The Voice inside My Head (6 page)

“So, are you going to miss me, little brother?” she teased. I allowed myself a moment of satisfaction that she sounded happy, happier than she’d been in weeks.

She waited for me to reply, but I wouldn’t look at her. I couldn’t. I knew she’d see in my face how much I wanted her to stay. I carefully tucked in a few stray leaves that were trailing out one side of the joint, licked the paper and twisted the
ends into maybe the tidiest reefer I’d ever rolled. Taking out my lighter, I lit up, pulling the first hit into my lungs so slowly, I could feel every sensation as it whispered through my body. Only when the sound of her receding footsteps disappeared did I sneak a glance. Her back was rigid, her steps brisk as she walked toward the stairs. She hesitated for a moment, maybe waiting for me to call out to her. But I kept silent, and she didn’t look back as she took the stairs two at a time.

I crossed the room and stood in the spot she’d so recently vacated, listening to her and my parents moving around, carrying the last of her bags out to the car. A couple of times she passed the open doorway to the basement and I had to scuttle backwards, scared she’d catch me lurking. I was sure she’d come back to say good-bye, even if it was just a shout down the stairs. Only when I heard the front door slam did I realize she was gone. I tore up the stairs and went straight to the living room window. As the car turned out of the driveway, I caught a glimpse of her, but she was facing forward. That was Pat, always more interested in where she was going than in what was she was leaving behind. I didn’t blame her. I didn’t blame her one bit.

Bats frolic in the lamplight, swooping close to my head as they dive for the mosquitoes feasting on my flesh. Music and laughter waft out of the bars, and I’m slowed down by multiple invitations from total strangers to get hammered or stoned. I wonder how many of these people knew my sister. I admit the idea of getting wrecked again is tempting, but the pulsing behind my eyes has turned into a wicked throbbing and I’m starting to worry the weed I smoked earlier
was cut with something more lethal than the usual shit. By the time I reach my room, all I’m thinking about is a cold shower and bed, so when I see my front step occupied, I seriously consider walking right by.

“Luke,” she says, getting to her feet.

“Tracy,” I say.

I don’t ask her what the hell she’s doing on my doorstep, but I’m pretty sure she hears it in my voice.

“I want to apologize,” she says quickly, “for what Pete and I said earlier.”

I don’t say anything.

“I know what you must have thought this morning, how you must have felt.… ”

No, you really don’t.

“I mean, I can’t imagine how awful this must be for you.… ” Her eyes start welling up.

“It’s okay,” I say quickly, hoping to avoid a repeat of this morning’s performance.

No such luck. She heaves a big one, and the waterworks resume.

I sigh, which she takes as some kind of invitation to leap into my arms.

Again.

“Do you want to come inside?” I ask, because my own legs are about to give out and I’m stupid enough to think I can get rid of her if I calm her down.

She nods her head, now buried in my chest, so I awkwardly shuffle her backwards into my room.

I look around for a tissue. Of course I don’t have any, though the way things have been going lately, I should really
get some. I ease her down onto my bed and slump next to her as wetness seeps through my shirt.

“I miss Tricia so much,” she blubbers.

“I know.” As uncharitable as it is, given this girl’s obvious grief at losing my sister, I still wonder how they could have been friends. They couldn’t be more different. Pat and I have been through some heavy crap in our lives, and I’ve never seen Pat cry — not once. She’s probably a little too stoic, but that’s the kind of person she admires as well. She has no patience for crybabies.

“Can you forgive me?” She looks into my eyes with her huge blue saucers.

“Absolutely,” I say. If we can wrap this up quickly, I might still get a shower.

She releases my neck and lies down on my bed.

“Tracy,” I say firmly. “You can’t stay here.”

She sits up again.

And takes off her shirt.

“Tracy.” I’m a little less firm this time. At least my voice is. “You really need to go.”

She puts one hand behind her back and in a fluid movement, like a magician or a porn star, she makes her bra disappear. I look down at it on the floor and I don’t know how it got there. She lies back on my bed and wriggles out of her shorts. No underwear. Of course.

And no bikini line.

And sun-bleached hair and a rockin’ body.

Uh-oh.

M
E:
I think your friend’s coming on to me
.

P
AT:
What was your first clue, Sherlock?

Sitting up again, Tracy grabs the edge of my shirt, flipping it over my head and off.

I could have stopped her. I’m twice her size.

M
E:
What should I do?

P
AT:
Not inviting her into your bedroom would have been a good start
.

Tracy starts stroking my leg.

P
AT:
Snap out of it, Luke! You can’t go along with this
.

M
E:
It’s really none of your business
.

P
AT:
But she’s needy and emotional. That’s not even your type
.

M
E:
She’s naked and willing. That’s every guy’s type
.

Tracy’s hand migrates to the waistband of my shorts. Suddenly my fly’s undone. Like magic. The girl is skillful.

P
AT:
She called me a skank
.

M
E:
Technically, she said you weren’t a skank
.

“Lie down, Luke, I’m so lonely. I just need you to hold me.”

P
AT:
You know this isn’t right
.

“Goddamnit,” I mutter, as I button my shorts. It doesn’t help that I agree with her. Tracy really isn’t my type, and even if she was, I could never get past what she said about Pat. But just once I’d like to do something wrong without Pat’s voice in my head telling me not to — and I don’t mean just since her disappearance. I didn’t used to actually hear her voice like I do now, but I’ve felt it, like a goody-two-shoes soundtrack always playing in the background. Even booze doesn’t drown her out. Believe me, I’ve tried.

“Tracy,” I begin …

We both flinch, as there’s a rap on the door.

I get up to answer it.

“Ignore it, baby,” coos crazy naked girl.

I dive for the door. I don’t care who it is. Anyone is a welcome distraction right now.

Okay, I was wrong.

I gape at Reesie, standing on my doorstep.

“Who you got in there?” she demands.

“Who are you, my mother?”

“Don’t you insult your mama to me, boy. I bet she’s thinking you’re safe asleep in your bed right now. What’s she gonna think if she knows what you’re really up to?”

“Knowing my mom, she’d be thinking,
Rock on
.”

“How long you been on this island?”

She doesn’t wait for me to answer.

“You’ve not been here twenty-four hours and already you’ve got a girl in your bed. Haven’t you ever heard of sexually transmitted diseases? You’re just like all the rest. You don’t even know that girl. You can’t know that girl. You haven’t been here long enough. You just —”

“REESIE!”

We both jump, and I notice for the first time that Jamie is standing behind his sister.

“Don’t you shout at me, Jamie Greenfield. Not after what you’ve been up to. You’re no better than him. Why, you two should form your own club, Randy-ass Boys of Utila.”

Jamie peers around his sister and catches my eye.

“Well, go on then,” Reesie says, glaring at Jamie. “Go ahead and tell him the truth this time. That’s what we came here for.” She crosses her arms and taps her foot like she’s marking out time.

“I’m sorry,” says Jamie, his shoulders drooping on his
lanky frame, his dark eyes deep wells of pain. “I just didn’t see the point in bringing it all up. I know Trish didn’t tell you about me. Maybe she had her reasons.” He cuts a look at Reesie. “I guess we were both trying to keep it low-key till we figured out where we were headed.”

“You mean you were lying to my face,” says Reesie.

Jamie gives her a guilty look before turning back to me. “This sure isn’t how I hoped we’d first meet,” he sighs, “but I loved your sister, Luke, and she loved me.”

“What?” I stare at him stupidly.

“We were gonna get married,” he continues.

“But we never even heard of you,” I exclaim. “You couldn’t have known her more than five or six weeks.”

“Oh, that’s perfect,” hoots Reesie. “You’re gonna give him advice on not rushing relationships.”

“I don’t know what happened to her,” says Jamie, ignoring his sister. “Drowning seems like the last thing that could happen, but they found her clothes on the dock, and I haven’t seen her since, and I know she wouldn’t disappear on purpose. She was making a life here.”

“Come back to bed, baby,” calls Tracy.

Reesie raises an eyebrow.

“Look,” I say. “I want to finish this conversation, but I’m kind of busy right now.”

“Oh, we can see you’re busy,” says Reesie.

“I’m really sorry, Luke,” says Jamie. It’s not clear whether he’s apologizing for his sister or mine, but I’m relieved when he drags Reesie off the stoop. Of course, this incites her to new levels of outrage. She keeps up a steady rant as he drags her down the path.

I rub the back of my neck before going inside. Tracy is under the sheet, which happens to be the only covering on the bed. She raises one corner invitingly and grins, but her confidence wavers when I glare at her and don’t move from the open doorway.

“You have to go.”

She waits a few beats, then finally leans over the bed and grabs her clothes, pulling them on under the sheet. She doesn’t say anything as she stalks past me. I’m just about to close the door when she gasps and drops to her knees. I think maybe it’s a trick to get back inside, but she’s reaching under the stoop, clearly after something other than me.

“I can’t reach it,” she says. “Help me.”

I come outside and kneel on the wooden step, looking through the opening in the slats to the thing Tracy is groping for. She moves aside and I take her place, feeling around underneath the steps till my hand hits soft fabric. I grab it and pull it out, turning it over in my hand. It’s a small, roughly stitched cloth doll with what looks like human hair glued to its head, straight black hair like mine — or my sister’s.

“What is it?” I ask, glancing at Tracy, but the look on her face is enough to tell me I don’t want to know.

“Tricia found one of these the day before she went missing,” she whispers.

I don’t know who she thinks might be listening, but I’m more annoyed than scared. It’s late, I’m bone-tired, I’ve just learned my sister had not just a secret boyfriend but a secret fiancé, some ravenous, invisible insects are biting every inch of my exposed torso and I’ve had enough of this girl.

I sink down on the top step, lean my head on the newel post and wait for her to continue because I know nothing short of a heart attack is going to stop her. She settles on the step below me.

“It’s a voodoo doll,” she explains. “Some of the locals here, the Garifuna, practice the old religions brought over from Africa.”

“Garifuna?”

“African descendants, like Reesie and her brother.”

“Don’t you mean Caribbean?”

“Yes, but where do you think the Caribbean people came from?”

“I thought voodoo came from Haiti.”

“That’s just one form of it.”

“You seem very well-informed.”

“Of course. I looked into it after what happened to Tricia.”

“So, let me get this straight,” I say slowly, though at this point my own mind’s so muddy, I’m not sure I’m capable of rational thought. “You’re trying to tell me Reesie and my sister’s boyfriend were practicing voodoo and did something to her?”

She shrugs and stands up. “Believe what you want,” she says, in a wounded voice. “All I’m saying is that a lot of the locals still practice the black arts, and Tricia found a doll like this under her step the day before she went missing.”

So much tension courses out of my body when I see her turn away and start down the path to her own room that I almost fall off the step. She stops when she gets to her door and turns back to me. Her face is completely hidden in the shadows, but her disembodied voice rings out, piercing the
stillness of the night. “Be careful who you make friends with,” she warns.

As she disappears into her room, goose bumps ripple across my flesh. I go inside, but despite my exhaustion, it’s a long time before I fall asleep.

I
go looking for Zach first thing the next morning. I want to pump him for information on this voodoo crap before hunting down Jamie to see what else he knows about Pat. I don’t get as far as Bluewater before Zach hails me from the front porch of a restaurant. I guess that’s an advantage of only one main street — you’re never too far from every other person you’ve ever met.