed it was something like a geisha. She hadn’t been sure how to take the remark and although the nature of their relationship was quite clear, she resented being assimilated so openly to a courtesan. Naming things made them worse and self-preservation had taught her to circumnavigate unpleasant facts. Her musings were interrupted by the return of the young woman who placed her order on the table with a warm smile. Up close, the girl’s skin was flawless and she smelled faintly of lavender. Harleth sighed as she examined the salad before her. She hadn’t a clue as to what herbs were in the dish. She remembered reading in some magazine that the Cretans used over five hundred types of greens and herbs in their cuisine. She had chosen a mixed salad over one of the rich meat and rice dishes James favored and tried in vain to get her to order. Of late, he’d also risked a few remarks on how slim she was, joking that she needed to be fattened up somewhat. Harleth shivered. There was no way she wanted to have the waitress’s round rosy cheeks or her plump thighs. Fork in hand, she scanned their surroundings. As was to be expected, this dusty place at the tip of the island was overrun with locals and in no way a hunting ground. There wasn’t a single well-off man in sight capable of appreciating what she had to offer. She speared a piece of tomato and chewed, gazing thoughtfully at her companion who was tucking in heartily. Dessert came, and she observed James devour his cheese pie - a sheep cheese-filled pastry fried in olive oil topped with a drizzle of honey, while she ate her portion of fresh cheese sweetened with the agave syrup she always carried in a small bottle. He sipped his third glass of raki as he went on talking about the dig, but his speech was slurred at times and his eyes followed the servant girl more openly. Harleth shook her long blond mane and pulled her make up pouch out of her bag, painting her full lips a deep orange and gazing at herself in a small mirror, passed her fingers through her hair. The men’s attention was back on her but not James’s. He was now paying for their meal, over-tipping the young woman who looked at him as if he had gone out of his mind. Harleth watched him down his fourth glass of raki in silence. Tonight, she would get to sleep in peace. At the best of times, James had not much stamina and love making with him was protracted and tedious beyond words. But she was down on her luck, that was not to be. She saw him pop a blue pill when they got back to their lodgings. Older men were all the same, embarrassed by their failing bodies but randy nevertheless. James had been quite handsome and his limbs were still well-toned but he sagged around the belly, the bulge shadowing what nestled below. Lights out, with only the moon shining in, Harleth let her mind wonder, insulating herself in a bubble as she had trained herself to do, and imagined Zeus’s fierce thrusts when mounting Io, as James toiled away, breathing heavily through the mouth. Her fantasy was so keen that her womb contracted violently, making her cry out wildly as she came before an astonished James who was nearly pushed out.

I wonder what magic herb they put into that salad of yours, he mused afterwards as they lay side by side. They could make a fortune selling it.

Still shaken by her violent orgasm, she wasn’t about to tell him what had been going through her mind. The beauty and mystery of this place creep up on one…I’m happy you brought me here.

He pulled her closer, a smile on his lips. He well knew she didn’t love him, but was thankful for her gentleness.

Although it was still early, she was hot and sticky when they reached the cave mouth that lay high in the hill. She hadn’t had a serious work-out since their arrival in Crete and it was beginning to worry her. Usually, when she traveled with well-heeled men, she stayed in posh hotels that always had a fitness center. Here, they were in a kind of primitive stone house, at a slight distance from the dig. The cave entrance - a dark oblong slit surrounded by stunted vegetation growing on reddish soil reminded her of a woman’s vulva. Penetrating into that space would be like traveling up a birth canal. It was both enticing and repellent.

James cut into her thoughts once he got his breath back, while wiping his brow of the sweat pouring down. "The peasants say