Wicked Luck

by Shannon L. Maynard

20. DAY THREE: PUSHING LUCK

  Dax

  “Maybe we should head back,” Ava says, and her comment rocks me to my core. “I think I’ve had too much sun because I’m not feeling very well.”

  The last part might be true but my spidey senses tell me it has nothing to do with the sun.

  I nod my head before falling into the water and swimming around to climb on the board behind her. I’m not as close as before, and the cold gap between us feels like a mile. She lies on her stomach, and I lay on top of her legs to paddle toward shore. When we reach the surf, I pick up the board and head to the cave without giving her a second glance. When she catches up to me, I’ve just placed both boards against the back wall. eH

  “We should leave the boards here so they’re close to the water. I guess we can leave this, too,” I say, kicking the life raft. “Nothing screams ‘I’m trying to escape’ like a fluorescent orange inflatable boat.”

  I laugh, but she is drawing in the sand with her toes and making the situation even more awkward than it already is.

  “What about the briefcase?” I ask. She must be thinking about what happened in the water because my question seems to catch her off guard. She glances at the case sitting next to the raft.

  “Leave it here.”

  “Seriously?” I’m surprised. “What’s in it?”

  “I don’t know. Preston wouldn’t tell me,” she says, and then I watch her go to another time and place. I’ve lost her to some memory she’s refusing to share.

  My voice snaps her back to the present. “What do you mean—he wouldn’t tell you? Why not?”

  “I don’t know. He just said the briefcase was from his boss.”

  I can tell she wishes I’d drop the whole subject. Not going to happen. “You can’t be serious. We have to open it. What if it’s full of money?”

  “So what if it is? What are you going to do with money? Oh, wait. You might be able to use it to buy a wife, since your current arrangement isn’t going to work out.”

  She boasts a sly smile, but I don’t smile back. She doesn’t even feel bad about bursting my bubble. Wow.

  “Come on. Aren’t you just a little bit curious? Maybe he didn’t tell you because he didn’t want you to know what was in it. What if there’s a—” I stop mid-sentence. “Never mind.”

  She grits her teeth. “What if there’s a what? What were you going to say?”

  I look at her for a second and debate on telling her my thought, but if the role was reversed, she wouldn’t hold back.

  “A ring.”

  I threw the word out like a grenade, and the explosion blasted through her. I feel a little bad about mentioning it now, because it appears that thought never occurred to her the way her mouth is hanging open. She snaps it shut and turns away from me because she must know my assumption is plausible.

  “Look. If you want to open it, go ahead. But I don’t want to know what’s inside.” She peeks up and catches me with a huge grin on my face.

  “Sweet!” I pick up my guitar and grab the briefcase with my other hand. “Let’s go to the castle. I think I have something there I can use to pick the lock.”

  Ava chickened out halfway to the castle and said she wanted to wait to open the briefcase. I don’t get women at all. I only told her there might be a ring so she’d let me open it, but the way she freaked out kind of makes me feel like an ass for even mentioning it. It’s probably full of worthless paperwork and pilot crap anyway. I’ll wait until she’s ready, but she sure knows how to suck the fun out of a perfectly good day. Doesn’t she know that reading material is hard to come by on an island full of illiterate cannibals? Besides, I’m going to need something else to read when I’m done with her journal.

  And speaking of freaking out and sucking the fun out of things, what the hell happened on the surfboard? I must be way out of touch with girls because I could have sworn there was a vibe going on, like a, I really wish he would kiss me right now vibe. But the second she saw cannibal ‘thing 1’ and ‘thing 2,’ she dropped that vibe and it sunk straight to the bottom of the ocean.

  And I don’t even know who to blame, but if I had one guess, it would be someone whose name starts with a P— who’s probably laying at the bottom of the ocean right next to that vibe while I’m up here keeping his girlfriend alive and trying to get her to pay me the least bit of attention in return.

  That guy is inked into her brain like a tattoo and the more I read about him in her journal, the more I worry about how permanent the stain may be. She’s only known him for a couple of months, but he’s managed to become her reason for existing. I’m so screwed. How can I compete with that when all I have to offer is a cave or a tree for a house on an island full of cannibals and coconuts?

  Ava went up to her room in the tree house to go to bed early since she wasn’t feeling well, so I rushed back here to the beach to retrieve the journal where I hid it under a rock before we went surfing. With the mood I’m in, reading about those two little lovebirds… sitting in a tree… k-i-s-s-i-n-g probably isn’t the best idea because first comes love, they’ve already talked marriage, and everyone knows where it goes from there. It’s a risk, but I guess I’ll take my chances.

  August 9

  Things are getting really weird around here. When I got home, I checked the mail and wasn’t surprised to find a familiar envelope. The note should have caused me instant worry, but instead, the message made me laugh out loud—

  DON’T PUSH YOUR LUCK

  Whoever sent this warning doesn’t know me very well. My luck ran out on the day I was born. Apparently our vanishing act after the reception must have made someone very angry.

  Anyway, I took a long shower until every drop of the hot water ran out and skipped dinner because I wasn’t hungry. After throwing some laundry in the washer, I sat on the couch to watch the news. That’s when I noticed the library books strewn across the desk. One was even teetering on the edge about to fall to the floor. I thought maybe the stack just fell over, but then I saw the curtains and knew something was definitely wrong. They usually hang neatly with a small gap in the middle but they were pulled together, now overlapping each other in a sloppy fashion. Then it hit me—someone had been in the house.

  Many items had been moved and not replaced the way I’d left them, like Friday’s mail, which I’d left in a neat stack, was now scattered all over my desk. I honestly don’t know why it took me so long to notice. I’ve failed in my pursuit of being observant.

  Everything in my bedroom looked normal until I saw the sleeve of a shirt peeking out from the corner of one drawer. All the drawers had been gone through as if someone had been looking for something. I’m still trying to make sense of this terrifying personal invasion. Nothing appears to be missing, but it’s obvious someone went through my things in a hurry, with no attempt to hide the fact that they did.

  I thought about calling a non-emergency number at the police department and explaining to the person who answers that I need to report a break-in, but I have a feeling it wouldn’t go well. I imagine the entire conversation would go something like this: I’d tell the officer as calmly as I could that I wanted to report a break-in. Then, after jotting down all my info, the conversation would go downhill from there. He’d probably offer to send officers to take pictures of the damage and get fingerprints, telling me to be careful not to disturb any broken glass, and I’d have to tell him that there aren’t any signs of forced entry and that the door was locked when I got home. Yeah. Then I’m sure he’d ask the usual questions. Is anything vandalized? No. Missing? No. Do you live alone? Yes. Does anyone have a key? No.

  So he might suggest I call the landlord and have the locks changed. I’d be desperate for him to understand the severity of the situation, so I’d add that someone’s been following me. “They’re outside right now,” I’d tell him, and catch myself whispering as if the passengers in the black car could hear me. “Who’s outside, ma’am? Are you in danger?” he�
�d ask with an urgency in his voice that wasn’t there before. I’d tell him the car is parked across the street as usual and flinch as the words escape my lips, knowing how ridiculous that must sound. He’d pause for a moment and then say, “Ma’am, I need to ask you something very important,” so I’d hang on his every word, hoping he’d have a solution to this problem that has been plaguing me, but next he’d ask if I was currently on any medications.

  I saw it in a movie once. Not this exact scenario, but something similar. He’ll think I’m schizophrenic or just plain crazy so I’d race through our conversation in my head, trying to figure out what I left out that could change his mind and wouldn’t be prepared for his next question. “What’s the license plate?” I can picture it perfectly—him at a desk, pen in hand, waiting for my useless “I don’t know” response. And there you have it.

  I think he might ask if the car had ever threatened harm and since I have no proof that the car at the library was the same one, I’d say ‘no’. The conversation would probably end with him reminding me that there are a lot of black Mercedes running around but if anything serious happens, I should call 911 immediately. By serious, he’d mean something that involves proof, then I’d thank him and hang up.

  Preston called about ten minutes after the discovery, so I told him everything that happened and was talking so fast I almost didn’t hear him interrupt me. “Are you sure someone was in the house? How did they get in?” he asked. His voice sounded gentle but concerned. When I told him I locked the door and it was still locked when I got home, he was silent for a minute before he said, “I know you don’t like to be alone, but don’t let your imagination get carried away. If the door and windows are locked, no one can get in.” For the first time since the Harry Pitts paging incident, I was thoroughly irritated with him for joining the ‘Ava’s lost her mind’ bandwagon. I would expect to get that type of reaction if I called the police but not from him.

  But I glanced around the room again and found myself doubting my suspicions, then I agreed with him because the last thing I want to do is scare him away. I told him how much I missed him, and he said, “You have no idea how much I miss you, and it doesn’t help that Kirk keeps reminding me of how good you looked at the reception.”

  Then he laughed and asked if I had any big plans for my birthday. I want more than anything for him to spend it with me because this will be my first birthday without my parents. If Preston’s absent too, the day will be almost unbearable. He said he couldn’t make any promises he’ll be here because he’s on Mr. C’s schedule, but he told me to keep my fingers crossed. Then he asked if it was bad luck for people with bad luck to cross their fingers. “Never mind,” he said. “Leave the finger crossing to me.”

  He promised to call me tomorrow and after he hung up, I was actually feeling better about the whole situation until I turned to go to my room and something shiny caught my eye. I walked closer and stooped to pick up the crumpled wrapper under the couch. It was an empty package of cigarettes. I have a feeling this will be a very long night with little sleep. I’m really scared.

  August 13

  Today is my birthday, but it’s definitely not happy. After a few restless nights, my sleep returned to normal thanks to Preston and my landlord, who have convinced me that whoever was in my house hadn’t meant me any harm. The landlord had the locks changed and was quick to tell me that it was probably the previous tenant’s ex-boyfriend, using the lame excuse of the tenant moved out of state as the reason he didn’t change them before. Whatever. I’ve got bigger problems right now.

  When I left work, I was relieved Sergio wasn’t waiting next to my car—which has become a routine on most Fridays, but I still drove home feeling depressed since Preston told me last night he wasn’t sure what day he’d be back. That means he’s missing my birthday. And I miss him. The past two weeks seem like two years.

  I grabbed a few items and a small cake at the store on the way home. After parking in my driveway, I headed for the door with enthusiasm equal to someone going to the dentist for a root canal. I ignored the Mercedes parked across the street, paused on the steps to get the mail, and then sifted through the envelopes, wishing someone back home might remember my birthday. No such luck.

  There was nothing but junk mail, bills, and one envelope from a law firm I’d never heard of. It had been forwarded from my Colorado address. Opening the envelope, I slipped the key in the lock and stepped inside while reading the letter, closing the door behind me without taking my eyes off the professional stationary. I dropped my purse and the bag of groceries on the table next to the door and took a few steps, but then I stopped to continue reading.

  The letter notified me of a trust my parents had set up in my name. They arranged for me to receive an income while going to college and saved the lump sum for when I graduated to invest in my own company or venture of my choice. Yet another secret kept by my parents.

  The news is life changing. It means Preston and I can leave for Europe sooner than we’d planned, and I can actually go to school there. No more Oceanview Aviation. No more Sergio. No more black cars and mysterious notes. I’ll be free to go with Preston and travel the world on my own dime, not his. The best birthday present ever. Not the money itself, but the fact that the only dream I have to look forward to is going to come true. I will soon be able to spend every waking moment with him. This is what I was thinking about when a deep voice from across the room said, “Surprise.”

  My keys and the mail went flying. My hands flew to my chest as if they would keep my heart from exploding out of my body. I resumed breathing and blinked, then focused on Sergio, who sat on the chair next to my couch. HOLY CREEPINESS!

  My photo album was open on the coffee table. My stopping at the store on the way home left him plenty of time to snoop. I wondered with horror what else his serpent fingers had touched? I demanded to know what he was doing in my house and at that point, my anger outweighed my fear. He told me he stopped by to say happy birthday and when I didn’t answer, he tried the door and found it unlocked.

  Okay, Pinocchio.

  “A birthday isn’t complete without a surprise, right?” he said, and I just stared. I still don’t know how that jerk knows it’s my birthday. And where did he come from? I didn’t notice his car parked outside. Then it all made sense—the empty cigarette wrapper. He’s the one who’s been here before. FREAKING STALKER!

  I folded my arms to avoid him seeing my trembling hands and contemplated my options. I didn’t know if anyone would hear me if I screamed. I could have run out the door and hoped a neighbor was home but instead, like an idiot, my feet seemed cemented to the floor. My keys were MIA since they flew out of my hand with the mail, and my purse was on the entry table just out of reach. There was no way I could get my cell out of my purse to dial 911 before Sergio reached me given my luck and the fact that I’d have to dig for the phone in the bottom of my stupid purse.

  I remembered that Preston said Sergio was harmless and opted for the worst plan—tough it out and hope for the best. Not the smartest choice, but definitely the gutsiest. I asked if he always made it a habit to break into people’s houses when they weren’t home, and he actually shrugged his shoulders. “You know, it really isn’t safe to leave the door unlocked. You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy,” he said with a wink, and his slender finger traced his brow before he said I should be more careful or I might come home to find an unexpected guest in my house. “Or unwanted,” I added, and that was an understatement.

  Then I told him I didn’t leave the door unlocked, but he ignored my comments. With an evil grin smeared across his lips, he delivered his intended speech—something about how he’d thought and thought about what to get me for my birthday, and then it hit him. “I’m the perfect package—what more could you possibly want?” he said, and then, “Damn. I should have wrapped myself up with a big bow.” Yuck with a cherry on top. I’m still trying to erase that image from my brain.

&
nbsp; I told him what I’d really like for my birthday would be for him to leave. “Now. Before I call the police… or an exterminator,” I said bravely, and I bit my lip so it wouldn’t have a chance to tremble like my hands. He looked shocked for a moment but then looked up at the ceiling and shook his head, mocking me in disbelief. The slight smile on his face was not an amused one. It was more like a satisfied grin.

  He stood up and sauntered towards me, his heavy work boots thudding as loud as my heart when he crossed the tile floor. Instead of turning for the door, he kept coming, and he didn’t stop until he was right in front of me—invading my breathing space.

  A terrifying panic paralyzed me with fear—my back against the wall—knowing it was too late to run. He placed both hands on the wall at either side of my face and I imagined his serpent tattoo coming to life, slithering right off his arm and onto my neck.

  “Why do you have to make everything so difficult?” he asked, and the sweet scent of beer and minty gum on his breath swirled around my face. “You know, I could make all your birthday wishes come true,” he told me. Those self-defense moves flashed through my head but for some reason, the only part of my body that would work was my mouth, telling him that when I blow out the candles on my birthday cake, my wish will definitely have something to do with him. “Like… Never. Seeing. You. Again,” I said, and my tone was sour but my voice radiated fear.

  He studied my face with narrowed eyes—his mouth set in a straight line, and then his eyes fell to my lips. He swooped in, but I jerked my head to the side. He froze with his mouth next to my ear. Under his breath, a laugh escaped, deep and raspy. “Careful what you wish for, baby,” he whispered. “Some wishes actually do come true.”

  I closed my eyes, didn’t breathe, and a few excruciating seconds ticked by before he pressed away from the wall and left. When the door slammed shut behind him, I gasped for air and rushed to lock the door before sliding down the wall with my trembling hands covering my face. After I heard him peel away in his car, my emotions boiled over and a flood of tears and sobs poured out of me.

  It’s been two hours now, and my heart rate has finally returned to normal. He could have harmed me but he didn’t, so maybe Preston’s right. Sergio might be harmless, but he’s definitely all kinds of crazy. Did he really think I would kiss him? Whatever. The thought makes me want to vomit. I should call the police, but I have a feeling it would be my word against Sergio’s. Considering how powerful his uncle is, that doesn’t give me much confidence. I tried to call Preston, but my call went straight to voice mail. The Sergio incident is something I should probably tell him in person anyway, so for now, I will only hope and pray that our conversation will be in the very near future.

  I’m in shock as I storm back to the tree house. How could Preston be so absorbed in straightening his tie and shining his shoes that he couldn’t see the danger his own girlfriend was in right under his nose. Idiot! I’m actually thinking it’s more of a miracle than I thought that she’s even on this island. No wonder she’s so attached to him—she’s been clinging to his nonchalant nothing’s wrong attitude with the hope it will keep her alive. What a pathetic pretty boy! I would have done things so much differently had I been there instead of him.

  My fist collides with a tree, and I utter a curse between my clenched teeth. Why can’t she see he did nothing to protect her? If I ever get off this island, I will hunt Sergio down and make him swallow his teeth, one for every evil thing he said to her, then wrap that serpent around his neck and strangle him with his own arm.

  I want answers. I want revenge! I was perfectly content being stuck on this island with Ava, but now I’m more determined than ever to find a way off Lamarai to return home with her because she deserves to be happy, but she also deserves to be safe.