Remembering the Haiti earthquake, Jan. 12, 2010

The Hotel Montana, before the earthquake

Last night, I dreamed of Haiti. I was in some kind of very lovely Haiti, like what Haiti would be like in Heaven. And I was with the four women from Lynn University who were on a mission trip and died when the Hotel Montana collapsed. Britney, Stephanie, Courtney and Christine and I were sitting at a table by a large glass window overlooking the country. It was very pretty, and not poor. The women were so happy. They wanted to stay.

I told them I had to leave. It was time for me to go. And then I took off, as if I had angel wings, and lifted higher and higher into the sky until the women and Haiti were a small pinpoint on the earth, and I flew back to my home. 

The Hotel Montana, after the earthquake

The dream left me sad, but peaceful. I'm not surprised I had a dream like that. I'm leaving for Haiti next week, and I've been to Haiti several times, and stayed at the Hotel Montana. 

I never met the four women who died along with their professors, when the Hotel Montana collapsed during a 7.0 magnitude earthquake that struck just outside Haiti's capital shortly before 5 p.m.

The earthquake happened five years ago today. I have traveled to Haiti for 21 years as a writer for a large international charity and I always stayed at the Hotel Montana while in Port-au-Prince. I was in Haiti shortly after the earthquake and saw the rescue mission at the hotel, as search crews grimly combed through the rubble in a desperate attempt to look for survivors. The hotel had pancaked and turned from a pretty, tropical and airy paradise into a deathtrap.

The week of the earthquake would have been the week I'd have been in Haiti, but for that mission trip. Because the students from Lynn University were going to Haiti at the same time, we'd decided to delay our trip by two weeks in order to give the Haiti office staff time to prepare for our visit.

A room where I stayed at the Hotel Montana

While in Haiti, I always had a routine when we got back to the Hotel Montana from the day's visits. The photographer and I would arrange to meet for drinks at the News Bar, where we would sit in one of the hand-carved wood chairs and discuss the day's visits, or current events. We'd sip rum punch as a cooling breeze drifted in through the doorway by the mahogany tree that stood in the courtyard as a proud old sentinel. Then we'd go downstairs to dinner.

Sometimes we'd arrive back at the hotel around 5, or maybe a little earlier. Had we stayed there that horrid, fateful Tuesday five years ago and we arrived back early, I would have gone to my room, showered and maybe worked on my notes from the trip. 

And I might have died.

But we didn't go that week, because the students from Lynn University were already scheduled to visit. I never met those four young women, only caught a glimpse of them in the lobby when they poised for the group photo before they left on their mission trip. From reading about what others have said about them, they all seemed like lovely young people with compassionate hearts.

I try not to think too much about the earthquake, and why some people died, like the four beautiful women who wanted to help people, and their professors, who were encouraging them to find their calling in life.  I try not to think about what might have happened had I been at the hotel that day. Instead, I go on, and try to be grateful for my life, and for every moment God gave me on this earth. 

Maybe Lester Burnham says it best in American Beauty, "And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life."

Darkness of the Wolf wins CataRomance Reviewers Choice

DARKNESS OF THE WOLF, my Nocturne Bite, has won a CataNetwork Reviewers' Choice Award for 2009.

This personally means a lot to me, as that story was set on a fictional island meant to resemble Haiti, and one of the hotels was modeled after the Hotel Montana, the hotel where I wrote part of the story while in Haiti.

The Montana was my "home" in Haiti for 16 years. That hotel collapsed during the earthquake and several people were killed.

I'll be back in Haiti next week, touring tent cities and areas where my organization is building about 300 houses a month. Another 100 homes will be built in northern Haiti to accomodate families with relatives who fled Port au Prince after the earthquake. We're also building pit latrines in camps.

In other news, Jennifer Ashley and I will be presenting a workshop at RWA National called "Putting on Your Shorts." Jennifer is the NY Times-best selling author of Pride Mates. WOOT! Congrats Jennifer! Pride Mates is one of the books I'm taking to Haiti to give to friends who asked me to bring them romance novels.

Here's an excerpt from Darkness of the Wolf.

They could kill him. Now. Or wait. He’d gone past caring.

No one would mourn his death. Guy Laurent was alone in the world. The thought made him ache. In his world of Draicon werewolves, anyone who used to know him thought he was already dead.

Huddled in a corner of his cage at the Savage Kingdom Zoo, he lay with his head between his paws. He stared at the steel bars prohibiting escape. Disguised as a real zoo, the facility was a prison for werecreatures who were forced into their animal forms during the day for unknowing human visitors.

A little girl licking an ice cream stopped before his exhibit as her mother sat on a bench feeding a toddler. The child looked upset. “Please don’t be sad, wolf.” She held out her cone. “You can have my ice cream.”

No one ever gave him anything without a price. But he still had a soft spot left for children. Guy loped toward the bars, wishing he could smile at her.

His keeper approached, knocked her hand away, sending her ice cream toppling.
“Hey, you stupid kid, don’t feed the animals!”

The girl started crying.

A low growl rumbled from Guy. He glared at the demon and charged the cage.
Electricity zapped his powerful body. Uncaring, he pawed through the bars, wanting to hurt the demon for upsetting the child.

The little girl screamed. “Mama, the wolf’s going to hurt me!” Guy watched in pained bewilderment as she ran off. I was only trying to help you.

When would he ever learn that nothing good came of helping others?

The demon pressed a box on his belt. The Ident chip buried beneath Guy’s skin sent painful pulses through him. He yipped, shaking his head, trying to get rid of the agony.

Later, they came for him. In human form now, he was naked. Using the Ident chips injected into each werecreature, their demon keepers restricted their magick and forced all the prisoners into their human forms long after the zoo had closed.

The garrote around his neck choked him as they paraded him off to the shed. The demons stretched him out as they tied him to the punishment posts. The leather whip cracked through the air. Guy tensed. Salt on the whip’s silver studs ensured his wounds would scar.

A cold night wind whistled over his body as they dumped him into the cage after his beating. The winter chill infiltrating central Florida felt like needles stinging his shivering flesh.

“Rough day?”

At the sound of that familiar, deep voice, Guy raised his head and snarled.

“Come to finish off what the demons didn’t, Phoenix?”

The tall, dark-haired man standing before him raised every hair on Guy’s nape. Tristan was a Phoenix, one of the immortal Justice Guardians who oversaw all werecreatures.

“If I were, I’d have given you to the Draicon executioner instead of confining you here.”

“Fine. Now get the hell out of here. You’re blocking my view,” Guy muttered.

“How would you like to be free?”

Agony flared on his back. “I’ve been tortured enough today. Save it for tomorrow, when the demons get bored.”

“I never torture. Not my style. This is legit,” Tristan sat cross-legged before him.

“They told me the only way I’m getting out of here is in a coffin.”

“I have final authority here. How does visiting Ile a Sanglier in the Caribbean sound?”

Wild boar island. “Why, they have a new zoo they want to display me?”

“You have a friend there. Bernard Belizaire. Bernard acts as sort of a resource coordinator for Draicon on the island and keeps tabs on everything that happens. He helped several Draicon packs settle on Ile a Sanglier years ago. Recently, the oldest pack vanished.” Tristan’s green gaze met his. “They were slaughtered by Morphs.”

Guy swore softly. Morphs, former Draicon who turned to evil for greater power by killing a close relative, were their race’s greatest threat.

“The Quartermaines left the States, but their alpha, Dell, kept tabs on them through Bernard. Dell wants Brianna, the youngest Draicon. She managed to escape, and make it to a Draicon safe house. Your job is to be bodyguard for Brianna and help Kayla Morris, the woman hired to find and bring Brianna back to Dell. We need a Draicon who is a good fighter and will keep Brianna safe until her return to the States.”

“Why can’t Bernard do it himself? Or this Kayla person?”

Tristan’s jaw tightened. “He admitted he can’t protect her from Morphs. He has a rare condition and his senses, especially hearing and smell, are failing. Kayla lacks Draicon powers. She’s been hired because Brianna only trusts females. If you do this, you can go free.”

“And you’re offering me this out the goodness of that black ice you call a heart?”

His windpipe compressed as Tristan squeezed a fist, clutching nothing more than air. “Watch it, wolf.”

Tristan released him. Guy rubbed his aching throat.

“And why should I trust you when you put me in here?” he demanded.

“You’re here because you killed your pack alpha.”

“I’m here because of Anne. I warned her Simon was turning evil and I was going to take him out. So she told Simon. He went after me, I killed him and then Carl, Simon’s beta, took over. Carl got leadership and I got prison.”

He’d foolishly warned Anne to keep her safe, failing to see her blind loyalty to their leader. He should have known better than to put a woman’s needs before his own.

Tristan stood, shadowing Guy with his tall body. “Because you saved the pack by killing Simon, you’re here instead of six feet under. You knew the rules. You should have told Carl, who would have alerted the Kallan to execute Simon. The Kallan is immortal and the pack would have respected his authority. Instead, you killed Simon and nearly involved your pack in a brutal war over who believed you and who didn’t. You’re a rogue who can’t follow orders.”

“And you think I can follow rules now?” he taunted. Damn, he still had freshly bleeding stripes on his back to prove otherwise.

“I’m giving you this chance to see if you can.” The Phoenix flashed him a dark smile.

Freedom. So close he could taste it. Guy squeezed his aching fists. “I’ll do it. What about the Ident?”

“It stays in until you deliver the girl to Dell. A little insurance in case you take a detour.” Tristan looked impassive. “I’m deactivating it, but in five days, starting it up again unless you deliver the girl.”

The thought of the chip still buried inside him rankled Guy. He took a deep breath.

“Just remember deliver Brianna to Dell or you’re back here. And you won’t leave until you’re in a coffin.” Tristan paused. “When she shows up tomorrow, go easy on Kayla. She usually avoids Draicon.”

“Sure, I’ll take it easy on the human.”

Tristan smiled. “I never said Kayla was human.”

“What the hell is she?”

“Your destiny.”

Fear and rage roared through Guy. “The hell with destiny, Phoenix. I’ve spent 30 years locked up because a woman betrayed me. You call that my destiny, too?”

“Kayla isn’t Trish, Guy. She has no pack loyalty.”

Guy shook his head. “Every wolf for himself.”

“We’ll see,” Tristan murmured as he vanished.

Thoughts on Haiti and the Hotel Montana

This photo to the left is from the Hotel Montana in Haiti, the room I stayed in last March. The room was a junior suite; I received a free upgrade because of the availability. The bar behind the sofa had a mini fridge where I stashed my bottled water. The room was in the back of the hotel, overlooking the mountains of Petionville. We always stayed in this hotel because we had a discount rate, had stayed there for years because it was safe.

Until the earthquake of Jan. 12, 2010 when the hotel came crashing down.

I've never stayed at any other hotel or guest house during the 16 years I've visited Port au Prince. I've gazed at sunsets from the terrace of my hotel room, stared at the one-room shacks peppering the mountainside, gazed down at the darkness of Cite Soleil while dining on the terrace.

I'm home today, trying to write the newsletter article that is due next week on our special Haiti earthquake edition. It's in first person. I can't write about this tragedy without it being in first person, because for 16 years, Haiti has been part of my life as much as my husband, my pets, my home.

I found a chilling diary entry from 2008, when I was in Haiti... the week of Jan. 12. The post was written at the Hotel Montana, right after I finished dinner. The table was the "prime" table on the terrace, overlooking a vista of the city. The wood slat chairs had metal legs that screeched along the Chattahoochee when you pulled out your seat. Palms and ornamental foliage filled the planters lining the terrace. Inside the restaurant were quiet reflecting pools and a waterfall, with bright pink bougainvillea. White floor to ceiling drapes were tied back in a very open air atmosphere, but they closed the French doors when it rained.

In this photo, the table is just above to the left. Ed, the photographer I had traveled with that trip, had just left.

"I'm gazing at the lights below of Port au Prince. Candlelight flickers on my table. Four torches on a distant mountain remind of a medieval castle, a step back in time in Haiti. Like Haiti, I have to take a step back and reflect and slow down and search inside. I know I won't ever forget the weary eyes of a 22-year-old mother carrying the weight of her malnourished son in Cite Soleil... I talked with the old man here at the Montana who runs the gift shop. He asked about Catherine and I told him she was coming here to meet with me, and just chat. Then a little while later, I was in the News Bar, waiting for her and guess who shows up at the same time Catherine does? The old man who runs the gift shop. They laughed and chatted a little while I sipped my Sprite at the bar. Haiti's like that. Everyone knows each other, it's like a large extended family where everyone at the News Bar, like Cheers, knows your name."

The News Bar with its red and white stained glass sign above the mahogany counter is gone. Msr. Laurent, the head barman who usually poured the drinks, is dead. This is the Hotel Montana now, as I visited it last week. The entire top floor caved in, crashing to the ground and covering the lobby and ornate circular entrance way like a coffin lid.

This photo is of the village shops and apartments. The doorway to the far right leads to the makeshift morgue.

I think about those who were in the wrong place at the wrong time and never made it. The woman we saw in the crushed car downtown. The parishioners at the Cathedral trying to flee who were trapped in the doorway by concrete raining upon them. Those still missing at the Hotel Montana.

I say little prayers, because in a way I'm too numb to pray in earnest. I pray for their families, their loved ones, their friends, for grace and strength.

I pray for Haiti to heal and recover.

I haven't talked about the Montana much until now, because of the rescue operations and out of respect for the families of those still waiting for news. I realize I need to write about it now, because I also need closure.

Images of the hotel as it was are burned into memory. The tiny, coffin like elevators that had mirrors and small fans. The button for "lobby" was a silver upside down "7." Like everything in Haiti, the people cleverly improvised when they had to do without.

The bricked steps leading to the first floor, where the original reception desk was, and later it was turned into a little bakery where you could buy pastries and croissants.

The white stained glass model of a church that sat on a small side table by the French doors leading down to the big mahogany tree and the pool. The shoeshine man who sat beneath its shade for years. I remember passing him after breakfast the last time I stayed there and saying a cheerful "Bon Jour." He always had a beaming smile.

Jude, the waiter I've known longer than anyone else at the Montana. "Pomme frites" or "riz?" His wife had gotten into a nasty car wreck last year but she recovered.

Is Jude alive, or dead? I don't know.

The polished wood banister of the staircase leading to the second floor, where I've stayed so many times, and the curved steps leading to the top floors. The gold ornate mirror in the second floor hallway that always showed how tired I looked after a week in Haiti. The heavy wood doors once had old-fashioned keys and locks. They gave you your key with a keyring with a large oblong piece of wood. I once joked with Gina, our photographer, the Montana key rings would make good weapons. You had to leave them at the front desk so the maid could clean your room.

The terraces and open air alcoves that offered privacy and quiet retreats with reading lamps. The downstairs lobby with its mirrors and the reflecting pool with pink bougainvillea. I sat there for 45 minutes last March waiting for our ride and that's when I decided to write my Nocturne Bite using Haiti as the setting, only name it a different island. The hotel featured in Darkness of the Wolf is the Montana. The stone statue of the mother hugging her child used to flank the Montana's lobby entrance.

I did visit the Montana last week. There was a hushed quiet in the air, broken by the murmur of voices and the sudden barking of German Shepherd search and rescue dogs caged for the night.

This photo is of the last sunset I'll see at the Montana, the sun setting over the remains of the village shops. The tarp strung up is to give some privacy for the search and rescue teams to shower off the dust and rubble after they finish.

The sky streaked ribbons of purple and rose as we studied the names of the victims who were identified, and the missing, a Chilean flag perched above the poster boards. A candle flickered on the table where a woman was working on paperwork. Then there were the grim visages of the Chilean police investigation unit, donning haz mat suits as they prepared to go into the makeshift morgue to ID the bodies of those already found.

The stench of dust and death lingered in the air.

I still have reservations for January 25, the day I was to arrive at the Hotel Montana. We'd discussed visiting Haiti earlier in the month, but decided against it. How close would we have come to being there Jan. 12 when it all came crashing down?

We wouldn't have been at the Montana that Tuesday, but in Jacmel, in another hotel that also collapsed and was destroyed.

I don't know why these things happen. I can't even begin to try to understand the why. All I can do it forge ahead, say prayers for those who lost their lives, strength for their loved ones and family, for those still in Haiti who struggle even harder now with daily life, and try to help as best as I can.

And maybe, some day, be able to look back at Haiti and my time there, and all my visits to the Hotel Montana, the sodas poured by a busy Msr. Laurent, the memories and the thoughts of those who were there to help Haiti and died in a hotel that was the best in Haiti, and not feel this knife like pain in my chest.

I know it will be a long time before I can forget the Hotel Montana. When I walked through the tall metal gates for the last time, they creaked slowly shut behind me, closed by a Chilean soldier shouldering a rifle. The Montana is no more.

God bless all those who perished in the earthquake of Jan. 12, 2010, and all those who lost a loved one, and those in Haiti struggling to live on.

Haiti earthquake Day 4

Still no word on Catherine, but I'm holding onto hope because communuication is so limited. Our guys in Haiti who arrived yest. have a sat phone but even the sat. phone it was heard to hear them. They said it's utter chaos there.

Catherine lives in Petionville, and I'm not sure if her last email on Tuesday, two hours b/f the quake hit, was sent from her home or in Port au Prince. Petionville, where the Hotel Montana is, was hit very hard.

There are tent cities springing up along the roadside, refugee camps. The stench is beginning to get pretty bad from what I've heard.

Going into work with my jaw aching. Couldn't figure out why until I realized I've been clenching my teeth since Tuesday. Three hours of sleep each night, worrying, worrying. Watching the news. Hoping, praying, going into this numb kind of mood and just focusing on doing my job so I can do my job.

These photos are of the Hotel Montana, the room where I stayed in March on the fifth floor. I was just there in Oct and was supposed to stay there in another week when I go to Haiti. Still have a reservation. I was watching the live rescue efforts of the Fairfax search and rescue team digging survivors out of the rubble, and it's chilling. For 16 years, I've stayed in that hotel. I never in my worst nightmares could imagine an earthquake. No warning.

The second photo is the lobby area. I cannot wrap my mind around the fact that this is all gone and people are still trapped.


I saw a photo of people camping out in Petionville. Please Catherine, I hope you and Nathalie are among them.