by Dan Alatorre
Chapter 28
Constantine sat cross-legged on the hard stone surface, the setting sun shining on her shoulder. Long blue waves stretched out before her, gently rising and falling, as the wind blew nonstop into her face.
“Girl.” Muddy walked out of the main house, carrying a brown paper bag. The old wooden door banged shut behind him. “You doesn’t get too close to the edge, hokay?”
“I’m not close. I’m plenty far away. I’ve no interest in falling.”
“You talk smart for little girl.” He reached into the bag, pulling out a cloth napkin and handing it to her. Inside was a fried chicken leg. “You eat.”
Constantine shoved the chicken into her mouth, greedily biting as much as she could chew. Crumbs rolled down the front of her shirt.
“You drink is here.” He held the bag open. Two sodas were inside, and a bag of potato chips. “Go on. Take.”
Constantine swallowed her mouthful of chicken and quickly took another bite, eyeing the soft drinks in the bag. One was an orange Crush, the other was an orange Gatorade. Under the bag of chips was a small package of Goldfish crackers.
“Are these for me as well?” She picked up the bag of smiling, fish-shaped treats.
Muddy nodded, placing the chips on the ground next to her.
“And may I have the can of Crush soda, please?”
He stared into the bag.
Constantine shifted on her seat. “I’m sorry. Was that one for you? I’ll have the Gatorade, then.”
The big man looked into the paper bag again, then held it open and lowered it down to her.
Constantine peered up at him. “You don’t know which it is. You can’t read, can you?”
Grunting, Muddy dropped the bag and walked toward the house.
Constantine got to her feet, running after him. She grabbed his big hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. You looked right at the cans of soda. I bet you’ve memorized what the words Coca-Cola and Coke look like because you can’t read. That’s why you didn’t know what kinds of sodas these were.”
Muddy stopped, looking at her.
“That’s right, isn’t it?” Constantine asked. “You’re not educated.”
“I plenty smart enough for you, little girl.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Her eyes stayed on his. “It’s okay. I won’t tell.”
The wind lifted Muddy’s hair, tossing about his temples.
Constantine tugged his hand, looking back to her spot on the stone ground. “Would you like to come and eat with me?”
He tried to pull his hand away, but she didn’t let go.
“I knew a . . . a woman once,” Constantine said. “At a chateau, where I lived for many years. She mostly watched over a group of the younger children, but she watched over my tier once. She was quite nice. She was big—like you—and quiet . . . like you. My Keeper had me help the woman in the kitchen once. I watched her put things away in the pantry. Since she couldn’t read labels, she memorized the appearance of all the household goods. The commercial laundry detergent came in an orange box, diet drinks had a big “D” printed on each bottle—that confused her a bit when someone brought Dr. Pepper once—and vanilla ice cream came in a blue carton with a white orchid on it. Cherry candy was red most of the time, but sometimes she took him cinnamon candy by mistake. He didn’t like that. Cinnamon candy is hot. He got very cross with her.”
Muddy gazed at the little girl holding his hand. “What was the name of her?”
“I don’t know. They weren’t allowed to have names. Isn’t that terrible? We called them The Keepers, and they took very good care of us.” Constantine looked up at him, the wind blowing her hair across her eyes. “I suppose you’re my keeper now.”
Muddy looked away, his gaze peering over the long blue horizon.
“Did you not get proper schooling? The tansuits where I lived didn’t get any schooling. They didn’t go to Rituals, either, but they weren’t stupid, like people thought.” Constantine lowered her gaze to the ground. “Anyway, I’m quite sorry I embarrassed you. I knew lots of very good people who didn’t have schooling, and they were very good to me and the other children.”
“My name is Cleo Boisseau.”
“I see.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “They call you Muddy because ‘Boisseau’ sounds like ‘boueuse,’ is that it? The word for mud? That’s not nice—and not very clever, if you ask me. Sloppy pronunciation as well. I should like to call you Cleo, if that’s all right with you. My name is Constantine.” She moved her tiny hand up and down in his massive one, shaking hands. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Cleo. We shall be good friends.” She raised an eyebrow, smiling at him. “Ho-kay?”
Muddy smiled back. “Hokay, little girl Constantine.”
She walked back to her spot, the cloth napkin held in place by the chicken bone and the soda. The Goldfish crackers were nowhere in sight.
Constantine sat, patting the ground next to her. “Come on, Cleo. It’s nearly dark hour. We must finish our dinner. Keepers are very strict about such things.”
Muddy lumbered over and sat down.
“Boueuse!” Valentin shouted from the house. The back door banged open. “Où se trouve le paquet?”
The big man scrambled to his feet, rushing toward the house.
Constantine silently decyphered Valentin’s new instructions.
A package? Is that how they regard me? I suppose they think they’re smart, talking about me in code, as if—
Valentin clapped Muddy on the ear. “Idiot! Ne deviens pas amical!”
“You leave him alone!” Constantine jumped up, rushing toward the two men.
“No, girl.” Muddy put his hands out. “You stay. I am go.”
“You heard him!” Valentin raised his hand, glaring at her. “Or do I need to give you a reminder?”
Constantine tried to shove him. “You’re just a bully. When they come to rescue me, you’ll be sorry.”
“Is that right?” He narrowed his eyes. “Well, we will see, eh? Now go to bed or I throw you over the cliff.”
“You won’t.” Constantine stood up straight, sticking her chin out. “You can’t. You’re a mere foot soldier, following orders. You’re not allowed to hurt me.”
“No? Did your cheek heal so fast?” Valentin turned away. “Go to bed.”
“I’m not afraid of you. Bullies are just big cowards.” She took a step forward. “When . . . when someone comes to rescue me, you’ll see. Then you’ll be afraid.”
Valentin sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I think no.” He turned to the child. “Your precious mommy and daddy, they do not come. No one comes to save you.”
“My . . . my father will stop you. Somehow, he will find you and this wretched place, and . . . and . . . he will put a stop to all of this. He will.”
“And yet I do not fear him, little freak.” Valentin smiled walking with a dance in his step. “Because your father is dead. He die in the chateau. All the news say so.”
“He’s not dead.” Heat rose in Constantine’s cheeks. She balled up her fists. “He’ll come for me. You’ll see. And you’ll be sorry.”
“You are a puny little thing, barely even human, really—a disgusting creation of science from a petri dish, and you make such a loud noise.” Valentin leaned over and put his hands on his knees, his nose an inch from hers. “If I throw you from this cliff tonight, I will replace you tomorrow with another girl, oui? I go to a freezer and thaw her out, and a few years later she is here, just as you are. Or . . .” He turned to the main house. “Maybe she lives now, in Cambodia, or China.” He pointed at Constantine. “The same look as you, I think. The eyes, the face—like sisters, perhaps. Triplets. All the same, yes?” He stood up, folding his arms over his chest. “Only, those girls don’t be so loud. Now go to bed!”
She stomped to the stone cabin and slammed the door, watching them through the crack. When they had gone back into the main house, the car started and drove away.
>
Constantine went to the rear of the cabin, easing open the door and going back outside.
The sky cast a warm glow over the sea, turning it a golden yellow-white as the water reflected the sun’s brilliant rays. From the rocks below, the noise of waves crashing on rocks came to her.
She crept toward the rocky, gray cliff, leaning forward to see over the edge.
Wave after wave smashed and churned against the rocks. The water was white with foam, rocking backward and then rushing forward again, crashing into the jagged black tips of the cliff bottom. It was an army of waves attacking a fortress of stone. Each blue soldier raced forward to challenge the rocks, confident and sure, then exploded in a spray of white and disappeared on the field of battle. Only the blue uniform remained among the white foam. A moment of silence followed—of peace—and then the next blue soldier advanced.
Each attack was the same, and yet different. No individual effort could make the rock fall, but as with the Grand Canyon, enough unrelenting effort would turn the rock to sand or wash it away completely.
Her gaze drifted along the top of the cliff’s edge. The setting sun cast deep shadows into the many cracks and gullies that the molten lava had left behind as it raced into the sea. Bits of grass clung to the cliff wall.
Between them, the golden sunset illuminated a narrow pathway.
Constantine gasped, bolting upright.
She jumped to her feet, running along the cliff. A crack on the stone surface opened to a narrow gap. Rocks and gravel had filled it, pushed by the wind and rain. The fissure turned to the right, between the two stone plates, one on top of the other, leaving a ledge of about ten inches—a path—that descended steeply downward along the gray stone face.
The cliff curved inward as it dropped, so she couldn’t see how far the little path went.
Not from here, anyway.
But maybe from the other side.
She held her hand up to block the glare from the setting sun, peering over the stony gray ground. The cliff curved in a C, with the cabin closest to the center.
The far point on the west will let me see what’s under this side.
Constantine ran to the far side, her feet flying over the shiny gray surface. Massive waves crashed onto the rocks below.
At the westernmost point, the electric fence blocked her from going further. She turned, panting, studying the rocky cliff face.
There, bathed in golden sunlight, was the rest of the path. The sheer ledge jutted out from the side of the cliff, angling lower and lower until it disappeared into a tower of stone. Ancient lava had seeped from a fissure, oozing downward until it met the sea and turned into a giant, gray water slide.
From there, the shore of the next island seemed barely a mile away.
She clapped her hands together.
Then that’s it. I shall make my escape to that island as soon as possible. Once I’m there, I can—
The ground beneath her feet trembled. A loud snap, and a chunk of stone next to her fell away, crashing into the surf below.
Constantine fell sideways, away from the new edge of the cliff, and crawled to safety. She got up when she reached the cabin, her heart pounding, adrenaline surging through her insides. Another crack echoed from the rock. She turned to see another chunk of the cliff drop away.
It was the place where she’d been standing.
She stood there, breathing hard, massaging a knot in her gut so big she thought she would throw up again. Swallowing hard, she sat down and stared at the sharp new edge of the western cliff.
I must be more careful.
She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, and slowly walked back toward the cliff.
The sun had drifted lower in the sky. The pathway had disappeared—lost in the gray maze of stone.
Good. Then no one else will know it’s there.
When I make my escape, they won’t know where to look.
All I shall need is a diversion of some sort.
She pulled at the hem of her shirt, gazing at the pattern of colorful cartoon puppies chasing after their bones.
Miss Jaden bought this for me at the hotel shop.
If I disappeared and Valentin found this floating on the rocks, he wouldn’t look any further.
She glanced at the cabin.
But I mustn’t appear to be considering escape, or they may move me or lock me up.
She walked to the little stone building, the sun turning orange as it dipped into the water on the horizon. The temperature seemed to be the same as it had been earlier in the day, barely cooler at all. But the constant breeze made it very pleasant.
She sat down on the stony ground and waited for the stars.
When I get to the other island, I must get a signal to Hamilton somehow, so he can come and get me. He and Miss Jaden must be proper worried by now. But it can’t be helped.
Twilight descended over the cabin. Constantine stared into the water below her, watching it turn from bright blue to a dark black shadow. She brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs.
“You’re thinking about escaping.” The man from the cabin limped through the rear door.
“I’m not,” Constantine said. “Valentin was very clear. I have no wish to fall on the rocks and be smashed to bits.”
“You’re thinking about it. All prisoners think about escape.”
She peered at his silhouette in the growing darkness. “Do you?”
The man took a few more steps, turning to face the setting sun. “Not anymore.”
The first few white sparkles of starlight appeared high overhead. Constantine stared into the sky. “Do you know where we are?”
“I thought a genius like you would know. Do you not?”
“Well . . .” She scooted forward, pointing. “The position of the sun at midday suggests we are near the equator. This place is not unlike The Bahamas in that regard. The climate is much more moderate. It’s quite nice.”
“A very nice climate. Go on.”
She furrowed her brow. “The constant winds would suggest an island, as does the presence of the other visible islands nearby, but I can’t see enough of their shape to draw much more from that. And I suppose the pleasant temperature limits us to the Pacific, where the climate is influenced by northern and eastern trade winds. Now, there are many islands in the Pacific, so . . . The brown shopping bag and American sodas would indicate a U.S. presence, either here or nearby . . .”
“Anything else?”
“Valentin drives a Jeep. Few non-U.S. countries in the Pacific rim would have those. They’re expensive, and not very fuel efficient. I’ll know more when the stars are visible, but I’d surmise we are on one of the Hawaiian islands.” She turned to him. “Is that a good guess?”
“It is.” He nodded. “Maui’s barren west coast, to be precise. Aloha.” The man hooked his thumb at the main house. “I overheard you speaking with that giant oaf earlier. About how your Keeper took care of you. That world is gone. You’ve . . . got a very different set of keepers now.”
“Why are you here? You’re a prisoner, too, right? Did you do something?”
“I did . . . and I will.” The gaunt man sighed. “I’m a puppet. A lifeless marionette given one drug to make me sleep, and another drug to wake me up when they need me to work.” He narrowed his eyes, staring out over the water. “One day, when I have the courage, I will end my torture by throwing myself to the bottom of this cliff.”
“Is there no one who cares about you?” Constantine asked.
He peered at her. “Why did you say your father is alive? Everyone knows Doctor Hauser died in that chateau.”
She sighed, looking down. “I don’t believe my father is dead.”
“I admire your resolve—foolish that it may be. But for now, no more walks along the edge of the cliff.” He wagged his finger at her. “You have just learned what can happen, eh?”
Constantine gasped, looking up. “I didn’t—”
“There is no escape. Learn that now. Several people have died going over the cliff. That pathway you saw in the stone, it gets very narrow—and then it gets very crumbly. And then you fall onto the sharp rocks and you die. I told you, I have recovered the bodies.”
She shook her head. “I won’t try to run away.”
“Don’t forget, I know who you are. If your rescuers are to come, they need to come quickly. The . . . operations these lunatics have planned for you, it will be very hard on you. Many drills will cut into your little legs. They will slice away many sections of your head, until you are used up. Then they will discard your tiny, dead body, killed at the hand of someone who knows how to keep you alive until the harvest is complete. This is what awaits, so tell your hero to hurry fast.”
Her tiny mouth hung open. “How do you know all this?”
“Because I am the man they have hired to kill you. A surgeon, paid to operate until nothing useful remains. And because I am a coward, I will do my job.” He limped back inside. “There is a blanket on the floor. That will be your bed tonight.”
His coughing fits resumed, coming and going until they were replaced with the sound of snoring.
Constantine sat on the stony ground, her knees to her chest. The sky grew dark around her, as the wind blew over the wide, black ocean.
She rocked back and forth, whispering to herself. “I’m not afraid of him. I’m not afraid of Valentin, either. I’m not afraid.” Her voice wavered as the descriptions of the surgeries came rushing into her head.
“Many drills will cut into your little legs. They will slice away many sections of your head . . .”
She squeezed her eyes shut, her voice quivering. “I’m not afraid. I’m not. I’m not . . .”
The knot in her stomach got bigger. The waves below grew louder in their intensity.
“I’m . . . not afraid . . .”
She dropped her head onto her knees, pulling them tight to her chest and wrapping her arms firmly around them. “I know you’ll come for me, Hamilton.” Constantine’s voice cracked. “You said you would, and you will.” Swallowing hard, a tear rolled down her cheek. “Please come soon, Hamilton. Please come for me.”