Wicked Luck

by Shannon L. Maynard

7. TWILIGHT: THE BEARER OF BAD NEWS

  Ava

  Dax’s footsteps interrupt my thoughts, but I keep my eyes closed and pretend to be asleep. I hear him walk closer to retrieve the log, so I sneak a peek when he walks away. He sits down by the fire to cook two fish at the end of a stick and still doesn’t realize I’m awake so I watch him, hoping the shadow from the sloping wall will hide my face.

  I’d been so upset and angry that he wasn’t Preston, that I hadn’t really looked at him. Wisps of wavy, blond hair kiss the top of his lashes and frame his vibrant blue eyes, and the muscles in his arms and chest are well defined. No wonder he had no problem pinning me down in the forest. He seems kind and sincere, and now I feel even worse for how I’ve treated him. I’ve stared too long, and he turns his head to glance at me. My weak smile doesn’t draw one from him, and I worry that he’s angry.

  I sit up to drink the rest of the water with shaky hands. Propping the stick on the rocks that surround the fire, he retrieves the pitcher sitting behind him. He walks over, fills the cup, and then sits the pitcher next to me.

  “Thank you,” I say, looking up at him through my lashes. “I’m sorry I was rude before.”

  He stares at the ground in front of me, but then his mouth breaks into a smile. For the first time, I notice his dimples. I must be forgiven.

  “It’s fine. I understand,” he says. “Besides, I got a little over anxious. I don’t ever get visitors.” He spins around, retrieves the fish, and then sits back down on the log.

  “So where are we again?” I ask. The smell of the fish makes my mouth water. He places them on a large palm leaf to remove the skin and small bones.

  “I call it Daxton Island.” His mouth twitches at the corner. “But the official name is Lamarai.”

  “I’ve never heard of it,” I say.

  “Of course not. And those who have wish they hadn’t. It’s a very small island somewhere off the coast of New Guinea, I think.”

  “Then why do you live here?” I ask, and then blurt out the obvious question. “And who lives here besides you?”

  He slides the fish over to me, and it tastes incredible.

  “I don’t live here by choice. I ended up here when my family’s boat capsized and sank when we hit some rocks in a storm. After a while, we figured no one was coming to look for us, so we made the best of it. There was no other choice, besides not living.”

  “So your family’s here, too?” I swallow the last of the fish and wonder why he isn’t eating, but before I can ask, he slides his towards me.

  “You eat it; I already ate.” I think maybe he’s saying this only because he saw how fast I devoured mine. He picks up a stick and pokes at the fire. “My stepsister’s name is Roxy, and she lives here. Roxy and my stepmother were below deck when we hit the rocks. They came up on deck just as a huge wave hit us and capsized the boat. It happened so fast they didn’t have time to grab life vests. We all ended up in the water. Roxy couldn’t swim so my stepmother insisted my father save Roxy first and told him she’d be fine. It took both of us to get Roxy calmed down and when we turned around, my stepmother was just… gone. She didn’t make it to shore, and we never found her.”

  He stares at the flames as their shadows dance on the wall behind him.

  “That’s terrible.”

  “Yeah, it was.”

  “So your father’s here too?”

  “He was—until he died about a year ago.”

  “Oh no. I’m so sorry. I lost my parents too. They died four months ago in a car accident.”

  Dax doesn’t say anything else, and I wonder if he’s waiting for me to distract him from a memory like mine. His face is filled with sadness and maybe a hint of regret. I know this pain, and I’m all too familiar with his look of remorse—wishing there was some way to turn back time. After a minute, I muster enough courage to press on with my questioning.

  “So it’s just you and your sister? Where is she?”

  My voice breaks his trance, and he lets out a short laugh. “Stepsister,” he clarifies, and he seems thankful he isn’t related to her by blood. “And there are others.” He glances at me and hesitates, like he’s choosing his words carefully and trying them out in his head. “There are two tribes that live here—the Lambai and the Anwai. Neither tribe likes outsiders. They consider them to be evil spirits, or ghost demons.”

  Ohh…kay. Is that who he was referring to in the forest?

  “So they aren’t friendly?”

  “Not really. I don’t consider people that want to eat you for dinner very friendly.”

  I stop chewing and force myself to swallow. “Are you saying we’re on an island with a bunch of cannibals?” I enunciate each word.

  He offers a slow nod in response, and my heart skips a beat as I come to a startling conclusion. The palm leaf with the fish falls from my hands, and I jerk backwards. The back of my head smacks against the cave wall, but the hurt is nothing compared to the relentless beat of pain in my forehead.

  “If that’s true, then why are you still alive… unless you… you are one of them!” I say, and I’m horrified at the thought. Is he keeping me in this cave for himself—like a prisoner—to fatten me up?

  I assess the distance to the entrance of the cave and wonder if I can make it without passing out first. Two things are in the way of my escape path, the fire and him. He reaches for me and I jump, flinching away from the touch of his hand. He slowly recoils his hands to a surrender position.

  “Ava,” he says softly. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. Just let me explain. Please?”

  I stay pressed against the damp wall and wrap my arms around my knees. My eyes stay fixed on him. “Why are you still alive?” I ask again through clenched teeth.

  “After we swam to shore, we waited out the storm under a tree, and then after it passed, my dad and I got busy making a shelter. Roxy was too distraught. There was another storm coming, and my dad wanted us to have somewhere safe to stay before he went off to explore the island. The Anwai tribe found us; they saw my dad gathering materials and followed him to the beach. We were taken captive and hauled back to their village where they were going to kill us… and eat us for dinner, but one member of the tribe convinced the Anwai chief not to.”

  “How?” I ask, impatient to hear the rest of his story unfold.

  “The chief’s son liked our shelter and brought his father back to the beach to see it. My dad was an architect, and the chief was impressed by the efficiency and overall design.” Dax chuckles. “Our shelter was so impressive the chief thought my father was some sort of God, with great powers that allowed him to create such an elaborate home. He worried about the repercussions of killing a God, and he decided my dad could be a great asset to him. My dad caught on quickly and showed the chief some ideas to add to their meager homes. The people here live in crude houses very high up in the trees. Anyway, it was enough to make the chief decide to spare his life, and my dad agreed to help them if they spared Roxy and me too. They made us tear down the house on the beach because they didn’t want anything visible from the shore, but we ended up building a massive tree house further inland, and my dad created many things to help the Anwai improve their way of life.”

  The realization hits me, and I’m more terrified than before. “So they don’t know about me? Is that why you’re keeping me hidden in this cave? Are they going to kill me?” My voice is full of panic.

  “No, they don’t know about you. And yes, that’s partly why I’m keeping you in this cave. But I have a plan. Don’t worry. I won’t let them kill you,” he says.

  “But there’s only one of you. What if you can’t stop them?”

  He smiles, and I’m not sure I trust his confidence.

  “The Anwai tribe is a peaceful tribe for the most part,” he tells me. “They eat outsiders unless they can find some use for them, like my dad. They also eat people from their own tribe if they believe they have turned into Khakhuas. That’s sort of a wi
tch or evil spirit they think takes over people’s bodies. So they might be easier to convince. The Lambai tribe, on the other hand, is much worse. The size of their tribe has decreased significantly in the three years I’ve been here, and most haven’t died from natural causes. I guess you could say they’re human flesh-aholics.”

  I feel the fish start to come back up in my throat. “So why are you still here? Haven’t you tried to escape?”

  “The Anwai would never let us leave and the Lambai tribe guards the points of the inlet, making escape impossible. Both tribes migrated to this island as one long ago from New Guinea, so they could live peacefully and practice their tribal traditions. Then there was some disagreement concerning certain traditions… so they separated into two tribes. But they don’t want to be discovered, and they hate outsiders who they see as a threat to their way of life. So chances are, if other people have ended up here, they’ve never been seen or heard from again. And trust me, I’ve seen evidence to support that theory.”

  “So let me get this straight,” I say. “I ended up on an island full of cannibals, and I’m here in a cave with a wannabe cannibal, and no one will probably try to rescue me for fear of being eaten by cannibals, so I’m stuck here for the rest of my life with you and your village full of cannibals? Does that pretty much sum it up?”

  This is beyond bad luck. It’s absolutely insane and unbearable.

  He gets up and comes to sit next to me, then hesitates before he puts his hand on my back. Part of me wants to brush it away, but a small part likes it there, and I hate myself for taking my frustration out on him again. Should I even trust him? He seems innocent and has been in the very same position as me before, except he wasn’t alone. I put my head down on my knees. The reality of the entire situation hits me hard, and I can’t hold back the tears.

  “I know you’re upset.” His voice is smooth and comforting. I long for someone to comfort me, but I wish it were Preston. “Please try to believe me. I understand what you’re feeling. But sooner or later, you have to deal with the situation,” he tells me.

  This is the problem. I don’t want to deal with it.

  “Why didn’t you just leave me to die?” I say. “And let the sharks get me or the Lombini tribe?”

  “Lambai,” he corrects.

  “Whatever! You would’ve done me a favor.” My voice is weak and hoarse. But I can’t stop myself from taking my misery out on him. “Everyone I care about is gone. Why did you have to save me?”

  I lift my head and look at him. His eyes meet mine.

  “I know this sounds selfish. But I’m glad I found you,” he says. “It’s hard to believe that you’d choose being eaten by sharks or a tribe of hungry cannibals over hanging out with me. Am I really that bad?” A small smile spreads across his lips and dimples appear at the sides of his mouth. “I mean—it could be worse. You could’ve been found by my stepsister.”

  He laughs and I manage to crack a smile, suddenly self-conscious of what I must look like with my swollen eyes and chapped lips. My skin feels sticky from the salt water, and I haven’t brushed my teeth in two days. He doesn’t seem to notice or even care.

  “So why are we in this cave if you have a house?” I ask, my voice full of suspicion.

  “Well, for one thing, my house is right next to the Anwai village. And don’t take this the wrong way, but you were unconscious when I found you. I carried you into this cave, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to make it up to my room. I’m not saying your fat or anything, I mean, ‘cause you’re not. You’re perfect—actually. It’s me. I just couldn’t. You’ll understand when you see the house. Okay. Anyway, I should just quit talking now.”

  His flustered comments make me smile, and I decide I don’t hate him as much as I thought. Maybe he’s right. If this is my destiny to be stuck in this horrible place without Preston, at least I’m not alone.

  “So when can I see the house?”

  “Let’s not rush it. Maybe tomorrow. We still have to get you inducted into the tribe, and you need to be completely recovered first. I’m sure you got a massive concussion judging from the size of that lump. I can’t risk you getting dizzy and passing out on me. Besides, if you think your head hurts now, wait until you’ve been around Roxy for five minutes.” He laughs loudly at his own joke. “Speaking of your head, is it feeling better?”

  “Yes. I found some aspirin in my purse. I guess I lucked out for once since my backpack followed me to shore.” I notice him looking at me strangely, so I explain. “I’m sort of prone to bad luck.”

  “Well, you seem pretty lucky to me. I mean, you survived,” he says with a grin.

  “Yeah, and I ended up on an island full of cannibals. That’s very unlucky, don’t you think?”

  “I guess if you put it that way.” He laughs and points to my four-leaf clover bracelet. “Is that some sort of lucky charm?”

  “Yes.”

  I glance at the clover bracelet Preston gave me, thankful I haven’t lost it. Wrapping my hand around the locket and key on the chain around my neck, I squeeze tightly, pulling it to my chest. I should be happy I survived, but everyone I care about is gone. Nothing left of them but mementos on my wrist and neck. I blink back tears.

  “So I’m curious,” he says. “How did you really end up here? It wasn’t a helicopter, was it?” He almost looks disappointed.

  “No. We were on a Gulfstream, but I can’t remember anything after getting on the plane. It must have crashed.”

  I struggle again to remember what happened but get nothing. He pauses for a moment as if debating on asking what I know will come next. I brace myself for his question.

  “Who is we?”

  He looks at me with gentle eyes.

  “There were four of us—two pilots, a flight attendant, and myself. The chief pilot—is my boyfriend.”

  No matter how hard I try, I can’t refer to him in past tense. For the sake of my sanity, I still cling to the smallest of hope that he’s looking for me and will find me—if I can ever get out of this cave.

  “Is your boyfriend’s name Preston?”

  My eyes flash to him. “Yes! Why? Do you know where he is?”

  “Uhm, no.” A look of shock crosses his face and then it’s replaced by remorse, realizing he’s given me a glimmer of false hope. “I was just guessing… you said the name earlier.”

  I did. As I look down at my hands in my lap, a single tear drips onto my leg. He starts to rub my back and instinct allows me to lean into him, putting my head on his shoulder before I start to weep uncontrollably. I feel him tense for a moment, and then he wraps his other arm around me. I sob until I’m too tired to cry any more.

  “How long have you been on the island?” I finally ask, afraid to look up at him.

  “We left California when I was sixteen and Roxy was fifteen,” he says. “I don’t know for sure, but I’ve tried to keep track of the days. If my calculations are correct, it’s been a little over three years.”

  His embrace makes me feel better, but I sit up, and his arms fall awkwardly from my shoulders.

  “Wow—three years. That’s a long time.”

  “It is when you live with Roxy,” he says, which makes me nervous about meeting her. “She’s slightly bitter about her circumstances—completely miserable actually, and intent on making everyone else’s life just as miserable. Well, not everyone—just me. I’m usually the only one around. So I try to find fun things to do to make time go by faster.” He looks down at the sand. “I have to admit though, I was completely stoked when I found you and realized you were alive. It gets kind of lonely here, and I was so excited at the idea of having someone else to hang with.”

  I can relate to his blatant honesty. I know exactly how it feels to be lonely. “Speaking of Roxy,” I say, “does she know about me?”

  “No.” He chuckles. “She won’t even notice I’m gone until she gets really hungry. I have a place I go a lot for days at a time, mostly to get away from her
. She probably just assumes I’m there. It’s a secret place that not even she knows about. I’ll take you there tomorrow, if you want.”

  “Okay. But what about the cannibals?”

  “They don’t go there. You’ll be completely safe, and it’s a much better hideout.”

  I’m sure his words are meant to be comforting, but they have the opposite effect. His plan conflicts with mine. My plan is to find Preston, and I can’t do that if I’m hiding out.

  A yawn escapes my mouth. I’m physically and mentally exhausted. Scooting down, I put my head on the backpack, determined to resolve the problem tomorrow. Something pokes me so I reach in and pull out my sketchpad and pencils, setting them to the side, and then adjust my extra change of clothes so my makeshift pillow is more comfortable.

  Dax is staring at me.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” he says. “Is that a drawing book?”

  Now I regret pulling it out. I nod.

  “May I?”

  I hand it to him and then look away, not wanting to chance seeing the contents within. Maybe he’ll accidentally drop it in the fire and do me a favor, because I never want to draw anything again. I hear him flip through the pages one at a time until the page turning stops. Opening one eye, I see him studying a page with a strange expression on his face.

  “Is this your mother?”

  I don’t need to look at the drawing he’s holding up to confirm his question with another nod. Flipping the page a couple of more times, he stops on another picture. He flips the notebook around for me to see.

  “Preston?”

  This time, I look and my eyes fill with tears. I nod slowly. I can’t remember drawing it, and I stare at Preston’s vibrant green eyes staring back at me from the paper. A vision of Preston sitting across from me on the plane flashes through my mind, but then it’s gone just as quickly as it came.

  “So where are all the portraits of your ex-boyfriends, or do they have a sketchpad of their own?”

  I stare at my hands and twirl my fingers self-consciously in my lap. He smiles and waits for my response.

  “There aren’t any portraits, because I’ve never had a boyfriend. Until Preston.”

  The smile disappears from his face and he responds with an “Oh,” before he quickly flips to the picture of my mother and studies the portrait again. His gaze jumps back and forth from me to the paper, but he doesn’t ask any more questions. Instead, he closes the sketchpad and sets it down.

  “You’re a great artist,” he says and then pauses, his voice gentle. “Go to sleep if you want. You don’t have to worry. No one knows we’re here, and I’ll protect you. You can trust me.”

  He lies down by the fire and smiles, and I smile back at him before he closes his eyes. Part of me hopes when I wake up things will be different. Maybe today will all be a bad dream, I think, because the idea that I might never see Preston again is too upsetting to contemplate. If only I’d told him I loved him. Now I’m left with nothing but regret and a dying wish for a second chance, just like after the death of my parents. My life is beginning to seem like a vicious cycle. I blink back tears and let my memories of Preston take over my mind.