The Purgatorium: The Purgatorium Series, Book One

by Eva Pohler

Chapter Twelve: A Visitor

  Sometime in the middle of the night, Daphne thought she heard Stan whisper her name, but when she lifted her head and turned to look at him, she found him snoring, his mouth hanging open with a bit of drool on his chin, the gun useless on the chair across from him. A lot of help he was. Keeping watch? Yeah, right.

  Then she heard her name whispered again. “Daphne.”

  She sat up and looked around, but even in the dim light of the moon she could see there was no one else in the bunkhouse with them. Maybe she’d been dreaming. She lay back down close to Stan, but kept her eyes on the room around her, just in case.

  “Daphne,” the whisper came again.

  “Who’s there?” she said softly as she slowly sat back up. She waited for many minutes, sitting still as a statue, but, once again, she wondered if she might have imagined it. It might have been the wind brushing something against the house. She reached over Stan for the gun and held it in both hands as she lay back beside him, listening. She lay like that for a long time before she fell asleep.

  Sometime later, the sound of a snort woke her. She opened her eyes and listened. She watched Stan, so when the snort came again, she knew it had not come from him.

  She sat up.

  The porch was in shadows this morning, though the bright sun shined hotly on the beach and water. There was no breeze, only a stiff heat that made her sweat even in her halter top and shorts. She had a funky taste in her mouth and her skin felt sticky. Something was moving on the side of the house. She could hear it through the screened porch.

  “Stan,” she whispered, shaking him.

  When he didn’t wake, she picked up the gun. “Stan, wake up.”

  “Not again,” he complained.

  “Huh?” she whispered. “What are you talking about?”

  “All night long, I kept hearing you whisper my name, and then when I’d say ‘what’ you wouldn’t answer.”

  Her skin went cold. “I never said a word last night.” Could she have spoken in her sleep?

  He narrowed his eyes at her.

  The snort came again.

  “Listen,” she whispered, “There’s someone outside.”

  He pulled himself to his feet, but stopped short, leaning on the chair. “My ankle.”

  Daphne frowned. “I’ll go.”

  She got up and crept to the back door, still chilled by what Stan had said. She was suspicious of yet another exercise. Stan may not be in on it, but that didn’t mean they weren’t both being played by Hortense and her lot. Softly, she lifted both the hook and the two-by-for latching the door shut. The screen door creaked as she pushed it open. In the morning light, she could see another island across the ocean. Water from the storm clung to everything, including the pea gravel outside the screened porch. Out here there was a gentle breeze, and it lifted her hair as she stepped outside. She heard the snort just as she poked her head around the corner of the side of the house. Pulling up weeds with her reins hanging loose was Pearl.

  So as not to scare the mare, Daphne quietly reached for a long tuft of grass and held it out. “Hi there, girl.”

  Pearl stared at Daphne suspiciously, but kept chewing. Daphne held her breath, sliding the pistol into her pocket to free the hand to reach for the reins. When the mare had pulled and eaten the last of the grass on the side of the house near the white picket fence, she inched toward Daphne.

  “That’s it, girl.”

  Before Daphne could get hold of the reins, Pearl flinched and trotted away.

  Stan poked his head around the corner of the building.

  “What was that?”

  “Our ride back. At least it was. That’s the horse that threw me.”

  “I’d rather walk than ride that horse, after the way it treated you yesterday.”

  Daphne put her hands on her hips. “You’d rather walk? On that ankle?”

  Stan turned his back to her and hobbled for the back door. Before he reached it, he froze, still as a statue.

  Alarmed, Daphne also froze and whispered, “What?”

  She took out the pistol as she rounded the corner, doubting she would actually shoot it, but holding it gave her a sense of security. The white-bearded man from the night before stood in front of Stan, also frozen. His jeans were frayed at the hem with a hole at one knee. His t-shirt was filthy, the open flannel plaid shirt reeking of body odor. The white beard was matted and dirty, and his blue eyes were ringed by dark circles, though he wasn’t old. Probably mid-fifties.

  When he saw the gun, the bearded man put his hands in the air. “Don’t shoot.”

  “You’re the guy who attacked me yesterday!” Stan grabbed the gun from Daphne and pointed it at the bearded man. “Stay back.”

  “I barely touched you, man. I thought you were after me.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Pete Coleman. A rancher from Arroyo Grande. I was a guest of the resort.”

  “Was?” Daphne asked, moving closer to Stan.

  “Are you friends of Dr. Gray’s?” the man asked.

  Stan and Daphne glanced at one another, not sure how to respond.

  “Sort of,” Stan said. “Are you?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “What are you doing out here?” Stan asked.

  “A week ago, I came to the island by Dr. Gray’s invitation. I was asked to participate in therapeutic exercises. If you’ll put that gun down, I’ll tell you the rest.”

  Stan pointed the pistol toward the ground. “Come inside and sit down.”

  Daphne brought another chair from the kitchen table onto the screened porch and all three sat down, Stan and Daphne on the opposite side of the room from smelly Pete.

  “Tell us what you’re doing here at the bunkhouse, Pete Coleman from Arroyo Grande,” Stan said. “Now that you mention it, I think I’ve seen you around the resort.”

  “Why did you scare the crap out of me last night?” Daphne asked.

  “I didn’t mean to. I was coming back. This is where I’ve been hiding out the past few days. And I’m starving. Got any food?”

  “Why did you leave?” Daphne asked.

  Stan rummaged around in his pack and brought out a can of nuts and lobbed it across the room to Pete.

  “Thanks,” Pete said, cracking the lid and stuffing his mouth with a handful. “Those people are insane. As soon as I could, I grabbed me a horse and high-tailed it out of there. I’ve been trying to get off the island. The first two mornings, I rode out to Kinton Point just west of here hoping a boat would come, too scared to cross the island to some of the more popular points. I hung out at Kinton all day both days, until nightfall, starving to death, but no boat came. So yesterday I was desperate and tried for Scorpion Anchorage. I was almost spotted by that Cam guy who was snooping around on his horse with a couple of others, so I headed back here. When I saw your tent, I thought you were one of them, especially the way you came running after me. I nearly crapped my pants.”

  “Why are you scared of Cam?” Daphne asked. How could anybody be scared of Cam? He was harmless.

  “Yeah. Why are you so desperate to get off the island?”

  Pete gobbled more nuts. “I told you. Those people are insane. I came here because I met who I thought was a lovely woman. Turns out she’s a freak like the others. The first night, a bunch of creepy women dressed like ghosts barged into my room and sprayed me with powder. The next day, during a hiking trip, supposedly to see indigenous plants, I was dropped into a hole and left in the dark with a bunch of mice and was rescued an hour later. The next day we went kayaking and were trapped by the tide in one of the caves, and my guide was attacked by a snake. I thought we was just having bad luck until that night we was dressed up in the ballroom and some terrorist types took us hostage at gun point. I suspected I was being toyed with, but I was terrified the whole thing was real. The next morning, the supposed terrorists surrendered to this team of naval officers and we were freed. But nobody can have that much bad luck. I told
Dr. Gray I wanted to leave. She said I had to wait for her boat, and that it wouldn’t come for another week. I decided I’d get the hell out of there as soon as I could, so the next morning, during our trail ride, I took off on that brown mare you saw me riding yesterday.” He finished the last of the can. “Sorry. I ate ‘em all.”

  “Where’s the mare now?” Stan asked.

  “Got her tied up over at the ranch house. I slept there last night since y’all moved in here.”

  “Was there anyone else with you?” Daphne asked, thinking of the woman in white she saw run across Haunted Bridge.

  “I suppose you heard screams, too.”

  “We heard something,” Stan said.

  “I didn’t just hear her,” Pete Coleman said. “I saw her out on the bridge.”

  “Must have been an owl,” Stan said.

  Pete shook his head. “That was no owl. Could be the insane folks from the resort trying to torture me further, but it wasn’t no owl.”

  “Why would they want to torture you?” Daphne asked, though she had her own suspicions. “What’s the point?”

  “Wish I knew. I couldn’t help but think it’s a weird form of entertainment for them, like a reality show, but in the flesh, you know? The owner, Arturo Gomez, spoke one evening about living art. I don’t know.”

  Hortense Gray had also mentioned living art. What did that mean?

  “You mean you think they’re playing with us?” Daphne asked. “For their own pleasure?”

  “I know it sounds crazy, but why else would they torment me?”

  “As a form of therapy, like Dr. Gray said?”

  “How can trauma be anything but psychologically damaging?” Pete asked.

  “Well, they can’t hold you against your will,” Daphne said.

  “They were, though. I didn’t believe that crap about waiting for her boat. They weren’t ever going to let me go.”

  Daphne thought of Emma’s warning.

  “Got any water?”

  Stan handed over a canteen.

  “Thanks.” Pete swallowed down several gulps. “So what’s your story?” he asked the two of them.

  Daphne told how she had come to the resort with Cam to get away. She told about getting stuck in the elevator and trapped in a cave and attacked by sharks. When Daphne finished, Stan told how he’d come to study the Chumash ruins. He’d come before, back when there was no resort. Other than the elevator incident and the screams, he hadn’t noticed anything strange or unusual during his stay, but he spent most of his time on this side of the island studying the ruins.

  “Lucky you,” Pete said. “But I wouldn’t go back if I were you.”

  “All my stuff is still there,” Daphne said. “My purse, my phone, and my best clothes.”

  “I’ve got a few things there, too,” Stan added. “I’ve got all my notes here with me in my journal. I suppose I don’t need the rest.”

  Daphne turned to Stan. “Are you thinking of leaving the island then?”

  “What do you want to do?” Stan asked. “Go back to the resort?”

  “I don’t know.” Surely Cam wouldn’t let anything seriously bad happen to her—though being thrown by Pearl could have been deadly. What if he had lied to her and her parents hadn’t really sent her there? “Do you really think Hortense Gray won’t let you leave?”

  Pete stood up. “I know she won’t, and, unless you try to stop me, I’m heading over to Scorpion Anchorage again today. I think it’s my only chance of getting off this island. You’re welcome to come along. To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t mind the company.”

  “He can’t walk on his ankle.”

  “He can ride my horse. I wouldn’t mind having an armed friend with food and water come along, even if I have to walk.”

  “What if we go with you as far as the outskirts of the resort?” Stan asked. “We can decide then whether we’ll go with you to Scorpion Anchorage.”

  “I was planning on staying to the north, by way of Mount Diablo. I don’t want to go anywhere near that resort.”

  “But that’s where they’d be searching for me,” Daphne said. “I’m sure they’re all over that mountain.”

  “Yeah. Best to go around Sierra Blanca to the south. There’s a road that will be easy on the horse, and there are a couple of harbors along the way, Morse Point and Punta Arena, where boats cruise with tourists to show them the sea lions and harbor seals.”

  “I don’t know,” Pete said. “I’d hate to be out in the open like that.”

  “There are plenty of bluffs and boulders for hiding. If we hear a jeep on the road, we hide.”

  Pete looked at Daphne and then back at Stan. “Damn. I guess it’s better than doing it alone. Alright. We’ll do this your way. I’ll go get my horse.”

  Daphne followed Pete out the back door and watched him amble across the gravel, around the picket fence, and through the high grass toward Haunted Bridge. Gulls flew overhead, crying out above the sea, but none of them sounded like the screams from last night. A noise to her right caught her attention, and when she turned, she saw the little island fox that had followed her yesterday. He stood about ten yards away near the front of the house. She shielded her eyes from the sun and called out to him. “Good morning. It’s nice to see a friendly face.”

  He stood staring at her and then took a few steps toward her. She squatted down and put an open hand on the wet ground. “Come on, then.”

  He stopped, sniffing the air.

  “What are you doing out there?” Stan asked through the screened window without getting up from his chair.

  “Saying hello to the fox. I also wanted to see if Pete really was doing what he’d said.”

  “You don’t trust him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The fox turned back and sat beneath a short scraggily tree. Daphne stood and scanned the bridge toward the ranch house. She felt sticky and stinky and wished she could take a shower and brush her teeth. She gazed back at the ocean, and its gentle lapping waves invited her. She needed to pee.

  “I’m going to bathe in the ocean,” she said. “Be right back.”

  She walked in her sneakers across the gravel to the sand, which was grassy in places, until she reached the pristine area washed smooth by the tides. Leaving her sneakers and socks on a rock, she walked in her bare feet, fully clothed, to the water, the sun warming her back. The cold water lapped over her feet, calming her. She decided the wind must have been playing tricks on her and Stan, but another part of her knew it was too unlikely that both of them would have heard their names whispered to them in the dark.

  I don’t believe in ghosts.

  She looked toward the house, and seeing no sign of Pete and his horse, continued on till the gentle waves reached her waist. Then she knelt on the soft sand, pulled down her shorts and underwear, and relieved herself.

  She strolled further out in the rolling waves. After a while as she rinsed her gritty arms and face, her memories of Joey and Kara at Santa Barbara Beach with their parents flooded her, and she stood, shaking them off, only to see Brock lifting her hair to kiss her shoulder, her neck. Daphne dived into the water and swam out to sea several yards, too deep to touch bottom. She turned on her back and floated, allowing the ocean to carry her back toward the shore, stealing glances back at the house for Pete and his horse. When she saw them coming across the bridge, she swam back and met them near the house.

  “How was the water?” Pete asked.

  “Nice. Clean. There wasn’t a lot of sea weed or shells like I’d expected.”

  “I suppose I could use a dip myself.”

  Pete tied his horse to the white fence spanning the side of the house and followed Daphne into the bunkhouse, where Stan had already rolled up the sleeping bag and packed everything in his backpack.

  “Ready then?” Stan asked when they entered.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Pete said. “Though, I never did get y’all’s names.”

  They ea
ch introduced themselves. Then Stan took up his pack and hobbled to the mare where Pete helped him mount. With Pete holding the horse’s lead and Daphne walking beside him wringing out her hair, they headed toward the south side of the island.