The Orchid Sister

by LeClaire, Anne D.

  KATHERINE

  Kat stared at the girl. In the little light afforded by the moon, she saw the girl’s tear-wet face, her blood-spattered gown, and, dropping her gaze farther, the red streaks tracing down the girl’s legs, red so dark it seemed nearly black. Even as she wondered what could have happened to the girl, her memory served up the image of the room at the end of the corridor, the machinery, the harvesting of fetal tissue that Verner did there in his mad quest for youth. “Oh, child,” she said, trying to conceal her horror. “Oh, child, come here.” She opened her arms and embraced her, felt the trembling, a shaking so violent that Kat feared the girl might go into shock. Kat pulled the thin blanket free of her bed and wrapped it about the girl’s shoulders. The white pills, so carefully saved and hidden, scattered on the floor.

  “Cómo te llamas?” she whispered, and she stroked the girl’s hair in an effort to calm her. It did not occur to her to question how she had gotten into the room.

  The girl ignored her question and began to pull at Kat’s hand, whispering more words in an urgent tone.

  “Me llamo Katherine. Kat,” she said, and again asked the girl her name. “Cómo te llamas?”

  “Graciela,” the child whispered at last. When Kat did not get up, she began whimpering, pleading, words following one another so fast, Kat couldn’t distinguish them.

  “Despacio,” Kat said. “Despacio, Graciela. I can’t understand what you are saying.”

  The girl turned and looked back toward the door, and it was then that a figure moved from the shadows and came into Kat’s full view.

  VÍCTOR

  The celebration spilled toward his shack, but Víctor ignored it. He continued with his work. He had always found it soothing. He continued applying the second coat of resin along the keel of the old boat. Others—Juan Santos, for instance—would settle for a single application, but Víctor had no patience for impatience. Things should be done right. And if a leak was not properly repaired, it was a foolish wasting of time, for it meant more lost days while repairs were made. Kuko basked at his feet. He gazed up at Víctor and gave his slow iguana blink. The diver stood and stretched, arching his back to release the tension of bending over for so long. He looked down the beach toward the center of the village, but the throngs of people, costumed and for the most part drunk, formed a mass so merged it made it impossible to pick out a single individual.

  Certainly it was impossible to locate one specific woman in the crowds. He thought of Madison and of her beautiful sister, who, from their first meeting, had seen directly into the truth of his heart. Somehow from the beginning, she had understood his secret self, his loneliness and vulnerability. Unlike other women he had known, she had asked nothing of him. He had wanted to give her everything. Again he searched the horizon, as if by thinking of them he could make either of the sisters appear. Had Madison left the village? Gone back to her home? Or had she accomplished the impossible and found her sister? He deeply regretted not telling her that he had met Katherine. But how much would he have admitted? Would she have believed him responsible for Katherine’s disappearance? Accused him? Taken her suspicions to the police?

  But then again, perhaps Madison had not left. He remembered her determination, her conviction that her sister had come to Playa. After a fourth time searching the horizon, he surrendered to the desire that had plagued him since he’d begun work. He set his brush in the cleaning solvent. He carefully poured what remained of the resin into a plastic jug. He remembered the words that Tia Clara had spat at him. “You are a fool,” she had said.

  “Am I a tonto?” he asked the lizard at his feet. “A pendejo? A fool?” Kuko regarded him and gave him another lazy blink. Víctor carried the tanks and other diving gear back into his shack and locked the door. Everyone was here today for the fiesta, and there would be no tourists wanting him to take them to see the world beneath the surface of the sea. “A fool,” he acknowledged, and headed toward the village.

  As he walked past the home of Tia Clara, he did not see her. In fact, he had not seen her since the night he had come to her drunk and full of questions and she had called him a tonto. As it had been that night, her door was closed, the windows shuttered. A broken pot sat by the door. Had he fallen over it that night? He believed he did. He would find another. Replace this one. Whether or not the fault belonged to him.

  He considered knocking at the door, apologizing for the broken pot, and perhaps again asking her his questions. As he approached, a sparrow, its plumage nearly purple-black, flew to the top of one of the closed shutters and perched. It regarded him with a gaze as steady as that of Kuko. He recognized it as a bird unusual for this place. As he watched, it spread its wings and flew. It dipped once, swooping not a foot from his head, and then soared. It flew straight up, as if its destination lay beyond the clouds, as if heading to heaven itself. He tried to remember what he had heard about the omen of the dark sparrow but could not recall. A chill shot through him. He knocked on Tia Clara’s door and, when there was no answer, turned the knob.

  The old woman lay on the floor. At first, he believed she was dead and was surprised at his quick tears. And then her eyes opened and she looked at him. He prepared himself for the hate he was used to seeing there.

  “Mi sobrino,” she whispered. Her eyes were soft.

  “Sí,” he whispered back, surprising himself with his impulse to comfort the old woman. She was ill, dying, he thought. She had never called him by a familial name or acknowledged their kinship. If it gave her comfort to call him nephew now, he would not correct her. The dying deserved at least kindness. She tried to say more, but he placed his hand on hers, surprised and moved by how insubstantial it was.

  She would not be silenced. She rambled on. He struggled to understand, listening while she murmured how even the winds kept secrets, confusing past and present, holding his eyes with hers as if she would never look away. She tightened her hold on his hand, her grip fiercer than he would have thought possible. “Retirada de la Playa,” she whispered. He tried to understand what she was trying to tell him but thought it must be a dream or some kind of delirium. She was mistaking him for someone else. She withdrew her hand from his and motioned for him to go. He didn’t want to leave her, but she kept repeating it with an urgency that alarmed him. “Vete. Vete.” Go away. Go away. He tried to lift her, thinking to carry her to a doctor, but she pushed him away, crying out and struggling until he let her go. He found a shawl from where she had left it on a chair and covered her. He promised to send a doctor, but she had closed her eyes and no longer listened.

  To his surprise, the doctor was in his office. Víctor had expected the office to be closed and the doctor celebrating with the rest of the village. After being assured that Tia Clara would be cared for, he continued on, returning to the quest that had caused him to leave his work.

  For the rest of the distance he looked at the faces of those he passed on the calle, as if it were possible to see behind the masks. Fool, he told himself as continued on, and again at home as he showered, taking extra care to wash the reek of resin from his hands, his hair. Fool, he told himself as he lathered his face and shaved. Fool, he told himself as he chose what to wear, settling on loose cotton pants and shirt. Fool, he scolded himself as he fastened sandals on his feet. Fool, he said as he closed the door and, elbowing his way through the throngs, headed for the Hotel Molcas. A fool to be following a dream that had evaporated before he had even known it. Fool to hold out hope that his brief time with Katherine had meant as much to her as it had to him. Fool to have lost his heart to a woman who could disappear like smoke. He wondered whether she had found another man to love. Still he continued to the hotel. When he caught sight of a face he recognized, he smiled and rushed forward before it was swallowed in the crowd.

  KATHERINE

  She shrank back from the figure at the door, but she did not relinquish the hand of the girl, Graciela. If it was Verner, she would not let him do more harm to this child. But even a
s the thought came, she knew its impotence. She was too weak for any battle. She and the girl were both at his mercy. Still, she resolved to fight him with her last ounce of strength. She stood straighter and took a step toward the door, shielding the girl with her body. She felt the white pills crunch beneath her feet, knowing even as she stepped on them that the escape they had once promised was lost to her. Graciela’s fingers tightened around hers.

  The shape at the door moved out of the shadow and slipped into the room.

  “Rosa?” she whispered. Kat hesitated. Would Rosa report them to Verner? Or could she be persuaded to help them? She was afraid to trust anyone in this place.

  Rosa beckoned, indicated that she and Graciela should follow. What choice did she have? How much time did she have before Mercer or Verner appeared?

  Urgency impelled her to the door. Still clutching the girl’s hand, she followed Rosa into the corridor and the unknown. The three paused only a split second before heading to the exit that Kat now knew led to the exterior, the one Verner had taken her through on the nights of the midnight swims. She didn’t allow herself to think ahead or consider what they would do once out of the building. She knew the compound was surrounded by a concrete fence and was well guarded by men hired by Verner.

  They had almost reached the door when Rosa stopped.

  “Come on,” Kat said.

  But Rosa dug deep into the pocket of her skirt and withdrew a key. She stepped toward another closed door and unlocked it, and she pushed it open. Kat stared into the darkness, giving her eyes time to adjust to the night shadows, and saw the shape of a woman lying on the bed. Was this, like her, another of Verner’s failures?

  “No,” she said. “We can’t take anyone else.” She and Graciela were weak, and even with Rosa’s help, if that was what the Mayan intended, escape would be difficult enough. Taking another with them would surely doom them all. But the Mayan was undeterred. She crossed to the bed, and Kat and the girl went with her, as if the three of them were one.

  The woman on the bed moaned and turned her face toward them. Kat froze.

  It wasn’t possible. How could it be? She took a step closer. And then another. If not for the support of Rosa’s arm, she would have fallen. “Maddie?” she whispered. The name no more than a croak. “Maddie, oh God, Maddie, is it really you?”

  “Momma,” her sister said. And then she started to scream.

  MADISON

  She remembered. In a wave awash with longing and grief and, at the last, horror, she remembered everything. Her mother was dead. Kat was missing. The clinic. Dr. Verner. His last words to her. He was going to take her baby.

  She began to scream.

  And then the sound was cut off by a hand clasped over her mouth. She struggled against it, thrashed and fought.

  “Maddie,” a voice said. “Maddie, stop. It’s me. It’s Kat.”

  Kat? Was it possible? She ceased her struggles and turned toward the voice. She looked into her eyes. Kat. But not Kat. Kat older. As if overnight she had aged ten years. Twenty. Gone was the almond-tinged scent she always associated with her sister, replaced by a sour smell.

  “Kat?”

  She turned to one of the others as if seeking confirmation and saw the Mayan woman who wore Kat’s necklace. The other was a young Mexican girl. Who were they, and what was Kat doing with them? And why had Kat given the Mayan their mother’s necklace? Her mind spun with questions, but before she could sort them out, Kat was hugging her.

  “Jesus, Maddie,” her sister said. “What are you doing here? How on earth did you ever find me?”

  Maddie reached for her hand. “I did,” she said. “I found you.”

  “Oh, no,” Kat said. “You shouldn’t have come.” Even as she spoke, she wrapped her arms tighter.

  “I found you,” Maddie said again. She began to weep. “I thought I had lost you.”

  The young Mexican girl crossed the room and started tugging at Kat.

  Kat wiped away her tears. Slid her arm around Maddie’s shoulders and helped her sit up. She drew back and stared at her. “You cut your hair,” she said.

  “Oh, Kat,” she said. “Only you would be thinking about hair right now.”

  Kat gave a crooked smile. “We have to get out of here.” Her voice was calm, but Maddie heard the undercurrent of urgency. She remembered Verner, the guards.

  “Can you walk?” Kat asked.

  “I think so. I was drugged.”

  “Just hold on to me. And be quiet. I don’t know how much time we have.”

  Maddie stumbled as she rose from the bed. Somehow they reached the door. The silence in the hall was broken only by the shuffle of their feet on the tiles of the corridor. Their labored breathing seemed, to Maddie, as noisy as the shrieking of crows. A murder of crows.

  She began to hear sounds from the jungle, feral and eerie. She tried to ignore them. She heard a man’s voice. Kat stumbled and fell to one knee. Together the Mayan and the young Mexican girl lifted Kat. The girl’s breathing was shallow, and Maddie saw the blood running down her legs.

  “Who is the girl?” Maddie whispered.

  “Her name is Graciela,” Kat said.

  “She’s bleeding.”

  “She’s been given an abortion,” Kat said. “Verner,” she added, the one word an explanation.

  Maddie’s breath froze in her chest. Unaware she was doing so, she curved a hand over her belly as she quickened her steps.

  Outside the blue-black sky pressed down. In the distance floated women’s laughter. A swooping whoop of delight. Maddie heard the sound of water splashing. The southern cousins. Had they found someone to bribe after all and bring them liquor, or were they just letting loose?

  Somehow, slowly moving in the shadows—who was helping whom was not clear—they headed toward the gate. Behind them the noise grew louder. Perhaps in response to the women playing by the pool, a dog began barking in a fit of excitement. The guard came out from the shelter by the gate. They shrank back, but for the moment his attention was focused on the area by the pool, and he did not see them. She wondered how long they would have before the commotion brought someone from the staff, Verner or another guard, to inspect.

  “We need a diversion,” Kat whispered.

  “Like what?” The night air and the shock of seeing Kat helped clear her mind.

  “I don’t know. Give me a minute to think.” Kat turned and looked across the dark grounds, toward the sound of laughter. “Do you think you can make it alone to the hacienda?”

  “I’m not leaving you here.”

  “Just for a bit, Maddie.”

  “Why?” She didn’t want to leave Kat.

  “I have an idea, but I don’t think I have the strength to do it.”

  Maddie nodded toward the girl and the Mayan, who were huddled off to the side. “What about them?”

  “No. I don’t think they can do what has to be done.”

  “Which is?”

  “There’s a small shed at the rear of the building. I saw a jug of propane there that they use to fill the tiki torches.”

  “Propane?”

  “There won’t be anyone in the kitchen at this time of night. You have to get the propane and dump it in the kitchen and set it on fire.”

  Maddie froze. “No.”

  “You have to, Maddie. It’s the only thing I can think of. If there’s a fire it will draw the guards away from the gate.”

  Maddie pictured flames. Remembered the heat and smells. The pain. “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can. I know you can.”

  “I can’t, Kat. You have to think of something else.”

  “There is nothing else. We have to get out of here before they discover we’re missing. You can do it, Maddie. I know you can.”

  Fire. Flames. Heat. Pain.

  “Go now, before it’s too late. Before they start looking for us.”

  Heat. Pain. Death.

  “There’s a wand lighter there, too. I’ve watched them
use it to light the torches.”

  “I can’t do this.” A dog barked. A woman laughed.

  “You can,” Kat whispered. “I know you can. Look what you’ve already done. You found me.”

  “I did.” Flickering images of her journey to Kat scrolled rapidly through her mind. The flight down, her discovery of the clinic, the many steps it had taken to find Kat. Lastly, oddly, the image of the paper sword Jack had crafted for her came to mind. A warrior, he had called her. An Amazon woman.

  “Go,” Kat whispered. “We will meet you by the gate. We’ll hide there and wait for you.”

  Fire. Flames.

  Maddie turned toward the hacienda.

  GRACIELA

  Graciela crouched in the shadows by the concrete wall. She leaned against Rosa. She could feel the wetness of blood tracing down her thigh, her calf, her foot. She wondered if she was leaving a trail of red on the ground. Pain cut through her belly. She tried not to cry out. She would be brave, as her abuela had said. Beside her, Rosa stroked her arm. They tried to be quiet, but once the gringa cried out softly. They waited, staring into the darkness, back toward the hacienda, straining to see the woman of the scars coming back to them.

  At the gatehouse, the guard raised his weapon. “Hola,” he called out into the dark. “Who’s there?” They shrank farther back and froze against the shadow of a curve in the wall. The scent from a spread of bougainvillea was like a curtain around them. In the distance, the noise from the hacienda grew louder still. Lights appeared in windows like eyes opening to the sun.

  They waited. The gringa who had disappeared into the night did not return. They continued to wait. Still, she did not come. Graciela felt the sister at her side tremble. On her other side, Rosa stood as still as a stone.