Sacrifice Island (10 page)

Alex liked to think if he gave fifteen years of his life to a place that wasn’t home, he’d at least pick up some of the language.

The officer stood, gave a great stretch, shook his friend’s hand warmly in both of his, then sauntered over to them. He sat on the bench next to Jemma.

“Mr. Brenton. What may I do for you this afternoon? Are your guests having trouble?”

“These are the researchers here to study Sakripisiyuhin Island.”

The officer’s demeanor changed. He stood straighter, and the corners of his mouth, which had been turned up in a smile, sank into a flat line.

Jemma seemed to notice this, too, and scooted a fraction of an inch away from him.

“Welcome to El Nido,” he said, no warmth in his voice. “I hope you are enjoying your stay here.”

It seemed wise to let Terry do the talking.

“They were on the island, and they ran into some trouble.” The flat line of the officer’s mouth dropped into a frown. “That is to say, they found some unpleasantness, and reported it back to me, and I was most unhappy for them to have seen what they saw—”

“We discovered a Chinese boy who’d been savagely murdered,” Jemma said.

In the moment before the officer put on a surprised expression, his shoulders drooped and his eyes dropped. Then he seemed to pull himself together. “My goodness, I hope you were not hurt, were not upset! Let me accommodate you for one of your nights with Mr. Brenton for free so you will not think poorly of our people.”

Free hotel room? A man was dead.

“Where did you find this terrible thing?”

“On the island, in the marble gazebo,” Jemma said.

The officer nodded. “Well, we will go and take care of it. Thank you for your time.” The officer stood, pulled a radio out of his belt, keyed it, and spoke in Tagalog.

Terry stood up, but Jemma and Alex stayed put. The officer seemed surprised to find them there when he finished the radio call. He listened as someone else spoke.

“Come along,” Terry said.

“But don’t they want to know what we found?”

“They will go and see for themselves.”

“But we could have—” Jemma let her protests trail off midsentence. “Do they not care?”

“Of course they care!”

“Was it because I said he was Chinese?”

“Things work differently here. The pace of life is slow. The detectives here don’t follow the same procedures as home, they don’t have the money or the training to conduct what you and I might think of as a real investigation.”

“There’s a violent murderer here,” Jemma said. “And all those missing people!”

“I’m sure most of your missing people are relaxing on a beach miles and miles from here, and the worst culprit is poor communication.” Terry favored them with a grandfatherly smile.

“If you don’t mind, I think we’ll stay in town for a bit.”

“Can I recommend one of the massage parlors?” Terry asked.

“Sure.” Alex let him point one out and talk about how fantastic the service is.

“It’s a real massage—not anything unsavory like you might read about in Thailand.”

“Thanks, Terry,” Alex said. He breathed a sigh of relief when the man’s white-shirted, sweaty back faced them as he returned to the van.

13

“What’s wrong with him?” Jemma asked. “What’s wrong with all of them? How could no one care?”

Alex nodded in agreement. “It’s bullshit.” He took a deep breath. “Which is why we’ve got to get out of here? Like tomorrow. This is way over our heads.”

They walked down the streets of El Nido. Early afternoon sun scorched the city, and the streets were the emptiest they’d seen. Jemma baked under her hat and in her dress, sweat pooling on the small of her back and between her breasts. They passed scores of shops that sold a variety of things: dresses, cheap packaged junk food with Chinese labels, poorly painted and brightly colored toys.

“Go?” No. Impossible. They didn’t even know what precisely they were dealing with. Didn’t this excite him? And what about Rebecca? What if her spirit were still on the island? “We can’t go, Alex. We only just got here.”

“I’ve seen enough dead stuff. There’s a bagel shop in Yonkers. A poltergeist. It’s perfect, and close to home.”

“The book is about the world.”

“New York is like the center of the world…”

“I miss it. But I want to know, don’t you? What kind of spirit tortured Rebecca in her journal? Who killed the boy? Who’s living in the basement of the dormitory?”

“Who wants us gone so badly they nailed an animal to your door?”

“They don’t feel the same way about animals here as we do.”

“All the more reason to leave.”

“One more day.”

“One more? Are you kidding?”

“Let’s at least see what the gear has recorded.” She couldn’t bear the idea of leaving.

At a concession stand, Alex bought them each a bottle of water.

“I don’t know. It’s dangerous.”

“We solved the murder in Canada. We proved the Eskimo fellow did it.”

“I’m pretty sure they prefer to be called Inuits. And I agree. That was awesome, it felt really good. But this isn’t the same. That murder happened almost a decade ago. We’re stumbling across bodies and shit here.”

“We’ll get more media attention, and more publicity, and then grants will be easier to come across.”

“Not if we’re dead.”

They wouldn’t be dead. They’d have an even greater knowledge of the spiritual world. Not that Alex cared. She tried not to be mad, but this was vacation for him. This was work, exploration, for her.

They found a restaurant on the shore, with tables set up in the sand. As the tide receded, it left exotic shells and trash in its wake. The Vista Breeze beach was much cleaner, and there were fewer boats moored there. She was glad Terry caught them and talked them into staying. She liked being away from the sounds of the bustling city.

Terry. She needed to talk to him. To find what he knew about the island. What he wasn’t telling them. With his information, they would be much better prepared for their next visit.

“I’m calling tonight to get tickets home squared away.”

“I’m not going,” she said.

“You’re kidding. I don’t want to do this. Not here. It’s not right. This isn’t our kind of case.”

“I don’t care. It
is
our kind of case. We thrive on the unexplained.”

“What if I leave?” Alex asked.

He wouldn’t go if she stayed. She knew he wouldn’t. “Fine. Leave.”

He stared at her. She could almost see his mind race, reaching for an answer. He opened his mouth, closed it.

“You’re being a bitch.” He stood up, gently pushed his chair in, and walked away.

Jemma stayed in her chair. The waitress came and Jemma panicked, ordered a mango shake. Did she have any money? Did she have anything? She searched her deep pocket and came out with a dirty, soft bill. She did have enough. She paid the woman when she brought the icy drink.

Jemma liked the island. Liked the quiet, the idea that everyone who died there, even Feng, had moved on. No one was trapped in a purgatory. She had to find out why.

Alex wouldn’t leave.

What would she do if he did?

It didn’t matter, because he wouldn’t. End of story.

For a half hour, Jemma debated whether to walk or to use one of the trike taxis to get back. All she had to do was raise a hand to flag it, say the words “Vista Breeze.” Just like she had the other evening. Which went all right. But what if the driver didn’t understand. What if it were awkward? What if he did take her, but then they went in a different direction? What if he were confused? Or worse…what if he took her somewhere.

She started to walk back, but then realized it was too hot. She had to flag a trike down after all.

None of them stopped and she started to cry. Finally one did stop. It took three tries to spit out the name of the place.

“You okay, lady?” the driver asked, his English broken.

“Fine, thank you.” She turned away. She knew she’d overpaid, but she didn’t care.

Relief washed over her as she retreated to her cabin, shut the door behind her, locked it. She drew all the curtains, and only then did she step out of her layers of clothes. What would it be like on one of those deserted beaches? What would it be like to swim?

It didn’t matter. She stepped into the shower and soaped herself up. The icy water soothed her after her ordeal.

Alex couldn’t go. She needed him here. She’d have to go to him and apologize. Tell him she needed him. But she wouldn’t go. She touched her skin. It didn’t hurt when she touched herself.

She remembered, dimly, what it felt like to be touched.

The cold water sluiced over her until it became unbearable and her teeth chattered. She shut the water off and toweled dry. She put on a dress, hating it for being shapeless and ugly. But it was who she’d become, an embodiment of ugly shapelessness. It was her lot in life to be alone, deserted even by Alex, her closest friend.

She donned a hat and stepped into the baking sun. She started to sweat again. She imagined her New York apartment, curling into a chair with her work, a blanket wrapped around her. A mosquito whined in her ear and she swatted it away.

Alex wasn’t in his cabin. She found him instead at the beach with a paperback, watching two little boys throw jellyfish at each other. They laughed and splashed, squealing when the stinging masses would land on their bare skin. Her hatred of humanity welled up inside. Boys torturing each other and innocent creatures.

“I’m sorry,” said Alex.

At least he apologized. “I’m sorry, too,” she said, to be polite. “So you’re not going?”

“I wouldn’t leave you, you know that.”

“You scared me.”

“I know. I’m sorry I got mad.”

“We can’t leave. What if we find why the ghosts don’t stay here and can bring peace to other ghosts?”

“This is way out of our league.” She knew she’d won.

“Think of the press we’ll get. This could be some serious money for us. Thank you, Alex, I know you’re making the right decision.” She sat with him for a bit, but watching the boys play became too much. Jemma drifted off. She would find Terry. Get some answers out of him. She came across him upstairs in the restaurant where he stood with an empty glass in his hand and gazed out at the sea.

“Can I buy you a drink?” she asked.

Terry chuckled. “I own the bar. There’s no need. Would you like something?”

“Bottled water, please.” Jemma didn’t drink. She couldn’t let her guard down.

They sat at one of the molave tables. A lizard basked on the railing in the sun.

“You said your wife had a connection to Sacrifice Island.”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

Jemma frowned and gazed down into the bottle of water. “It would help our research. I don’t want any details, anything unpleasant. Whatever you could tell me would be helpful.”

Terry peered at her a moment. Jemma wished Alex were here, wished he could tell her what might be going on under Terry’s surface.

“You should leave.”

“I love it here,” Jemma lied. “I don’t want to leave.” A mosquito whined in her ear. The heat of the afternoon made her sweat without even moving.

“Do you really love it here?”

She smiled because he’d seen through her. “I do like the island. There’s something about it, it’s peaceful in ways that I’ve never seen before.” Terry gave her a tiny half smile. She went on: “It’s the only place I’ve ever found where I can really hear myself think. Where I can relax and be myself.”

“Does Alex agree with you?” Terry asked.