by JA Huss
“Sorry,” I say, pulling myself out of the memories. “I was just… thinking about something.”
“Fine. Think all you want. But do you want to come shopping or not?”
“No,” I say, remembering the phone in my pocket. “No, I’ll stay here.”
“And wear that?” He points to my shirt and shorts. His shirt and shorts.
I look down at my body and shrug. “Doesn’t really matter.”
“Fine with me,” he says, tossing me one of the wristbands. “Just put this on. There’s a chip in the charm that opens the door to the cabaña. And you can use it to charge food, if you get hungry. I’ll be back later.”
Then he walks past me, leaving the French doors open—white gauzy curtains billowing from the sea breeze—and leaves.
I sink down into the soft cushions of the couch and take out the flip phone. Open it up to see the number I had been entering still there on the cheap, crappy screen. And then hesitate.
Should I do this?
Or should I wait?
Why would I wait? The only reason I’m here with Johnny Boston is so I can set him up to fail.
That’s the only way out of the mess I’m in. The only way my disappeared father becomes un-disappeared.
I press send.
It rings.
“Yes,” a woman’s voice says on the other end.
“I’ve got him. I’m taking him there tomorrow.”
“How did you manage that?”
And you know what? This kind of sets me off. Because she says it like she was expecting me to fail. “Don’t worry about it. It’s done. We’ll arrive by boat at noon. I’m telling him it’s a shift change and that’s our best opportunity.”
“Good girl,” she says.
Fuck you, I silently rage.
“And by the way,” I snap. “I almost died down in that dungeon. You know that right? He almost left me. I don’t know why he came back. Just luck. So… think about that the next time you come up with a stupid plan like this.”
And then… silence. And I cannot believe I just said all that. It’s like the fear and panic I tucked away after my rescue suddenly came rushing back and I lost all sense of self-control.
I hold my breath, waiting for her response.
Finally she says, “But it all worked out, didn’t it?”
I don’t answer, just huff. Because I really did think I was going to die down there. All those thoughts about how strong and kick ass I am? Just delusions.
“You’re doing well, Megan,” she says. Almost soothingly. “We’re right on track and you will see your father very soon if it all goes to plan. The Way appreciates your loyalty. It will be rewarded.”
It better be.
But I have enough good sense to keep that thought to myself.
“Yeah,” I sigh. “Sure. Just trying to do my part.” Trying not to notice that my whole body is trembling.
I’m just about to tell her we’re coming in heavy when the line goes dead.
I stare at the phone in my hand, wondering if I should call her back. Let her know.
But I just flip it closed and stick it back in my pocket.
Because sometimes even sure bets need to be hedged.
Fuck these people. Fuck all of them.
One way or the other, I’m coming out ahead on this deal.
CHAPTER NINE - JOHNNY
I don’t know why, but something about Megan seems off.
I mean, for sure, everything about Megan is off. She’s the daughter of some big-deal researcher. She grew up on an island. And whatever science they’re up to out here, it’s not the good kind. It’s not cure cancer stuff. You don’t set up labs in out-of-the-way places when you’re researching shit on the up and up. When you’re doing science to help humanity your work needs to be seen. That’s how you get funding.
The only people who hide their science are the ones who don’t need funding. Can’t get funding. Not the legit kind, at least.
She can navigate a boat but not drive a car to save her life.
That’s what she said back on the yacht.
And it just came out so innocently. So casually. Like this is normal.
Which should make me feel better about her. Because that means maybe she is innocent? Maybe she has no idea what kind of science the Way does?
A guy could hope.
Because I like her. Not like her like her. But don’t want to kill her. I’d prefer to let her live.
It’s just… I might not have much of a choice in the matter.
I sigh as I walk into the first boutique. I grab a selection of shirts, shorts, slacks, and swim trunks, add a pair of quick-dry hiking water shoes, pile it all on the counter in front of the young male clerk, then turn back and look at the women’s section.
She can’t wear my clothes tomorrow. She can’t storm an island with me in too-big cutoffs. And she can’t relax tonight in that either. I don’t know what’s gonna happen tomorrow. Anything, I suppose. But I get one night to be normal. One night of letting Logan take care of shit. One night before I have to go back to the real world and do real shit on that next island.
It could turn bad. It could turn very bad. So I’m gonna enjoy this one night.
And if Megan’s gonna be with me, she needs to look the part.
So I grab her a selection of shorts, a combination of tops and t-shirts, and two bathing suits. A one-piece and a two-piece, just to be considerate. I get her a dress too. Something light and strappy. Something she could go to dinner in.
Because I want to go to dinner. She might not be my date, per se, but she’s a good enough stand-in.
And besides, I’m an excellent pretender. I can pretend we’re a couple. A normal couple. Maybe we’re here celebrating our anniversary? Maybe we have a four-bedroom house with three kids and a dog. Maybe I wear a suit to work every day? Maybe she stays home with the baby? Or maybe she has a job too? Hell, maybe she’s some top-notch scientist who works for Bright Berry Beach Cosmetics?
I laugh out loud because I suddenly get an image of Megan and Hannah conjuring up new shades of eyeshadow in an upper-floor lab. Trading nerdy chemistry jokes with Hannah’s boyfriend, what’s-his-name.
Good God. I shake my head to make that image fade.
The last place on Earth I want to be is inside the inner circle of the woman behind Bright Berry Beach.
I take it all up to the counter and plop it down while the cashier scans all the tags to charge it to our room.
But then I look down into the glass case I’m standing at and look at all the nice, pretty things inside. Some jewelry. A lady’s three-piece silver brush set inside a pretty box. A small silver handbag with a long chain coiled around it. Perfume.
“I’ll take this too,” I say, pointing down at the case.
“Yes, sir,” the kid says. “Which one would you like?”
“All of it.” When I look up at him he’s got his eyebrows raised. But I just nod. “All of it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And wrap it up for me, will you? We’re celebrating our tenth anniversary.”
The kid grins as he leans over and starts removing everything from inside the case. “Sure thing, sir. But it will take me a while. Would you like to wait? Or have it delivered to the room?”
“Delivery,” I say. “That sounds about right. But I’ll take the clothes with me now.”
When I get back to the cabaña Megan is asleep on the couch. I’m not quiet and I’m not careful as I put away all my new clothes and change into swim trunks, but even so, she doesn’t wake up. So I take her bags into her room and put those away too.
Then I walk through the billowing white curtains and onto the patio. The cabaña is beachfront and I make a mental note to thank Logan tonight when he calls.
Dude is good to me and I appreciate it.
I know he and AJ have been best friends for a long time, and they are tight. Always had each other’s backs when we were younger. I wouldn’t call AJ a
friend, but I do call Logan one.
Maybe… possibly… my only one.
Definitely my only true one.
I can’t even call Jesse or Joey friends. We’re not friends. We’re just brothers.
Anyway. An afternoon on the beach. Beautiful island, beautiful resort, beautiful day.
I don’t have days like this. There is no such thing as a down day in my life. Ever. So fuck it. I’m gonna enjoy it.
I walk straight out to the water. Right into the surf. And when I’m waist deep I dive headfirst into a wave.
My world becomes this eerie, but calm, place of muted incoherent noise. An echo of the life above surrounds me and if I could take a deep breath underwater, I would. But even though I can’t, I feel the results of such a breath and the tension and stress I’ve been carrying around for the last five years begins to roll off my body and float away. Just falls into the current—probably gonna wash up on the shore and wait for me to come out of this protective womb of a sea so it can hop right back on.
But I don’t care.
If there’s one thing I’ve come to terms with, it’s the idea that everything is temporary.
All the bad eventually fades away just like the good.
I aim for the surface, breach the water, and close my eyes as I tip my head up towards the sun.
And I decide I like this feeling.
I like this ocean.
And I get it, Logan. I do.
I fuckin’ get it.
I swim out as far as I dare. I’m not an especially talented swimmer. I don’t even remember how I learned to swim. It’s just a skill leftover from some long-forgotten other life. A child’s life. Another Johnny Boston who lived before this one.
So I don’t stray super far. And even though I wish I could stay out here in this ocean for the rest of my days, I can’t. So I swim back.
I hate that feeling when you walk out of the ocean. That too-heavy feeling and the way your clothes stick to you. I hate how much effort it takes to resist the pull of gravity and accept the fact that you aren’t a weightless creature of the sea, but just a man carrying a burden.
I walk up the sand towards the bungalow, fully intent on going back inside, taking a shower, and changing into my new clothes.
But I drop to my knees about a dozen yards away and lie back. I’m instantly covered in white sand and I don’t care.
I just don’t care.
My eyes close like they have a mind of their own, and I sigh.
I let out that breath, and I force myself to forget.
I don’t know how long I sleep. I only know that Megan is beside me when I open my eyes. She looks down at me when I turn my head, shields her eyes from the sun, and says, “Hey.”
“Hey,” I mumble, rising up to a sitting position. “How long have you been out here?”
“I dunno.” She sighs. I glance at her, find her shrugging. “Kinda don’t even know what day it is right now. Kinda wish it could stay like this forever.”
I grin and turn away so she can’t see it. “Yeah,” I mumble. “Can relate to that.” But then I look back at her because I notice what she’s wearing. “I bought you some clothes. When I came back you were asleep so I put them away in your room.”
“Oh,” she says, mostly hiding her surprise. “Well, thank you. You didn’t need to do that.”
“I know,” I say, brushing the sand off the back of my legs.
“A bunch of boxes came. I think I might’ve slept until tomorrow if the door chime didn’t wake me up.”
“Did you open them?”
“Why would I open them?”
“Because they’re for you.”
“Oh,” she says again, same matter-of-fact surprise in her voice. “I didn’t realize that.”
And now I feel slightly stupid because… why did I buy her all that shit again?
Oh. Yeah. I was in the middle of some delusional suburban fantasy where she was my wife and we’re here celebrating our tenth anniversary. Kids at home with some random babysitter—or maybe someone’s mother-in-law? How that would happen, I have no clue, since I’m pretty sure neither of us has a mother, but fuck it. I’m calling this a delusion for a reason—the dog, the four-bedroom house. She conjures up new eyeshadow colors for Bright Berry Beach.
A laugh bursts out before I can stop it.
“What’s so funny?”
I don’t even attempt an answer. Just get to my feet and finish brushing off all the sand I’ve collected. “I’m gonna shower. Then… you wanna go get something to eat? I’m kinda hungry.”
She doesn’t get to her feet. Just draws her knees in and hugs them to her chest. “Sure. I could eat.”
“Cool. Meet you inside in fifteen.”
I hesitate for a moment, waiting to see if she’ll say anything else.
But she doesn’t. So I walk off towards the cabaña.
There’s two bathrooms in this place. One main one in the hall leading to the second bedroom and one in the master.
I take the hall one and get in the shower. It feels good after all the sun. I’m probably gonna have a nice sunburn tomorrow for my storm-the-island plan. Should’ve seen that coming. After it’s over I don’t want any survivors tagging me as the sunburned white guy. That’s kind of humiliating.
“Yeah,” I mumble through a sigh. “Because that’s what people will remember about tomorrow, Johnny. You’re such a dumbass.”
I pull on a white button-down and a pair of dark jeans, then opt for the old boots instead of the new water shoes. I want a nice meal and that means a nice dining room. And those come with dress codes and this whole ensemble practically screams ‘resort casual’.
I spend a few minutes finger-combing my hair in the mirror, then walk out of the bathroom and find the living room empty, so I pick up the room phone and call for a reservation in the dining room.
“How can I help you, Mr. Logan?”
“Um…” I’m just about to explain I’m not Logan, but then I wonder why they only call him Logan? And then I realize I don’t actually know the dude’s last name. Does he have a last name? Everyone has a last name, right?
“Mr. Logan?”
“Yeah, I would like fine dining tonight. Really great steak. Fresh lobster. What can you recommend?”
“I can get you in the private dining room in about forty minutes. Would that work for you, Mr. Logan?”
“Sounds perfect. Where’s that located?”
“Beachfront, west side of the resort. Has a gold dome roof. You can’t miss it.”
“Great. Thank you.”
“No problem, Mr. Logan.”
Maybe Logan is his last name? Then what’s his first name?
Why do I care? What does it matter?
It doesn’t. I’m just spiraling today. Everything seems… weird. And I know it’s mostly because I’m off script. I shouldn’t have rescued Megan. I should’ve left her there. They put her there for a reason, right?
Why did I save her again?
Oh, yeah. I’m living some kind of fantasy where I appear to be a decent dude.
I’m just about to walk over to the still-open French doors to see if Megan’s still out on the beach when I hear the sound of the shower starting in the master bedroom.
The door is slightly ajar. And with any other woman, at any other time, I’d consider that an invitation.
It’s not though. Still, I wander over there and push it open just one more inch.
The bathroom door is open too, and again—any other time that would be a signal. And she’s humming. Not loud. No singing, either. Just… humming.
Like she really could be here on vacation and we’re not just on an arms-deal layover.
I knock on the door. “Megan?”
“Yeah?” she calls.
And then I don’t know what to say. I don’t know why I knocked or why I called out. But I have to say something. So I say, “Wear the dress tonight.”
She doesn’t say anything back but I can
tell she’s stopped whatever she was doing in the shower. You can tell when people do that by the way the water falls around their body and hits the tiled floor. It’s constant and repeated. Not broken and arrhythmic.
I back away and close her bedroom door until it clicks. Then walk over to the packages, still unopened, sitting on the coffee table.
Again… why did I buy her all this shit? Because it’s a whole lot of shit. Dozens of boxes.
It’s fuckin’ weird. And telling her to wear the dress was weird too.
But I didn’t mean anything by it.
Not the gesture or the thinly-veiled command.
She’s nothing to me.
I don’t trust her. Hell, trusting anyone in the Way is a death wish for sure. I don’t trust anyone in the Way.
But I could like her. And it would be nice to trust her.
Maybe that’s why I bought her this stuff?
To make her like me? Want to trust me?
Dreams.
Ha.
They’re not as seductive as secrets, but they’re definitely more dangerous.
CHAPTER TEN - MEGAN
I never had the chance to be cool.
I never had the chance to be a kid, or rebel against authority as a teenager, or experiment with different music, or hairstyles, or clothes, or drugs.
I never really had a chance to be me and I never really missed that until now.
In the beginning we are all children and we are all the same. We all start small, we all start innocent, we all start empty. And then, as the months and years pass by, we are filled up with the things our families give us.
But people aren’t equal. Not a single one of us is equal. The sameness we all start out with disappears almost immediately and we are left at the mercy of our parents. Or in my case, the employees of the island.
There is no such thing as ‘same’.
My life started with one man—my father. My mother is barely a side note in my life. Mothers… they just don’t stick around the way fathers do in the world of the Way. I don’t really know what they do with them. Kill them, move them, use them other places. I don’t know.