by Kim Pritekel
Dean followed, gasping as a branch of some sort of plant smacked him in the face as it slipped from his grasp. Glaring at the offending foliage, he shoved it aside, trying to keep up with his guide as she led him deeper into the jungle. He noted bits of material tied to branches, which looked like torn shreds from something.
“Are you hungry, Dean?” Denny asked, folding her body to her bed of leaves. She could no longer see his face, but heard an eager yes. “It’s not much, but it’s something.” She handed him one of the precious baby bananas she’d managed to find when she realized the cocoanut wasn’t going to be near enough. The fruit was tiny, but it was better than nothing.
Dean snatched the banana from the woman’s hand, almost growling like a rabid dog as he tore into the skin. Humming in delight at the slightly bitter taste, he chewed thoroughly in between bites, nearly turning it completely to mush first, wanting to prolong every bit of the tiny banana.
Denny listened, understanding all too well. She handed the man a leaf, cupped in her hands and filled with rain water. Muttering his gratitude around the last bite of banana, Dean took the leaf, careful to keep it cupped as he drained the fresh, clean liquid inside. Still hungry, but feeling immensely better, Dean leaned back against a thick cushion of foliage, the first smile of the day gracing his lips.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
* * *
Rachel groaned softly as she turned over, something in her back pinching, waking her up with a start and soft cry. Green eyes opened and she looked around, seeing light of a new day slowly creep in under the edge of the overturned raft. Pam and Mia were sound asleep. The author decided it was time to get up, stretch, and explore. She couldn’t help but think about this time yesterday, early morning sometime. She had still been at Reenie’s tiny apartment, lying on her couch and trying to decide what to do. Torn between staying for another few nights or going home, Rachel had decided to do neither.
Crawling out from under their shelter, the blonde looked up into the sky, still dark blue, but the edges of the world were on fire, the light leaping up into the clouds to paint them orange and pink. It was truly beautiful. Rachel stood at the water’s edge, committing the sight to memory so she could reproduce it in a novel somewhere.
The blonde looked around, amazed at how much the scenery had changed over night. They had landed on a tiny beach, shrouded by rocky cliffs on either side, which waves were crashing against, white foam flying up into the air, and backed by lush, thick greenery, which looked like it would take a hatchet to make any headway. No matter, Rachel knew it had to be done. If they were going to survive and get home, she’d have to see what they were up against, or what resources they had to draw from.
Taking a deep breath, Rachel shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, wishing she hadn’t lost her baseball cap in the ocean. It would be nice not having to worry about things crawling in her hair. She climbed up the small hill that led to the jungle, slowly picking her way through the first layer of growth, eyes looking every which way, unsure of what type of wildlife would be roaming in these trees and vining plants. She was also trying to stay mindful of dangerous spiders, bugs or snakes.
Taking it slow, Rachel couldn’t help but marvel at her surroundings. She’d lived in Oregon her whole life, and had been surrounded by the wooded beauty of it. She’d traveled all around the world in the past five years, researching her novels and exploring all there was to see in every place- France, Israel, Rome and Greece, and even Japan. In each place she was awed all over again, and this place, regardless of the circumstances, was no different. The colors that jumped out at her were startling and inspiring. What she wouldn’t do to sit up against a tree with her laptop and write.
Rachel found it amusing, and slightly disturbing, that even though she was in a dire situation, which could possibly prove to be mortally damaging, she couldn’t help but think with her pen instead of her head.
Chuckling at that analogy, Rachel didn’t see the figure until she’d nearly run her over. Gasping in shock, a hand going to her beating heart, she looked up, meeting equally startled blue eyes.
PART 3
"FRAZIER HERE," THE detective said, holding a bullet casing up to his eye with latex-clad fingers.
"Matt, Captain Washington needs you back at precinct ASAP," Regina Mason, front desk clerk, said.
Matt lost interest in the casing for a moment, brows drawing. "Did she say why?"
"Nope. Just told me to give you the message."
"Okay. I can be there in about half an hour."
"Okey doke. I'll let her know."
"Thanks, Reggie." Matt snapped his phone closed and slipped it into the holster clipped to his belt. "Hey, Burt," he called out to his partner, who was talking to a member of the coroner's office. "I need to head back to the office right quick. I'll be back as soon as I can."
Matt trotted across the street to his car, buckling himself in before merging the sedan into traffic. In a way he was grateful for the reprieve, no matter how brief, as his mind was not on his job at the moment, and the victim lying dead on the sidewalk didn't deserve that. He hadn't heard from his wife in five days, and though he wasn't worried about her as he knew she'd be fine, he was worried about his marriage. She hadn't called him, even if for nothing more than to yell and scream at him. Oh, how he wished she'd do that, but knew better. Rachel was an introvert, and lived inside her own head and emotions. So often he'd wish she'd let him in, and she never would. Though he wasn't about to blame his infidelity on her, sometimes he wondered if maybe the distance she insisted on keeping from the rest of the world, even her own husband, hadn't helped things, either.
Matt popped a stick of gum into his mouth, hating the taste of stale cigarettes, as he pushed through the front doors of the police department. He waved and called out a greeting to the ladies working in the office then headed back into the maze of the inner workings of Madison PD, Madison, Oregon.
"Come in," Captain Peggy Washington called out, phone receiver in her hand with fingers poised over the keypad to punch in her home number. She needed to make sure her son had picked up his little sister from soccer practice. She glanced up as her office door was pushed open, Detective Matt Frazier popping his head around the corner. "Oh, Matt. Come in." Peggy set the receiver back in its cradle. Her son could wait.
"What's up, Cap?" Matt asked, plopping down in one of the two chairs set in front of the metal desk of his superior. He flung an ankle over his knee, jiggling his dangling foot, a nervous habit he'd always had. Drove Rachel crazy.
Peggy sighed heavily, leaning forward with her elbows on her desk blotter. She looked the detective in the eye. She'd known Matt Frazier since his first day at the academy, where she'd taught a self-defense class. He was a good guy, and she hated being the one to tell him the news, but the Chief had insisted, knowing Frazier liked and respected her.
"I've got some bad news for you, Matt," she began softly, the mother of four in her coming out.
"Okay." Matt could feel his heart beginning to pound, and his brain whirred, trying to mentally go over everything he'd done in the last six months, confused.
"You had Burt Langley find some information on your wife, about her whereabouts-"
"Oh, Peggy, I didn't think-"
Captain Washington held up a hand to silence him. "Matt, the plane your wife was on went down somewhere in the Caribbean."
Matt stared at the woman with short, curly red hair, blinking several times as the words slowly penetrated his brain. He swallowed, feeling a coldness rush through him, making him shiver.
"What?"
"I'm so sorry, Matt." Peggy met his gaze and held it, trying to make sure he was okay. Matt nodded, but his jaw muscles were working overtime. "I think it's best you take some time off."
"No. Uh," Matt pushed up from the chair. "I need to get back-"
"Detective, I am ordering you to go home, at least until Monday. Okay?"
&nbs
p; "Alright." Matt left the office, his stomach roiling suddenly. He headed for the bathroom, almost not making it before he lost the meatball sandwich he and Burt had for lunch.
The house had seemed dark and empty before, but now, now it just felt… dead. Matt ran a hand through his hair, his eyes burning with unshed emotion. He still felt sick, chewing three pieces of gum on the way home alone, to get the taste of regurgitated meatball sandwich out of his mouth.
Tossing his keys and wallet to the breakfast bar, the detective walked on shaky legs to the living room, noting that the answering machine blinked with eight messages. He didn't have the heart to listen to them, not wanting to talk to anyone. Besides, he knew none of them would be from Rachel.
Matt fell to the Lazy-Boy chair in front of the TV, head in his hands, shoulders finally heaving as his grief and deep regret hit him between the eyes. She can't be dead. She can't! Somewhere through his grief, he heard the phone ring, the answering machine picking up on the third ring.
"Hi, you've reached Rachel and Matt. Please leave a message. Bye." Rachel's voice pierced his heart once more.
"Matt, this is Reenie again. It's imperative that you call me right away." Matt could hear the emotion, the editor's voice thick and nasal. She'd obviously been crying. "Please call me today."
The dead air was heavy and filled with expectation. Matt didn't want to talk to her right now. Why hadn't she told her Rachel's flight number, damn it!? How could she have withheld that from him? Matt's tears returned. He knew he was being unfair; none of this was Reenie's fault, it was all him. Raising his face to the ceiling, he squeezed his eyes shut, crying out his grief to the night beyond.
* * *
Naomi rested her cheek against the top of Will's head, where it rested just under her chin. The architect had his arm slung over her stomach, her fingers running through his hair. Together they watched the newscast of the crash, now on every channel. It was amazing, and unheard of. The plane had crashed in the middle of the Caribbean, yet three people had been rescued, one half dead, the other two badly wounded, but alive.
"That's amazing," Naomi whispered, eyes riveted to the footage. She felt her brother-in-law nod, though it was followed by a sniffle. None of the three people were Dean. The camera showed the three arriving in New York, a crowd mobbing them, then flickered to individual reunions. An older couple enveloped a woman with short, black hair, the trio crying. The older man was then on camera speaking in Italian, his words translated closed caption-style at the bottom of the screen:
I'm so grateful to get my granddaughter back. I'm just greatly saddened by the loss of our great-granddaughter.
Another woman was being wheeled in a wheelchair by a man, who was smiles from ear to ear. Two young children flanked the wheelchair.
"It's a miracle!" the man said, voice cracking. "I couldn't believe it when the phone rang, and it was Candice on the other end."
An official was flashed on screen. "The investigation has already been started, the rescue mission sadly turning to a recovery mission. Divers are now trying to locate the black box."
Naomi and Will shut the TV off as the newscaster began to explain what the black box was, and how it worked. Will stared off into space, fantasizing, not for the first time, that one of the survivors had in fact been Dean, and he had been on the other end of that phone call.
"Want to hear something strange?" he said at length, voice soft, wistful.
"Hmm?" Naomi brushed hair away from Will's boyish features. If you had been straight…
"Somehow I feel like I'd know if Dean were dead. I know that sounds crazy, and extremely full of fantasy, but…"
"You don't feel that he is?"
Dean was quiet for a moment, contemplating that, mulling it over and over in his head. Finally he shook his head. "No. No doubt it's just simple wishful thinking, but somehow I don't feel it."
"Well, you guys do have an amazing connection, Will." Naomi thought about her brother and the man she'd been holding for two days now. The architect was beyond distraught, and no doubt felt Dean's loss more acutely than anyone. Since the first day Dean had brought Will home to meet everyone, Naomi had seen the specialness of the men's relationship and bond. It truly was something to behold. Though Naomi had no doubt Dean was gone, she also had no doubt Will could still feel him. Hell, maybe her brother was around them right now, and that was why Will's feeling was so strong.
* * *
The reunion was an emotional one- not a reunion of friends, but a gathering of strangers, reuniting with humanity, though Denny was almost beside herself to see Mia step out from under the overturned slide. She hugged the girl tight, not having to ask about the teenager's mother. Mia's tears told her all she needed to know.
"I can't believe there are so many of us," Dean said, eyeing everyone, his methodical mind already forming thoughts and impressions of each woman before him. "Where were you guys all sitting?" He looked from one to another, finally settling back on Denny.
"Up in 5C. Mia and I were right behind First Class," the brunette explained softly. Rachel was listening, arms crossed over her chest. Looking at Denny, she realized that she had remembered seeing her on the plane, though briefly. She also felt like she'd noticed her in the terminal.
"I was in First Class," Pam said, leaning against a rock face.
"Me, too," the blonde said softly.
"Well, I was back about halfway, not quite to the wing."
"Good thing," Denny said, pushing some wind blown strands behind her ear. "Any further back and you would have been gone."
Dean nodded sagely. "I know. We were all lucky."
Pam looked away, remembering her boyfriend sitting next to her one minute, then gone the next, sucked out, as no doubt many of the passengers were. The air was heavy with bad memories and grief. Mia began to sob softly.
"So!" Dean said, needing to change the subject and mood. He clapped his hands together. "Where is everyone from?"
"Buffalo," Pam said, munching on the bananas Denny had provided.
The brunette nodded. "Me, too."
"Brooklyn," Mia near whispered.
"My partner and I have a loft in Manhattan," Dean supplied.
Rachel smirked. "Guess I'm the only non-New Yorker here." All eyes were on her. She felt shy under the full attention. "Oregon."
"You were far from home," Dean said, brow raised. The blonde looked away, nodding. Me thinks there's a story there.
"So how is everyone holding up? Injuries?" Pam looked around, noting various bumps and bruises on everyone except Dean. She'd also noted the way the beautiful brunette seemed to hold her right arm to her body. The veterinarian walked over to her. "Let me get a look at your arm, Denny."
"Oh, we have our very own mother hen on the island," Dean grinned, gesturing wildly. Rachel glanced at him, then turned to watch Pam and Denny, Pam murmuring various questions, Denny's responses soft. She wondered if Pam had some sort of medical knowledge; she seemed to know what she was doing. Next thing she knew, the older woman led the brunette around behind a wall of foliage.
Denny sucked in a breath at the white hot pain that shot through her arm as she tried to pull her sleeve off around it. With Pam's help, she was finally able to, standing before the older woman in her bra. Pam studied the arm and shoulder, grazing gentle fingers over the discolored flesh.
"Denny, I think this is dislocated," Pam said, glancing up into the brunette's glacier eyes. "I really need to set it."
Denny swallowed loudly, but nodded. It couldn't hurt anymore than it already did.
"Okay, honey, here we go." Pam stepped up close to Denny's side, one hand wrapping around Denny's forearm, the other steadying the coffee shop owner on her shoulder.
Birds squawked and flew out of the trees as a cry echoed over the island, startling both animal and human occupants. Three sets of eyes stared into the thick foliage. They glanced at each other, then back to the direction the cry came from. Rachel shivered, feeling the pain that cry
carried. Though one good thing, she realized, there were birds on the island. She just hoped they came back!
Denny tried to catch her breath, a soft hand rubbing circles on her upper back, Pam whispering words of apology. She took a shaky breath, then got herself together. She barely understood as the older woman explained she was going to try and make something to use as a sling for her arm. She left the brunette leaning safely against a thick grouping of undergrowth as she sought out to find some vines.
Denny felt the pain slowly washing over her in lapping waves, much like those on the beach. She closed her eyes, taking in lungfulls of the freshest air she'd ever had, strongly scented with the salt and wildlife of the sea. She felt queasy, though couldn't afford to lose any of the food she'd already taken in, so instead she just stayed put, holding her arm in the exact same position Pam had put it, keeping it close to her side, her left hand holding tight to her elbow.
"Is she okay?" Mia asked as Pam emerged from the foliage, eyes already scanning the beach.
"Yeah. Had to reset her shoulder," the vet explained absently. "Does anyone have a knife?" she called out, glancing over to where Rachel and Dean stood, both just looking at her. Of course they would have to get stranded in a post 9/11 world, where nothing sharper than a comb's tooth was allowed on board.
"In my checked luggage," Dean said helpfully. Pam glared, then stopped, staring at him. "What? It was a joke." He watched as the woman approached him, noting the look in her eye, and wanting to take a step back from her.
"Give me that," she said, pointing. The man looked down, confused. Pam reached for his thick, Armani belt, unbuckling it. Her hands were covered with his, trying to push her away.