by Sara Saedi
“Lean your weight on me,” Maura said now. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”
Neither of them had broached the topic of their divorce since the kids went missing. It didn’t make sense to argue over splitting up their assets when the three most important components of their lives together were gone. When their marriage had been at its worst, they’d still been able to look at Wylie, Joshua, and Micah, and be comforted by the fact that they’d raised three people who would do anything for each other. When Gregory watched his kids fall to pieces giggling together at some inside joke no one else found funny, he knew he’d at least done something right.
There were three more steps left before they reached the front door. Maura let out a heavy sigh, and mumbled under her breath:
“A sailing trip. You don’t even like boats. What possessed you to leave when our kids are still missing?”
Gregory hadn’t come up with a proper explanation for steering a boat into a storm, which had resulted in his near-drowning in the Atlantic. Part of him feared that if he told the truth, Maura would commit him to a psych ward and then he’d never be able to go back and rescue their kids.
“I needed time to think,” was what he’d told her so far whenever the subject came up.
To Maura’s credit, she’d only left his hospital bed to drop in at the Dalton volunteer center to check for any new leads on their children’s disappearance that might get them through the day. A sketch of Phinn that identified him as a suspect in the kidnapping case was plastered throughout the streets of Manhattan, but no one had come forward with any information. There were days when Wylie’s best friend Vanessa was the only person who showed up at the volunteer center to make more copies of flyers and answer the few phone calls that trickled in. Public interest about the three missing siblings from the Upper West Side seemed to have waned.
It was ten days after his accident that Gregory had the presence of mind to ask the nurse for his phone to call Olivia.
They’d been close friends when they both lived on the island. Several years after Olivia was exiled, Gregory left the island on his own accord and showed up at her front door. He asked if Olivia would take him in, and was quickly accepted as part of the Weckler family. Though they’d drifted apart over the years, she had money and resources, and was the only person who wouldn’t think he was making up some elaborate story about magical islands and runaway kids. She’d agreed to meet him at the hospital the following day without giving any indication that she’d be willing to help him.
“You want me to go back to the island and bring your kids home?” she’d asked once he laid it all out for her.
Gregory nodded. “That’s precisely what I’m asking.”
She glanced at the photo of the map he’d stored on his phone.
“How do we even know this is real? Tinka could have made up these coordinates. If memory serves, she wasn’t exactly the most trustworthy person.”
Gregory thought back to the day, more than twenty-five years ago, when Tinka had slid the map in the front pocket of his jacket. She must have realized he was going to keep ignoring her apologies and pleas to stay. She told him she’d stolen the handmade map from Phinn’s room. There was a stack of them, and she was sure Phinn wouldn’t notice that one had gone missing.
“I think it’s real,” Gregory said. “It’s at least worth looking into.”
Olivia had said she needed time to think about it, but warned him not to get his hopes up. He was asking for a lot. But he was about to ask for more.
“I want you to bring them all back. Not just my kids,” Gregory said. “Now I know what those other parents are going through. They’ve missed their children for a lot longer than I have. It’s not right. They should be able to put their families back together.”
Olivia’s brow furrowed, and she sighed. “We were family once too, remember?”
“I remember,” Gregory replied.
“You’re asking for a lot. I’ll need time to think about it.”
“I understand.”
The Wecklers had taken him in when he didn’t have anyone, and Olivia had treated him like a sibling. He’d felt guilty when he’d quickly lost touch with her after he moved out, but he had needed to forget the island, and Olivia still hadn’t back then. Even well into her twenties, she’d talked ad nauseam about the parties in the Clearing and the picnics on the beach, and even more about the people they’d both known, especially Phinn. Now that she was in her forties, he was glad to see she’d finally gotten over it.
Three days later, his phone rang.
“I’m going. I’ll bring everyone back like you asked.”
* * *
The first floor of the Daltons’ home had been converted into Gregory’s new sleeping quarters. With the help of some friends, Maura had moved the sofa and coffee table aside so they could comfortably fit a hospital bed in the living room. She’d also gone to the trouble of hiring a physical therapist to make daily visits and exercise Gregory’s sprained hip until he didn’t need a cane anymore.
“You can stay as long as you need,” Maura said.
“Thank you,” Gregory replied. He felt guilty for not telling her that he knew the identity of the suspect in the police sketch, but he wasn’t sure if the truth about Phinn would bring her peace or anxiety. He doubted she’d believe him anyway.
“I think I’ll take a nap, if you don’t mind,” he said now.
Maura helped him into bed and placed the crisp sheets over him. He knew how unfair this all was to her. He was the one who’d had an affair, and now here she was, being forced to take care of him. “In sickness and in health” didn’t count when you were on the brink of divorce. He wanted to thank her, but the pain meds made him woozy and knocked him out with little warning.
The room was dark aside from a light in the kitchen when Maura gently shook him awake.
“You have a visitor,” she said, her tone suspicious.
Olivia was standing behind her. It had been a week since she’d agreed to go to the island in his place. He could tell by the way Maura tried to gauge his reaction that she wondered if Gregory had invited his mistress into their home.
“Maura, this is Olivia,” Gregory said, not sure how to explain their connection. “She’s a childhood friend.”
“I’m also a doctor,” Olivia jumped in. “I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help. I know you’ve both been through so much. I’m so sorry about your children.”
“Thank you,” Maura said. “We have faith they’ll be home soon.”
Olivia nodded and smiled in response. It was the same look of pity and doubt that everyone seemed to give them.
“I’ll be upstairs if you need me, Gregory,” Maura added. Before Gregory’s accident, she had spent hours each day sitting on their fire escape. No matter the weather outside, she seemed to think that the kids would sneak back in through Wylie’s window one day. Once she was safely out of earshot, Gregory whispered to Olivia:
“Please tell me my kids are outside planning their entrance.”
Olivia placed a gentle hand on Gregory’s arm. She shook her head and looked down at her lap.
“We sailed for days, Gregory. We couldn’t find anything. It’s like the place doesn’t even exist anymore. I’m beginning to think it was a figment of our imagination.”
“It wasn’t. You know that. You just didn’t look hard enough,” he said, trying not to raise his voice.
“I did my best,” Olivia responded curtly. “If Phinn has them, there’s no guarantee he whisked them off to Minor Island. I don’t know what to tell you.”
Gregory couldn’t look at her, even though it wasn’t fair to blame her for failing at something he hadn’t been able to accomplish himself. He would get better in time. He’d get a new boat and avoid any inclement weather. He had the map. That should be enough.
/> Nothing would stop him until he found his kids and brought them home.
CHAPTER SEVEN
fear and loathing
wylie looked different. Not older exactly, but more grown up. Her long chestnut waves were swept up in a messy bun, her complexion had turned a darker shade of olive, and the summer dress she wore stopped right above her knees, revealing cuts and bruises sprinkled along her strong legs. Phinn expected her to look angry, but her demeanor seemed pleasant and welcoming instead.
“Wake up, sleepy head,” Wylie said playfully. “You were snoring for hours, but I didn’t want to disturb you.”
Phinn was afraid if he spoke, the wrong words would tumble out of his mouth, and she’d remember the terrible things he’d done to her. So he kept his lips shut and placed his hand on Wylie’s shoulder. Her body felt like ice beneath the heat of his palm.
“You’re freezing,” he managed to say. “Let me get you a blanket.”
“I’m fine,” Wylie replied.
He’d played their reunion over in his head a million times. What she would say, what he would say. He’d rehearsed his apology so often that he was afraid it might sound scripted and insincere when he said it aloud. But he wasn’t prepared for Wylie’s kindness right out of the gate.
“Why aren’t you mad at me?”
Wylie laced her fingers through his hand and kneeled by his bed. She used her free hand to twirl his hair.
“Near death experiences have got a way of putting things in perspective. It made me realize that I can’t live without you.”
“I love you, Wylie,” Phinn said.
“I love you,” Wylie answered. She moved her lips toward him for a kiss, but suddenly her eyes narrowed. Phinn could see the smile evaporate from her face, as she pulled away from him in disgust.
“Wylie, what’s wrong?” he asked.
She pointed her index finger at him.
“Your . . . your skin. You’re getting old,” Wylie said, horrified.
Phinn looked down at his body and watched as his skin rapidly shriveled up and became littered with liver spots. Patches of silver hair began to fall from his head, and inside his mouth, he could feel his teeth loosen and topple out. His vision blurred, but he could still make out Wylie slowly receding from him, as the steady rhythm of his heartbeat got slower and slower, and then faded all together.
* * *
“Wylie!” Phinn cried her name, but she was no longer next to him.
He blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the brightness of the bungalow. He was curled on his side, lying in his bed. Maybe he was still delirious from his dream, but his room looked smaller. Phinn was overcome by a sensation that the walls were closing in on him. The furniture looked the same, but something was off about it. It seemed somehow less worn, like it had been restored to its original state when it was new. He saw a twin bed against the opposite wall and realized he must be in someone else’s bungalow. Phinn tried to sit up, but his ribs felt like they were stabbing his organs. He lay back against his pillow in search of relief, and noticed the palm frond roof had been replaced by white paint and plaster, a ceiling fan, and neon lights. He was so disoriented by his surroundings that it took him a moment to also notice the beeping of the heart monitor and the IV drip inserted in his forearm.
“Hello?” he called out. “Can anyone hear me?”
The door of his bungalow opened and a middle-aged man wearing scrubs and holding a clipboard walked in.
“Great, you’re up,” the man said. “We’ve been waiting to meet you.”
“Who are you?” Phinn asked.
“I’m Nurse Conway,” the man replied.
His skin was so pale that it was nearly translucent. Phinn could make out lavender veins in his eyelids and cheeks that made him look like he hadn’t seen the sun in years. His hair, the color of tar, was long and knotted in a bun on top of his head.
“Don’t worry,” he went on, “We’ve been taking good care of you. Dr. Weckler said you deserved only the best.”
The man took a syringe out of the front pocket of his scrubs, and tied an elastic band around Phinn’s arm.
“What is that?” Phinn asked.
“Just morphine for the pain. You lacerated your spleen in an altercation with one of our staff members. You were bleeding internally. If it wasn’t for Dr. Weckler, you’d be dead.”
Phinn tried to move his arm away, but Nurse Conway was much stronger than his wiry frame suggested. He pressed Phinn’s hand down on the bed, and pricked him with the needle. Within seconds, the sharp aching in his abdomen subsided.
“Get some rest. Dr. Weckler will be here shortly.”
Nurse Conway left without telling Phinn where they were keeping him or how long he’d been confined to a bed. The last thing Phinn remembered was Olivia taunting him in the Clearing. Even with the morphine coursing through his veins, there was no way Phinn would fall back asleep. He wanted to get up and look out the window, but the curtains were drawn and he didn’t have the strength to maneuver out of bed. The décor of the bungalow was strangely similar to his room on the island, aside from the extra bed and the narrow layout. Next to his bed, someone had taped a newspaper clipping, and he lifted his head to read it. It was about Wylie and her brothers going missing. Beside the article was a police sketch of his face.
“I thought Nurse Conway told you to rest, toy soldier,” said a chipper Olivia as she entered.
“Don’t call me that,” Phinn replied.
Phinn still remembered the day he’d discovered Olivia was no longer one of them. They’d been napping on the beach and he’d woken up to find her still asleep beside him. As he ran his fingers through her copper-colored curls, he’d spotted several silver strands of hair gleaming in the sunlight.
Instantly, he felt like an idiot for letting his girlfriend take a sabbatical to the states so she could secretly pilfer more money from her family and travel cross-country. Trips to the mainland weren’t a privilege he granted most residents, but he’d encouraged this one for selfish reasons. The Weckler family had unknowingly been funding him for years, and he’d gotten used to having cash ready when the island needed a new boat or supplies. Besides, he’d been ready for a break from their relationship, and granting Olivia travel privileges made it seem like the time away was her idea.
By the end of the year apart, he’d missed her carefree energy and was glad to bring her home to the land of sandy beaches and zero gravity. A few years later, lying on the beach together, he realized that she’d stayed on the mainland for far too long. And that because of it, she’d have to be exiled forever.
Olivia was the first to turn eighteen away from the island, and her misfortune saved the rest of them from making the same mistake. Phinn could still remember her high-pitched cries as Aldo and Maz dragged her onto the boat. Phinn had told himself she would eventually move on and forget about this place.
“How did you find us?” Phinn asked now.
Olivia, brimming with joy, explained that the police sketch had alerted Gregory to his children’s whereabouts. He’d tried to sail to the island, but was critically injured after a storm tipped his boat over. If it hadn’t been for the coast guard, Gregory would have drowned. And that’s when he went to Olivia for help.
“Typical male,” Olivia said. “He ignores me for years until he needs something. Well, I didn’t feel obligated to help.”
“But you still came to the island?”
“Things could have been much worse for you, toy soldier. Gregory would have had you thrown in jail, but I didn’t tell him I found the island. He’s not going to find us here. No one will.”
“Where is here, exactly?”
“Would you like a tour?” Olivia asked.
“I suppose I don’t have a choice,” Phinn replied. He was equally curious and terrified to see what lay beyond the walls of the bungalo
w.
Nurse Conway entered with a wheelchair and carefully lifted Phinn into the seat. Thanks to the morphine, the aches remained at a minimum as he leaned back, Olivia pushing him.
As soon as they were out of the room, Phinn felt like he was trapped in a fun house. They were traveling down a rickety deck that looked like a distorted version of the one they’d built on the island. The path was shorter and narrower, and the wooden planks looked like they were made out of plastic. Each side was lined with bungalows that probably came with plastered ceilings and bad lighting just like the hut he’d been convalescing in.
“Where’s everyone else?” Phinn asked.
“Don’t worry. They’re being well taken care of. You’ll see them shortly.”
Phinn looked up, half expecting to see clouds and sky, only to discover they were in an enclosed space. The ceiling was dome-shaped and lined with a projector screen. The lights and colors made it seem like the sun was setting, but it was just an optical illusion. Phinn glanced around, but couldn’t find the projector that had created the façade of dusk.
“The sunset is just as beautiful here as it is on Minor Island,” Olivia bragged.
“It’s fake,” Phinn pointed out.
“Not if you shift your perspective.”
Phinn heard a whooshing sound as somebody flew past them toward the ceiling. He noticed the person wore scrubs and a lab coat.
“We did our fair share of foraging on the island before we brought you back here,” Olivia explained. “My goal is to harvest parvaz and rahat flowers and put them into pill form. Just imagine being the first to offer people drugs that can take their pain away or make them fly.”