They All Fall Down

by Rachel Howzell Hall

  A man chuckled. Frank?

  I crept over to the window and peeked out.

  The jungle twinkled, a shiny black beneath the full moon.

  A giggle. A “ssh.”

  I grabbed my jacket and sneakers from the suitcase. Tiptoed out to the hallway, into the dark living room, bumping into the Bosch table in the foyer. I froze and stared at the figurines—something had changed on the panels, but I couldn’t tell what … I shivered, then willed myself to back away from the table. I opened the front door but took one last look back—what was different? No time to figure that out, because two shadowy figures were disappearing into the wilderness.

  The scent of wet forest and new mud wafted on thick white air.

  Giggling. “Ohmygosh.” Another “ssh.” The voices had drifted from the north, from a path several feet away from the one we’d taken Friday evening to reach the house.

  Hurrying to that soggy northbound trail, my shoes burped and slipped in the muck. I squinted to see a moving flash of white silk against dark trees. The fog kept me blind, wrapping around tree trunks and slithering up into the leaves. Cold dampness splattered around my ankles.

  I didn’t like it out here.

  There they were. Desi, wearing a wispy nightgown that skimmed the damp earth, walking hand in hand with Frank, in track pants and T-shirt. They were hiking through a glade of banyans with branches twisting high to the moon and reaching down to the soft earth. Desi squeaked, “Ohmygosh, it’s so dark,” then giggled.

  What was so dark? Something belonging to Frank or the nighttime jungle?

  I tiptoed, making sure to stay hidden far behind them, making sure not to slip in the mud.

  The trees became well-placed obstacles, showing up unexpected every few steps. The fog, the banyans, and the wet earth kept me slow.

  My heart pounded and it took everything in me to not run to catch up. After darting for three minutes from tree to tree, a clearing appeared before me. I edged closer … closer … and stayed low to the ground.

  Out on the exposed bluff, Frank held Desi in his arms. The features on his face, a shiny ebony now, were impossible to see. But when he smiled, the whiteness of his teeth mapped his eyes, his cheeks, his chin.

  Desi looked hungrily up at him as he ran his thick fingers through her tangled hair. They kissed, a few quick pecks at first, testing … testing … and then they took longer kisses, greedier kisses.

  Above me, past the fast-moving fog, thousands of stars bit into the black sky, weak competition against the moon’s awesome light. Back here on earth, Desi pushed away from Frank, then let her nightgown slip off her shoulders. She had full breasts and a small potbelly. Frank slid his hand from her waist and wrapped it around her pale, thin neck.

  I couldn’t hear anything over the crash of waves against the rocks, over the knocking of my heart against my ribs, over the pounding of my pulse in my ears. But then, behind me, the undergrowth crackled. Snapped. Popped. I could hear that loud and clear. Someone else was here. Some thing else was here. My scalp bristled, and I gripped the trunk of the tree. My fingers dug deeper into the damp tree trunk and I pressed my face against the dark wood. Breathe. Relax. I forced myself to look back over my shoulder.

  No one there. No thing there.

  “Take ’em off,” Frank croaked.

  Desi wriggled out of her panties, then whooped as she threw them behind her and over the cliff. She cackled and danced around her new lover, giggling, then wagging her bare ass, a whiter, wider moon than the one hanging above us. Frank’s gaze stayed on Desi’s behind … until she stopped in her step, until his smile froze and his gaze shifted …

  Right to where I stood.

  Had I broken the spell?

  I held my breath in case they could only see me if I moved.

  Five seconds …

  Seven seconds …

  Ten …

  “You’re supposed to be lookin’ at me,” Desi snapped.

  “All right, all right.” He smiled down at his lover.

  And I let out my breath little by little, in teaspoons.

  She thrust her hand past the elastic band of his track pants, then drove her face into his.

  I had stopped breathing again. Dizzy, I swayed on my feet, clutching the tree trunk again, this time for stability. My skin tingled—sex and fear and amazement and …

  Wait. Wasn’t Frank married?

  My mind flipped back to earlier conversations, and … Dallas, wealth manager, gold Maserati, secretary, root canal … I couldn’t remember. But he had to be married. A rich, middle-aged black man in Texas? Of course, he was. He was just being sly about it. He’d come here to get laid and to get paid. That’s right—he’d told me all of that Saturday morning. All notions of fidelity had been banished now as his hands—there, a gold wedding band, Celeste, his wife is Celeste—grabbed Desi’s ass, squeezed it, patted it like he’d pat a horse’s or a cow’s. Good Desi, good girl.

  What did it feel like to be lusted after? To have a man risk his marriage just to be with you? Not that I wanted Frank … No. I mean, I’d had lovers surprise me with sunset dinners aboard yachts, intimate picnics staged in the middle of parks, a boyfriend playing my favorite song from his boom box while standing in front of my bedroom window, and other loud declarations of adoration here and there … more or less. But I wanted to stand bare-assed and cold on a bluff with someone, anyone (but not Frank), with his hands discovering me, with his hands pleasuring me.

  Frowning, I turned away from the two new lovers. I wanted to be desired again, pursued again, taken again. I wanted … fake sapphire earrings and weekend getaways to Newport News.

  Poor Celeste. I didn’t know her, but I had lived through a similar situation. Yeah, I had my own Desi Scoggins, who now lived in my house and enjoyed my view of the city and my fancy refrigerator.

  But … what happened on Mictlan Island stayed on Mictlan Island—for a price. Frank would pay that price, just to keep me quiet. And Desi—what about Hoyt, the coal-mining baron who’d passed off blue plastic as precious stones, who had told her that those giant shrimp in Newport News were baby lobster tails? Did Desi want to break his heart? Did she want to keep this island liaison as much a secret as Frank?

  Damn it. I wished I’d brought my phone to take pictures. Next time. There was always a next time. I chuckled to myself, then clamped my hand over my mouth as I slogged back to Artemis.

  Yeah. Frank would pay to shut my mouth. Desi would, too. And by the time I left Mictlan Island, I’d have enough money to pay for another high-priced attorney.

  Thank you, Phil Omeke. You were my only hope.

  20

  I couldn’t open my eyes.

  Something had pulled me from sleep, and now I couldn’t open my eyes. My fingers touched thick crust that had hardened over my eyelashes, and I scratched at that crust, pinched the goop off my lashes. Scratched and pinched … scratched and pinched … There was so much.

  Finally, pop! One eye pulled apart. Pop! Then the second eye opened.

  Morning sunlight poured through the windows. Leaves rustled. The wind was up and a gust rattled the glass.

  And I sneezed, sneezed again, high-pitched eeps that only dogs could hear.

  I blinked and frowned at the dry yellow goop now stuck beneath my fingernails. An allergic reaction to something? Goop had swamped my eyes once after hiking with Madison through a field of poppies near San Diego—

  Poppies. Back at Molinero Ocean Charter Services, Andreas had mentioned poppies and marijuana plants growing all around the island. Maybe in the dark last night, I had tromped over some of those flowers. I knew that I had touched trees, too, and had placed my face against their trunks. Maybe that’s what …

  The scream.

  I’d heard a woman screaming—that’s what had pulled me from sleep. Had I dreamed that, or…? No—my dream had been of Morgan and me jumping on a trampoline. We wore orange socks. I held an ice-cream cone in my hand and I had an ice-cream headache, ev
en though I hadn’t eaten any yet. Morgan and I had been laughing as we jumped higher … higher … We were so happy. We—

  Another scream cut through the silence.

  I froze in bed for a moment, then knocked the comforter to the ground. Who was screaming? Evelyn? Desi? I threw open the door and stepped out into the hallway.

  The doors to both women’s bedrooms were closed.

  Back in my room, I blew my nose, sneezed again, pulled on the only pair of jeans I’d brought, and shoved my feet back into the pair of Pumas muddied from last night’s trek.

  I rummaged through my handbag and found the little bottle of allergy eye drops. Two drops in each eye, and I winced from the burn. I dabbed at my eyes with the tail of my shirt, then blew my nose again.

  Eyes still burning, I crept to Desi’s door and knocked. “You okay?”

  No answer.

  I knocked on Evelyn’s door. “Is everything all right?”

  No answer from Evelyn, either. Hunh. Maybe she had stumbled across another snake.

  I’d heard a scream. But then, I hadn’t slept well, hadn’t eaten well nor medicated well in over twenty-four hours. Unless I had imagined … No. There were screams.

  Someone else had to have heard something.

  Wallace wore an apron as he moved around the kitchen with expert grace. He had cleared away most of yesterday’s mess and was now mixing something in a bowl. A carton of eggs, a slab of bacon, a bowl of white mushrooms, and a stick of butter sat on the breakfast bar. Fresh coffee gurgled into a carafe.

  Javier was dead, and we were having omelets for breakfast. The sun rose, the sun set. On the next episode of Artemis … A mean world, even on a private island in the middle of the ocean.

  “Did you hear something just now?” I asked him.

  Wallace’s stirring slowed. “And good morning to you, too, Miriam.”

  “Sorry. Good morning.”

  “Are you okay? You’re wearing … denim. And you look and sound absolutely dreadful. Like Mariah Carey in Precious. You know, a little tired, a little puffy. You’ve seen it.”

  I touched the bags beneath my eyes. “I am a little tired. And my allergies are acting up. Did you hear someone scream for help?”

  “Scream? Like the boy who cried wolf? Like Henny Penny and that damn falling sky? Like any of those volcano movies where the disgraced geologist warns the village that the damned thing is gonna blow … Oh dear, Pierce Brosnan had been right, hadn’t he?”

  I sighed, then said, “Never mind. Probably the wind. Nature making noise. Eddie—have you seen him?”

  Wallace nodded. “He’s trying to reach the authorities again on the radio, I believe. I reminded him that La Charon would be here around eleven o’clock with more guests, and that he could just smuggle Javier on board. But he isn’t listening, surprise, surprise.” He tapped the whisk on the side of the bowl. “If you couldn’t tell, I’m making omelets. Well, more like a frittata. Do you have any ingredient preferences? Anything for you, Miriam.”

  I blinked at him and said nothing.

  He rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m being nice to you. Being a bitch all the time can be terribly exhausting. How do you do it?”

  I snorted but couldn’t keep a small grin off my face. “I eat a balanced breakfast every morning. Walk ten thousand steps a day.”

  “Ah. So. Frittata fixin’s?”

  “I’ll be fine with whatever you decide.” I shuffled around the kitchen in search of a small hallway that led to Javier’s guest room. Only found that butler’s pantry, a broom closet, and Javier’s new home, a.k.a. the freezer. “Can I ask you a weird question? Where did Javier sleep on Friday night?”

  Wallace’s onion chopping slowed as he thought. “Probably near the media room. There’s also a den or something over on that side. And there’s a room upstairs next to mine. There are 179 rooms on this property. Hyperbole, darling.” He leaned forward, then whispered, “It’s a mansion. Anyway, does it matter now?”

  I shook my head—no, it didn’t matter. “We’ll need to send his stuff to his wife back in Vegas, and it’s just … I never … I just can’t believe…” I shrugged. “Like … is Javier really…?”

  Wallace gaped at me. “Really … what?”

  “You know.” I bit my lip.

  Sad realization washed over Wallace’s face. “Oh, dear heart.” He stepped over to the freezer and pulled open the door. “Behold.”

  Javier’s solid-blue feet were now frozen into his chef’s Crocs.

  Wallace said, “Is that dead enough, dear?”

  I nodded, then whispered, “Yeah.”

  Wallace closed the freezer door. “So, mushrooms? Bacon? Cucumbers for your eyes?”

  There he is! Eddie, guns holstered, prowled around the swimming pool with a phone in his hand. His face was turned to the sky as he searched for visual confirmation that a satellite soared somewhere in the great beyond.

  I darted out the kitchen door.

  Wallace shouted after me, “No bacon, then?”

  The sun was already high in the sky and the bright white light made me shield my face from the glare. It was as though no storm had passed through last night. The palms bent and swayed, and their fronds swished in the warm wind. The cries of circling gulls in the distance carried on the currents.

  Sweat had darkened Eddie’s Red Sox cap. His skin was as pink as the bougainvilleas that lined the terrace. He was muttering, “Can’t … fucking … believe,” as he jabbed his fingers at the phone’s keypad.

  I said, “Eddie—”

  He startled and whirled to point the phone at my gut.

  My hands shot in the air. “It’s me. Don’t shoot.” If anyone could make a phone fire bullets, it would be this man.

  He thrust his head forward, then pushed out air. “What?”

  I eyed the phone. “Are … they coming?” Right then, my words were nitroglycerine.

  “Is who coming?”

  I slowly lowered my hands. “The police? You’re supposed to be calling…?”

  He glanced at the phone. “Oh. Yeah. No reception. You stop me in the middle of trying to get reception to ask me that?”

  “No. I … I just heard someone scream.” I’d dumped the wind and nature theory just so that he wouldn’t shoot me with his satellite phone.

  A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “When? Where?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe five minutes or so ago. I don’t know where it was coming from, but I heard it. Maybe from the upstairs bedrooms?”

  “Was it the wind?” he asked. “Sometimes the wind sounds like a woman screaming. There’s a word for that, ain’t there? ‘Banshee’? One time, I got sent out on a call, right? Burglar alarm. Whoop, whoop, whoop, the damn thing’s going off all crazy, and we go into the house, and it’s the freakin’ cat. The freakin’ cat had knocked over this—”

  “I heard a scream. From a woman. And since you mentioned it,” I continued, “I heard glass break, too.” Yeah. Glass breaking.

  He studied me for a moment, said, “All right,” then stomped back into the house.

  As we passed through the kitchen, Wallace said, “We have to talk about all that needs to happen today.”

  Neither Eddie nor I stopped.

  Heart in my throat, I was still uncertain if I’d dreamed that scream. But it was too late now to take it back. Too late to say, “Maybe not. It was probably the wind.”

  Eddie scaled the stairs two at a time.

  I took those steps just as quick.

  He turned left at the landing and barged into Frank’s bedroom. Last night’s dirty plates and cutlery were stacked on the nightstand alongside two empty water bottles. There was no glass on the carpet—not that I expected to truly find broken glass.

  “Anybody in here?” Eddie yelled.

  No response.

  “It’s looking like a freakin’ cat,” Eddie grumbled as he pushed past me.

  I said nothing as we scrambled back to the landing, then down the hal
lway to Wallace’s room.

  Eddie stormed through the double doors, but I paused in the broad entryway. I’d never seen Wallace’s lavender-colored bedroom in person. It was twice the size of my room, with a mirror that spanned nearly the entire interior wall. No art—just windows and smaller mirrors, some set in mosaic, others in heavy metal frames. Wallace’s northwestern view … it was the greatest view of all. The ocean crashed and swirled against the rocks. Seabirds wheeled in the air as multicolored butterflies flitted over the canopy of dogwoods over there. Compared to Wallace’s suite, my room was a weed-choked parking lot next to an abandoned train yard.

  I’d find my better self with this view, with all this light and all this nature. And as I stood there, imagining greatness, Eddie threw open doors to the sitting room, the dressing room, and the master bathrooms, because Wallace had two master bathrooms.

  A black-and-white framed photograph hung in a niche in the wall. In it, two twin boys around seven years old stood in front of a tree. Their brown hair had been cut into bowls. One boy was crying, wearing overalls with a giant hole in the knee. The other boy was smiling as though he owned all the candy in the world. His overalls were neat, his irises nearly invisible. I knew that smile—it belonged to Wallace.

  My skin crawled as I stared at that picture, at that smile as little William cried … Guess Wallace had always been a callous jerk. He had probably pushed William down, then laughed at the hole in his twin’s overalls.

  Of all the pictures to hang, why had Wallace chosen this one?

  “No one’s here.” Eddie darted out the double doors and raced down the hallway.

  We passed the landing again, then rushed down to the end of the corridor to reach his room.

  The bed was made and the black duffel bags were gone.

  “Maybe the screams came from downstairs,” I said, my mind frantic now.

  “Or maybe you’re just making shit up.” His eyes and the vein in the middle of his forehead were bulging. “Yeah. I’m thinkin’ that.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I wouldn’t outright lie, Eddie. I wouldn’t, no matter what Wallace says. I heard a woman scream. And I heard glass breaking.”