Monday, July 25^th

It was an eighteen-hour flight from Rome to San Francisco, including a layover in Philadelphia. The taxi stopped in front of their building after ten o’clock Sunday night. In Rome it was already eight o’clock Monday morning. Neither of the weary travelers wanted to even think about Monday morning.

The concierge, a new man Trent didn’t recall seeing before, helped them with their luggage. Darcey and Trent were both exhausted. Neither bothered to shower. Darcey found her favorite gown; Trent grabbed the first long-sleeved tee shirt and black pants in his drawer. He was too tired to notice the slightly damp spot on his shirt.

He fell into bed with Darcey. Both fell asleep immediately.

Trent awakened before Darcey. He went first to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Then to shower. To wash away eighteen hours of travel from the day before.

He had shaved and was standing naked in front of the mirror in the bedroom brushing his hair when Darcey woke up.

“Mmmmmmm…now there’s a view that makes waking up worthwhile,” she said.

“After seeing this sight every day for a month, I figured you would be getting tired of it,” he replied, mugging for her in the mirror.

Darcey laughed.

“You’re not getting away that easy, Mr. Marshall. I’m not one of those take’em-to-London-Paris-and-Tuscany-for-a-month-and-then-dump’em kind of girls.”

“I have to call Christopher Booth or I’d make you pay for that remark,” Trent said, pulling on his boxer shorts.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re all talk.”

Darcey suddenly looked serious. Puzzled.

“I never noticed that mole under your arm,” she said.

“I don’t have a mole under my arm.”

Darcey jumped out of bed and quickly crossed the room.

“Oh, no!” she exclaimed.

“What?”

“Oh, no!” Darcey repeated.

“It isn’t a great comfort to have you standing behind me saying ‘Oh no’ over and over,” Trent said. “What is it?”

She ran to the kitchen where she found a small, plastic container with a snap on lid. Reaching into her purse, she found a pair of tweezers.

“Be very still,” she directed. She gently clutched what she now realized was an appalling insect with the tweezers. Moving slowly so as to extract the two small ungulas, the talon-like protrusions the creature had sunk into the warm flesh under Trent’s arm. The pincers moved round as though in anger once Darcey pulled them free and dropped the ugly little thing into the plastic container. She quickly snapped the lid in place, trapping the small monstrosity.

“What is that?” Trent said. He raised his arm. In the mirror he saw the tiny pin-pricks where the insect had attached itself to him. The skin around the small dots was slightly reddened.

“Is that a bed bug?” Darcey asked. She set the container on the dressing table, not wanting it in her hands.

“No, I’ve seen bed bugs,” Trent said. “That’s not a bed bug. That’s not anything I’ve ever seen before.”

“Do you think you picked it up in our travels?” she asked, still horrified.

“That doesn’t seem logical. You never noticed it before this morning,” he said, with a leer. “And you saw me naked from every possible angle over the past month.”

“I don’t think this is funny, Trent.”

“It’s no big deal, Darcey. Just a tick or something. I’m fine.”

“We’re going to make sure of that,” she said as she picked up her phone and dialed a number.

“Who are you calling?”

“My doctor. We’re taking this…this thing to him to send to a lab and let him look at that bite. I’ve only been married a month and I’m not taking any chances on losing you.”