The Presence (11 page)

“What happened?” Josh asked. “How come you’re out already? You’re always down till you start breathing water.”

“And that wasn’t very long ago,” Jeff replied. “The gauge said the tank was full when I went in, but I ran out of air ten minutes ago.” He scowled in the moonlight, then glared at the offending tank. “And we can’t even complain to Ken about it, since he didn’t exactly rent this stuff to us!” He struck another match. The small pile of kindling under the kiawe branches sputtered, then burst into flame.

A few minutes later, as the fire crept up through the kiawe, which burned brighter every minute, Rick and Kioki emerged from the water, too. “What happened to you guys?” they asked.

Josh shrugged. “Tanks weren’t full.”

Kioki frowned. “Yours, too? I figured it was only mine.”

Rick Pieper glanced at his buddy. “What are you talking about? You had trouble, too?”

Kioki nodded. “I think the gauge on mine was screwed up. I had to switch over to the emergency real early on.”

“Why didn’t you give me a signal?” Rick demanded. “My air supply was okay. Jeez, Kioki, if we’d been down deep, you coulda been in real trouble.”

An expression of sudden fear came over Michael’s face, and Josh spoke quickly. “But we
weren’t
deep. We’re all fine, and all we have to do is put this crap back in the dive shop and make sure that next time everything works right. Okay?” He looked from one face to another, as if daring anyone to challenge him.

“Don’t you think we ought to tell Ken?” Rick finally ventured.

“Tell him what?” Josh demanded. “That we snuck in and borrowed his stuff?” His voice took on that edge of sarcasm already familiar to Michael. “That’d be a real good idea, wouldn’t it?”

“So what do we do?” Jeff Kina asked.

Josh shrugged. “What we were always planning to do. Nothing happened, so we take the stuff back, clean it up, and go home. Or do you all want Ken calling the cops on us?”

As they moved closer to the fire, letting its warmth drive the chill of the water out of their bodies, no one said anything.

No one had to.

Michael gazed past the campfire’s flames at the dark pool of water, and shivered as he realized how close to danger they had come.

But nothing
had
happened. He hadn’t panicked, and he’d gotten the weights off, and …

And he wished he’d never come on this dive.

Rick Pieper glanced at his watch—it was 11:35. If his folks were still up, there’d be hell to pay, since he’d sworn he’d be back no later than eleven. But it had taken longer than they thought to get all the equipment back into the dive shop, and even when they were done he was pretty sure Ken would notice in the morning, no matter what Josh Malani had said. Well, if Ken figured it out, Malani would just have to find some way to get them all out of it. One thing about Josh—he could always figure out something. Now, as Rick slowed his car to make the left turn off the highway to the village in the cane fields where Kioki Santoya lived, he tooted his horn at Josh’s beat-up truck, which sped on up the mountainside.

“Want me to drive you all the way home?” Rick asked a few minutes later as they approached the intersection where he’d have to turn to drop Kioki at his house.

The other boy shook his head. “My mom’ll wake up. Seems like she can hear a car a mile away. Just let me out up here, and I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

Rick Pieper pulled the car over close to the ditch. As Kioki opened the door, he felt something funny, like a wave of dizziness. Hesitating, he wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have Rick drive him the rest of the way home
after all. But the feeling passed as suddenly as it came on. Kioki slammed the door shut behind him. “See you in the morning,” he called. Rick popped the clutch on his car, taking off with a screech of wheels and a cloud of dirt that kicked up into Kioki’s face. Flipping his friend the finger, Kioki started along the narrow road.

He hadn’t gone more than a hundred yards when the strange feeling came over him again, a dizziness, then a pressure in his chest. Suddenly, he felt just as he did when they burned the cane fields at night and he forgot to close his bedroom window.

Coughing, he stopped and looked around, searching for the fire, but saw nothing except the sweep of stars across the sky and the sinking moon, dropping toward the horizon.

Nor could he smell the acrid fumes that boiled off the fields when they burned them, or hear the crackling of the blazing cane that always sounded like it was right outside the house even when it was a mile away.

His coughing subsided, but the pain in his chest got worse.

What the hell was going on? He was never sick!

Kioki began to walk again, but within a few yards had to slow down. His whole body was starting to hurt now, and his breath was coming in short gasps.

Home!

He had to get home!

He lurched on, straining to make the muscles in his legs work, but lost his balance and pitched forward, sprawling facedown into the road. He threw his hands out to break his fall. A rock scraped the skin on his left hand, and a piece of broken glass slashed deep into his right palm.

Kioki grunted at the stab of pain, pulled himself into a sitting position, and tried to get a look at his bleeding hand.

The cut extended from the base of his thumb across to his little finger, and was already starting to throb.

Clutching his right hand with his left, Kioki struggled back to his feet, staggering with the effort. Now his heart was starting to pound, and every breath he took was agonizing.

He tried to force his body into a run, but he felt the dizziness descend again. After only a single step his legs buckled beneath him and he collapsed onto the ground. Falling too close to the edge of the irrigation ditch that ran along the edge of the road, he slid down its steep bank and sank into the stinking water and the thick layer of mud that lay three feet beneath its surface.

The shock of the water closing over him galvanized Kioki for a moment, and he hurled himself back onto the bank, clawing at the dirt with both hands, ignoring the pain that was throbbing up his arm and the blood gushing from his right palm.

His legs seemed mired in the mud, and he could barely breathe, but at last he heaved himself free from the muck, scrambled up the bank, and sprawled out by the side of the road.

Kioki lay still, exhausted, his whole body hurting now.

He stared up into the sky, waiting for whatever had struck him to pass, his breath coming in ragged patches.

Now his vision blurred, and as he felt his stomach cramp with nausea, he rolled over to keep from puking all over himself.

As the retching began, the uncontrollable spasms sent him sliding back into the irrigation ditch.

This time he couldn’t find the strength to pull himself out, and clawed ineffectually at the bank as the pain in his chest and stomach spread through him, his dizziness grew worse, and vomit began to boil up out of his throat.

A few minutes later, alone in the blackness in the middle of the cane field, Kioki Santoya sank into the arms of death.

Ten more minutes.

Katharine decided to wait ten more minutes—until the clock on the mantel showed exactly midnight—before she started making her calls.

She’d already written down the phone number of Maui Memorial Hospital, as well as the number for the main police station in Wailuku and the substation in Kihei. So far, she’d been unable to get a listing for Josh Malani’s parents.

A movie. That’s where Michael had said he was going.

A perfectly reasonable and harmless thing to do.

But she knew why she was worried: Josh Malani. Although she hardly knew him—and kept trying to convince herself that she shouldn’t judge a sixteen-year-old boy on first impressions—all her instincts warned her that the handsome teenager whose life Michael had saved was a dangerous companion for her son. He’d struck her as cocky, and the fact that he’d gone diving by himself told her he was supremely lacking in common sense. And who else was Michael with? Some kids from the track team.

Kids whose names he hadn’t even bothered to mention.

“Would it make any difference if he
had
left their names?” Rob had asked with a logic that had done nothing
to allay her fears. “You wouldn’t know any more about them.”

“It would have given me more people to call if he’s late!”

Rob had eyed her from across the table in the restaurant where they’d had dinner. “That would make him real happy,” he observed archly. “Teenage boys love to have their moms call their friends, looking for them. Besides, this is Maui, not New York. He’ll be fine.”

Through the rest of their dinner and during the drive home she’d managed to hold her worries in check, but in the house alone an hour later, when Michael hadn’t arrived home, she’d called Rob. “Give him until eleven-thirty at least,” he’d counseled. “If he’s still not there, then call me and we’ll figure out what to do. Unless you’d like me to come over?”

“No,” Katharine had sighed. “I’ll be okay. But thanks for offering.”

She’d done her best to stay calm, telling herself there were any number of plausible reasons for Michael’s lateness.

The movie could have run later than they’d thought, or the theater could be far enough from Makawao that it was taking longer for him to get home than he’d thought. After all, neither of them really knew their way around the island yet, and if anyone had asked her how long it took to drive from her house to Kihei, she wouldn’t have the slightest idea what the right answer might be.

By eleven-forty, though, all her rationales had turned hollow. By a quarter to twelve, a nightmare image had invaded her mind:

Michael trapped in a wrecked car, struggling to get out.

When the clock’s gears began to grind softly as it prepared to strike midnight, Katharine reached for the phone to dial the hospital. Before her fingers had touched the first button on the keypad, however, the glint of headlights coming down the driveway struck the wall opposite the front windows.

Her hand dropped away from the telephone as the clock chimed. As Michael came through the front door, the bubble of fear that had been swelling inside her broke, exploding into anger at his lateness.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” she demanded even before he’d closed the door.

Michael’s eyes darted toward the clock, and he winced as he saw how late he was. “We just sort of lost track of time,” he said. “We were playing video games and—”

“Video games?” Katharine interrupted. “I thought you said you were going to the movies.”

“We were,” Michael said quickly, improvising as fast as he could. “But the only one we wanted to see was sold out, so we started playing video games, and just lost track of time. I’m really sorry, Mom. I—”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Katharine interrupted. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”

The repentance in Michael’s eyes vanished. “Jeez, Mom, I’m only an hour late! What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal, as you put it, is that I’ve been worried sick!” Katharine shot back. “Anything could have happened to you! You could have gotten into an accident, or someone might have mugged you, or—”

“This is Hawaii, Mom, not New York! And I’m not a baby anymore. Nobody else had to call his
mommy!”

“Maybe nobody else has a
mommy
who cares,” Katharine snapped, deliberately mimicking his tone. “I don’t
even know who you were with, except Josh Malani, and I can’t say I’m nuts about him!”

Recoiling from the sting of his mother’s words, Michael struggled against the tightness that had suddenly constricted his throat and the wetness welling in his eyes. “I was just with some other guys from the team, okay? Jeez, Mom! I made the track team, and I’m making some friends out here. I thought you’d be happy for me!” Katharine’s anger dissolved in the face of her son’s pain, but it was too late. “I’m not dead,” he went on. “And I’m not hurt.” His eyes fixed on her, as if challenging her to say anything more. “And I’m going to bed!” he finished. Stalking from the living room into his bedroom, he slammed the door behind him.

Left alone, Katharine dropped tiredly onto a chair. Why had she yelled at him? Why hadn’t she at least listened to his explanation before she’d jumped all over him? In fact, now that she thought about what he’d said, she realized he had a point. Part of the reason he’d always been home on time in New York was because he’d been by himself. The asthma that had kept him out of school so much had seen to that. Until a year ago, when he’d made up his mind to make the track team, Michael had never been part of a crowd, rarely even had friends to hang around with for more than a few weeks at a time. And then, just as he’d been on the verge of realizing his goal, she’d moved him out here.

And he’d succeeded. How could she have started in on him before she’d even congratulated him on making the team this afternoon? It had to have been one of the happiest days of his life, and what had she done? She’d spoiled it, simply because he was an hour late getting home.

Rob was right—she should have controlled her own
fears, and been happy that for once in his life Michael was just one of the guys instead of the skinny, wheezing kid who always stood on the sidelines.

He must have been so excited, she should count herself lucky that he’d called her at all!

Katharine went to his door, knocked softly, then opened it a crack. “Michael? May I come in?” When there was no answer, she spoke again. “Tell you what. I’ll forgive you for being late if you’ll forgive me for forgetting that you made the team today. I’m really sorry I yelled at you.”

She waited, hoping he’d turn on the light and tell her to come in, but after a long silence, he only spoke briefly out of the darkness. “Okay, Mom,” he said. Then: “See you in the morning.”

Katharine pulled Michael’s door closed again.

In his room, Michael lay staring up at the ceiling in the darkness. Should he have told her the truth about where he’d really been and what he’d been doing? But if he had, she would have yelled at him some more.