The Purgatorium (10 page)

“Oh!”

“Wow!”

“Brilliant!”

The second whale also leapt behind the first, and then turned and lifted its tail to make a big splash toward the onlookers, as though putting on a show for them. The whale hit the water with its tail two more times.

Daphne couldn’t believe how majestic they appeared and how close and visible they were. “Amazing!” she cried, forgetting everything else but the vision of the magnificent creatures in the sea. She wished she had brought her cell phone along so she could take a picture.

Phillip and Mary Ellen promised to get her email address later and send their photos to her.

After the whales were gone, the group made its descent with Kelly in the lead. Daphne failed to get Pearl behind Chief, and so she was anxious. Pearl bit and kicked and slipped on rocks. Daphne pulled her out of the line a few times. Now, Pearl ambled over to the right of the group and chomped on tall grass.

“Come on, Pearl,” Daphne commanded, kicking the horse’s side and gently tugging at the reins. “Come on. Let’s go.” The rest of the group continued down the mountain, apparently unaware they were leaving Daphne behind. “Go, Pearl!” Daphne kicked hard with desperation along the horse’s sides, but instead of turning to follow the others, Pearl reared up and ran to the west, at full canter, down the steep slope of the mountain.

Crap. Where were the others? “Help! Help! This way!” Daphne screamed and hollered, but now, more importantly, she focused on staying on the horse. Pearl continued to run, slipping and sliding, and leaping over larger rocks. “Whoa! Oh my God!” She pulled back, to no avail.

Daphne could no longer hear herself screaming, but her throat burned and her mouth was open. Tree branches scraped her arm and thigh as Pearl ran past, leaping over fallen logs and shrubs of poppies, and slowing only to evade large boulders. There weren’t many trees on this island, but Pearl managed to assault her rider with them.

The terrain was rocky here, and hilly, unlike the smooth grass of Central Valley. Pearl slipped on a cluster of rocks, reared back, and though Daphne hugged the body of the horse with her legs and clung to the reins, she was thrown off onto the hard ground below.

“Pearl!”

The mare trotted off, past more boulders, and out of sight.

Daphne’s bare back had taken the brunt of the fall, and as she tried to stand, she gasped with pain. Her left leg was also sore and cut. Against the painful protest of her body, she climbed onto the tallest rock and shouted, “I’m over here! Anybody? Can you hear me? I’m over here!”

Feeling dizzy, she sat on the boulder and tried to get her bearings. Which way was north? If only she had a compass. She sat for a few minutes, putting pressure on her wounded leg and hoping the others were already on their way. Surely, this was not a game. She could have died when she was thrown off that horse. Unlike the elevator and the cave, where she had company and was safe, being thrown and lost wasn’t some new therapy doctors could control. This was an accident, plain and simple, and soon she would be found.

As she sat waiting for civilization to find her, Daphne thought of every terrible thing in her miserable life: Grandpa’s death, Joey’s sickness, Kara’s death, Brock’s sadness. Tears filled her eyes as she recalled the anguish that had crossed Brock’s face when she told him she could never be happy. She should have gotten out of bed. Even now, it felt wrong to call it anything but her fault. She had killed Kara.

“Let’s take a break,” Brock had said when she could no longer look at him.

The black smoke curled into the sky in front of her and, remembering the contained fire was to the south, she hiked up onto a high rock and scanned her surroundings, now glad to have her bearings. She hollered out a few more times, hoping to be heard. Although she saw no sign of her party, she headed in the direction she thought they were most likely to be, in the direction of the smoke.

The hot sun beat down on her and reflected off the rocks. Wishing she had her water bottle, she licked her dry lips and limped on. The Central Valley should be up ahead, and there would be the stream.

It was slow moving over the rocky hills, and more than once Daphne lost her balance and slid on the loose gravel underfoot, as the horses had done.  Each time she reached a hill, she expected to see the valley below, but every time, another hill emerged. She feared the black smoke must have blown west, leading her to the haunted side of the island.

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” she said aloud.

A flash of light cut through the sky, like the jagged blade of a sword. Up ahead, the dark clouds clustered, mixing with the smoke from the fire floating away in curled ribbons. Daphne wondered if she were making a mistake by moving from her spot. She should have stayed put. She glanced over her shoulder, thinking she should turn back.

Startled by a movement on the ground behind her, she froze. A moment later, it came again, but this time she saw the little animal. He must be an island fox. He was no bigger than a house cat with the snout of a terrier and the tail of a squirrel. Daphne’s tensed muscles relaxed. She was glad to have his company.

“Hello there,” she said.

She expected the fox to run off, but he didn’t. Then she noticed the white tag on his tail and realized the Nature Conservancy was tracking him. Maybe he was used to humans. Daphne bent down, her back hurting, and said, “Hi, little fellow. How are you?” She put her hand low to the ground, but he wouldn’t come to her; nor did he run away. He stood there, staring.

She turned and limped on, heading a little more to her left, which she thought must be south because of the clouds and the lightning. Every so often, she glanced over her shoulder and was pleased to see the fox was following her. She was on the verge of tears and frightened, but now not so lonely with her new friend.

Up ahead, a row of pines and a grassy valley stretched in the distance. She was disappointed she hadn’t found Central Valley, but it was better than the endless rocks. The row of pines was thin and not high, and on the other side was a yellow patch of hay. Her back had loosened up since her fall and though her leg was bleeding, she could walk without limping. She hiked down to the grass and across the yellow field just as the rain began to fall. Two short oak trees in the distance seemed like her best bet for shelter.  As she hunkered down beneath the limbs, she noticed the fox had followed, though he kept his distance.

“Come on,” she said. “I won’t bite. Will you?”

He didn’t move. He stood in the rain.

“Suit yourself.”

Daphne scoured the area from beneath the trees and tried not to be afraid. She still had several hours before nightfall, but what if she wasn’t found by then? She sat in the grass against one of the thin trunks, crying a little and trying to think of what to do when she noticed, just past the yellow field of hay, an orange and gray dome tent.

She ran to it, and then hesitated in the rain, like the fox had. She weighed her options and when another thick blade of lightning cut through the sky, followed by the sharp whip of thunder, she ran for the tent.

The rain pummeled down, drenching her.

“Help!” she cried from the outside. “Please help me! I’m lost!”

The zipper was undone and out popped a head of dark curly hair. “Daphne?”

“Stan!”

Stan held the tent open for Daphne to step inside. It was too small to stand upright, but not so small as to make her feel uncomfortable. She sat on the opposite end of his sleeping bag from him, shivering.

“What are you doing out here?” He handed her a towel. In his other hand, he held a funny-looking pipe, flat and made of polished wood. Smoke swirled up to the top of the tent where a few insects clung to the canvas.

She wiped her face and arms as she explained what had happened. The thunder rocked the ground.

“You were thrown? Are you hurt?”

She showed him her thigh. He handed her the pipe to hold while he took out a first aid kit and cleaned the wound with an alcohol pad.  Then he found a scratch on her back, unprotected by her halter top, and cleaned it as well.

“I can’t believe this happened. It’s never happened before.”

“What?” Daphne asked.

“I’ve ridden those horses. According to the guide, no one’s ever been thrown before.”

“I don’t suppose you have any water.”

He handed her a canteen. “Have as much as you like. I have more.” He dabbed ointment on the open skin in both places. “I still can’t believe this. You could have been killed.”

She drank down several gulps. “Thanks.” She gave him back the canteen and the pipe. “So what are you doing out here, besides smoking some strange-smelling stuff?” The smoke smelled a little like ginger.

“This? This is Jimsen Weed. The Chumash used to smoke it during their ceremonies. I’m going for an authentic experience.” He smiled and took a puff from the pipe. Then he held it out to her. “Want some?”

“No thanks.”

“I was hoping the rains would hold off until later this evening. I didn’t get as much work done as I’d expected, so I was planning on staying one more night out here. But if the rain lets up before nightfall, I’ll help you back.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate it. I didn’t know what I was going to do.”

“This island’s not that big. I’m sure they’re searching for you. Maybe they’ll find you and I won’t have to take you. Not that I’d mind.”

“I really appreciate it,” she said again, feeling a little woozy from the smoke. She blinked hard.

“You don’t need a drag off the pipe to feel the effects of the Jimsen Weed. There’s enough smoke here to get you high. Do you feel it?”

“A little. I’m just tired. Sleepy.”

“The Chumash used to smoke this and tell their stories about the ghosts of their women wandering the island. But this plant causes hallucinations. They were probably seeing things.” He laughed.

“The horse guide seems to believe in ghosts, and Roger, the driver, does, too.” Another crack of thunder made her jump. The rain beat at the tent, sounding like dozens of snare drums.

“They say weird shit happens on this side of the island.”

“What kind of weird shit?”

“People see things. Strange lights and shadows. A woman in white. Figures chasing them. Once I thought something was chasing me, but it was nothing.”

“Were you smoking then?” she teased.

Stan laughed again. “No, actually. But people also hear screams coming from Haunted Bridge.” He told her more about the slave trader’s wife, adding to what Roger had told her. “She didn’t know what her husband had been up to. When she found out, she sank his ship before it could collect more slaves. Since then, lots of sunken boats in the area have been credited to her ghost.”

She reminded herself that she didn’t believe in ghosts. “I’m getting sleepy,” Daphne said.

“Me, too. You okay?” He snuffed out the pipe.

Her lids felt heavy. “Okay. Relaxed.” Her surroundings disappeared and there was only this one spot in front of her where her legs crossed. “A little sad.”

“Sad?”

“I’m usually better at blocking out memories. I think I’m going to cry.”

“Don’t cry.” He patted her shoulder. “Don’t be sad. Shit happens, you know? Bad stuff happens to everyone.”

“I miss Brock.” Was there a bowling alley nearby?

“Who’s Brock?”

“My old boyfriend. We were going to get married one day and open a private swim school. Is someone bowling?”

“No, that’s thunder. I thought Cam was your boyfriend.” 

“Cam’s my best friend. At least he was. I don’t know anymore.”

“What happened to Brock?”

“I wrecked everything. It was all my fault.”

“We all make mistakes.”

Daphne closed her eyes as the tears fell down her cheeks. She felt the need to write a poem. If she had her journal, she’d write

You and I were meant to be

One another’s destiny

But my mistake got in the way

And this is just another day.

“How are you doing?” Stan asked after a while.

“Sleepy.”

“Let’s take a nap. We’ll sleep through the storm, and then, if it’s still light, we’ll head back.” The thunder cracked again.

He unzipped the sleeping bag and unfolded it so it made a bigger mat for the two of them, and, side by side on their backs, they fell asleep.

Daphne is lying in her bed at her parents’ house worried about her Advanced Placement World History Test. She’s studied, but she’s heard these tests are killers. She has just awakened from a dream in which she is taking the test and her pen runs out of ink, then her pencil lead breaks, and the tube of lipstick she uses bleeds all over the page, and soon she is bleeding all over the desk and floor of the classroom. The teacher glares at her and tells her to stop such nonsense. When she awakens, she lies in bed thinking of the test. Then she hears the thudding of Kara’s headboard against the wall between their two rooms.

Maybe Kara is having a nightmare, she thinks. Or maybe Kara is doing sit ups because she feels guilty about the seconds she ate at supper.  Maybe she is listening to her IPod and dancing on her bed.

Should she go check?

After several minutes, the thudding stops. Then she hears Joey walking in the hall. Is he going in or out of Kara’s room?

Should she go check?

She rolls over and tries to sleep, worried about the history test.

In the morning, she’s awakened by her mother’s screams.

It takes her a minute to realize the screams are coming from Kara’s room. She jumps from her bed to the room next door, and it is her turn to scream.

Kara is blue and dead.

Daphne opened her eyes to find Stan sitting up beside her in the orange and gray dome tent.

“You alright?”

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. She’d been crying.

“Must have been some dream,” he said. “You were screaming.”

“Sorry. How long have you been awake?”

“Not long. But look, the rain’s barely coming down now. We might head back before dark, if you want.”

“If you don’t mind. How long was I asleep?”

“Couple hours. It’s almost six. How’s your leg?”

“Better. Got any water?”

“Here.” He handed her a canteen.

The water was delicious. Daphne drank several gulps before handing it, half empty, back to Stan.

Outside the tent, they both heard a loud rustling.

“What the hell is that?” Stan whispered.

“A fox was following me earlier.”

“That’s too big for a fox.”

The rustle came again and twigs snapped. It sounded like a bear or a man. If it were her rescuers, wouldn’t they be calling her name?

Stan poked his head out. Then he climbed to his feet and stepped from the tent.

“Stan?”

“What the hell?”

“Stan?” she poked her head out in time to see Stan run across the field hurdling over rocks past a structure of stacked stones and into a thick wood. She climbed out of the tent into the sprinkling rain. The little fox was a few yards away, but Stan was no longer in sight.

She hollered out his name a few more times, unsure whether she should search for him or wait in the tent. The fox showed the same indecision. As she was about to run across the field, she saw Stan running toward her, and he didn’t look happy.

“What a sick bastard!” he shouted, diving into the tent.

Daphne rushed to his side. “What happened? Oh, my crap, your head is bleeding.”

He had a gash across his forehead. He found a rag and applied it to the gash. “I saw a horse and rider, so I assumed he was part of your rescue team, but when I ran after him and got his attention, he charged at me.”

“Why? Why would he do that?”

“Hell if I know. Let’s get out of here.” He rolled up his sleeping bag and stuffed it into his backpack. He gathered other items and stuffed them in, too.

Daphne stopped. “Tell me the truth. Is this a game?”

“A game?”

“You know. A therapeutic exercise?”

“If this is, I’ll be pissed. Someone will have some answering to do. You could have been killed. My head hurts like hell.”

“So you’re really not in on it all?”

“I’m a grad student. An anthropologist. I don’t know anything about any therapeutic or whatever.”

She stared into his eyes, wanting to believe him. Maybe he was another patient, as Cam had said.  “Do you think that man who attacked you is coming back?”

“I don’t want to stay and find out.”

“What about the tent?”

“It’s easy to take down.”

Stan slid the poles from the canvas loops and folded them with Daphne’s help, though her hands were trembling so much she probably slowed him down. Stan rolled the tent around the poles and stuck it in a second bag, which he strapped onto the backpack.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said.