FROM AWAY ~ BOOK THREE

by Mackey Jr. , Deke

  The little woman stops. Breathing hard. Her disappointment obvious. She watches her husband carefully clear dirt from the stone. Cursing him with her eyes.

  When fully uncovered, the rectangular stone spans the tunnel. Three feet across. One foot wide. Man-made. Nature doesn’t work in flats and right angles. But the surface is blank. No instructions. No images. No nothing.

  Maybe the message is on the side? Or the bottom?

  Mr. Hunter digs along one edge. Looking for a lower lip. Not finding one. The first tablet was two inches thick. This one is at least as deep as it is wide.

  A foot down, the shovel stops. Hits another stone. Staggered from the first. Same dimensions. Just as blank.

  The man doesn’t know what to make of it. His wife does. She abandons her tunnel. Joins her man. Holds her notebook under his nose.

  THE NEXT STEPS WILL REVEAL THEMSELVES.

  She taps a word: STEPS.

  The man’s eyes widen. He looks from page to excavation. The newly uncovered stones aren’t tablets. They form the first two steps of a staircase. Leading downwards. Deeper into the earth.

  The next steps have indeed revealed themselves.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “You, uh... Might want to go easy on those.” Max is simultaneously impressed and horrified.

  Dawn’s sucking down deep-fried oysters. On her fourth basket. Between bites, she manages: “Drowning is hungry work, Max.” Chomp. Munch. Slurp. “Sure you don’t want any?”

  He shakes his head. A bit green. A sensitive stomach and hair-trigger gag reflex make it hard for him to even watch, let alone partake. Dawn’s mollusk-swallowing performance today may put him off food entirely for the foreseeable future. He focuses instead on the seagulls: Strutting around the patio. Looking beneath each table for leavings. If they’re waiting for Dawn to drop something, they will be sorely disappointed.

  Max should be at least peckish by now. Nothing to eat since the day before, and not much then. When he thinks about it: The only thing he feels like having comes in a little glass nailpolish bottle with a brush in the lid. So? He tries not to think about it.

  He hasn’t mentioned the people watching her. The brown cloaks hidden in the woods. Doesn’t know if he should. Isn’t sure how to go about it. If she were to ask how he knew she was out there in the ocean, the segue would occur naturally. But so far, she hasn’t questioned his convenient arrival. Seems content that he saved her. Needs no further explanation.

  “Day-yum!” Dawn crumples the checkerboard wax paper. Pushes away the green plastic basket. Finished. “Emphasis on the yum.” Her eyes stray back to the menu hanging from the side of the food truck. Unbelievably, she’s still hungry.

  Max stands. Body-blocks the menu. “ Er... Why don’t we let things settle a bit? Take a look around. This place may have wheels, but it’s not going anywhere.”

  “Ah! Good idea!” Dawn leaps to her feet. All smiles. “Haven’t really had the chance to play tourist since I got to the island.” She dumps her trash. Ready to go.

  “Well, you’re in the right place for it.”

  The place: A roadside strip-mall. Open-faced booths spilling onto a shared sidewalk. Everything covered in neon. Done up with all the beach-bum trimmings: Surfboards. Sharks. Smiley-face sunglass-wearing suns. This close to the shore, the apparent aim of every business is to convince folks from away that they have somehow landed in Florida. Right down to the giant faux palm trees.

  Dawn skips a shop featuring local antiques with a nautical theme. Beelines for the kitschy souvenirs: Postcards. Bumper stickers. Shot-glasses. Stuffed lobsters. Every article of clothing - from beanies to sandals - proudly emblazoned with the Mossley Island logotype.

  Max follows along. Still concerned. “Are you sure you shouldn’t see somebody? Just to get checked out?”

  “I’m sure! I’m great! I go a little overboard sometimes. But luckily, you pulled me out just in time.” She holds up a loudly patterned orange muumuu. “What do you think?”

  “It’s you.”

  “Oh, yeah?” She poses beneath it. Checks her reflection. Nonplussed. “Hmph. I’m me enough already, don’tcha think?” She steps out of the way. Holds it up over Max. “You, on the other hand...” She looks him over in the mirror. “You’re hardly me at all.”

  “That must be why I didn’t try swimming to the mainland, today.”

  She pounds him in the arm. “Your loss!” Her wide grin makes up for the additional bruise.

  “Hey!” She slings the muumuu back onto its rack. A nearby display has caught her eye: A sprouting garden of postcard-sized flags. All stuck into a large block of green styrofoam. She picks one. Looks more closely: A green island, centered. Encircled by a yellow eel. On a field of light blue. “What is this?”

  “The island insignia.” He stands straighter. Hand over his heart. Then drops into a slouch once more.

  “Your own flag, huh?” Dawn turns it over, checks for more on the back. Frowns. “You Islanders really like to think of yourselves as separate from the rest of us.”

  Max has never really questioned it. “I guess so.”

  “I wonder if I would’ve. If I’d been born here.” She twirls the flag between her fingers. Watches it spin. Wistful.

  A rumbling. Max glances up as a car roars into the gravel parking lot: A teal convertible. Aiming towards the souvenir stand. Honking its horn as it comes.

  Dawn looks over as the car approaches. The car’s passenger grips the top of the windshield. Stands up in her seat. Waving.

  “Ma-ax!” It’s Mandi. Allison is driving. Still honking.

  Dawn turns to him. “Friends of yours?”

  Max’s face falls. “At this point? I honestly don’t know.”

  ~

  “Ma-ax! We missed you!” Mandi bucks and bounces. Still standing in the passenger seat as the convertible slows to a stop in front of the strip mall. “Why’d you just up-and-go like that?”

  “Could’ve at least said goodbye, you asshole!” Allison pulls her car across two empty parking spots. Takes both.

  This was no coincidence. They must’ve spotted him from the road. Neither Mandi nor Allison would ever deign to stop at this tourist trap without justification. But did they just happen to notice Max in passing? Or were they actively searching for him?

  Slamming doors, the girls approach. There’s no escaping them.

  Max sighs. “Yeah... I should probably apologize ahead of time.”

  “Apologize?” Dawn’s eyes flash. Excited. “Why? Who are--”

  Mandi and Allison cut her off. Slide into place on either side of Max. Wrapping arms around him. Taking possession. Ignoring Dawn’s existence entirely.

  “You didn’t have to leave like that.” Mandi pouts. “It was so sad to wake up and find you gone.” She runs a finger over his chest.

  “Sneaking out after? Total bitch move, Max.” Allison punches him in the side. Then softens. “But we can maybe forgive you your trespasses this one time. You just have to ask nicely.”

  They know what they’re doing: Painting him as a man-slut in front of perceived competition. He looks to Dawn. Expecting judgement. Disgust. Instead, he finds a big goofy grin. Dawn’s amused by the situation. Entertained.

  “I got a text.” Max pries himself from their embrace. “Work-stuff. Something I had to deal with right away.”

  Allison crosses her arms. “That’s not an apology.”

  “Don’t you even care how it made us feel?” If Mandi’s not on the verge of tears, it’s not for lack of trying.

  “Okay...” Max takes a deep breath. “If I can help it? I promise you guys: A situation like that will never happen again.”

  The girls share a look. A silent debate: Has Max shown sufficient remorse? No. But is there the slightest chance of wringing more out of him? Also no. Rather than press their luck, they accept.

  “Awww, Ma-ax!”

  “How could we ever stay mad at you?”

  Arms outstretched, the
y attack again. Dawn steps in. Coming to his rescue. “Boy, it sounds like you guys have a pretty special relationship.”

  Forced to acknowledge her, the girls look on Dawn as though she’s recently covered herself in dogshit. Both are offended the girl hasn’t taken the opportunity they so graciously granted her to quietly disappear.

  “Um, Max?”

  “Right! Sorry...” Max rescues his rescuer: “Mandi. Allison. This is Dawn.”

  “Hi!” Dawn waves the little Mossley Island flag at them. “I’m from away!”

  Pfft. Mandi snorts. Allison snickers. They never could have guessed it. Dawn pretends obliviousness. “I met Max when I--” She gasps! “Are we related?”

  “What?” Mandi recoils. Horrified by the very idea.

  Allison sneers. “You must be joking.”

  Dawn looks to Max.

  “Oh, uh... No, Dawn. I don’t think so.” He elaborates on her behalf. “Dawn’s dad’s an Islander. She came here hoping to meet her family. Turns out, she’s Aaron’s cousin.”

  The girls’ demeanor flips. Standoffishness abruptly gone.

  “Aaron? Awww... You must be devastated!”

  “Ohmigod, Aaron was just the sweetest, most awesome guy.”

  The duo rush her. Hug Dawn like their closest friend. Her eyes bug. Over their shoulders she gives Max a what-the-heck?!

  Allison pulls back. Braces Dawn’s shoulders. Holds her, eye-to-eye. “You doing okay? It must be hard.”

  “So hard.” Mandi agrees.

  “It was pretty awful.” Dawn glances at Max. Well aware it’s his best friend they’re talking about. “I didn’t really know Aaron, but... I guess I’m just glad I had the chance to meet him. To get an idea who he was, before...”

  Max focuses elsewhere. Jaw clenching hard.

  “She’s... So strong.” Mandi shakes her head at Allison. “No way I could be that strong.”

  “I know. I would fall apart. Just--” She makes a bizarre face. “Bas-ket-case!”

  The pair admire Dawn’s bravery until a lightbulb comes on over Allison’s head: “Look: We need to take you someplace! Where do you want to go?”

  In the spotlight. Dawn has no answer. “I don’t really know.”

  “Aw.” Mandi smiles. “She’s so new.”

  “Guys, she’s--”

  “Shuddup, Max. This should be easy... How much of the island have you seen so far?”

  “Not... Much, yet.”

  “And this is where he takes you? Honestly!

  Max protests: “She was hungry!”

  Allison’s expression makes clear she feels very, very sorry for Max.

  Mandi has a suggestion: “There’s only a week before No-ShoMP closes for the season?”

  “Not everything’s about you, Mandi!” Allison is surprisingly aggressive. She asides to Dawn: “Bitch has been trying to get me to go all summer.”

  “No-ShoMP?” Dawn has no idea.

  Mandi and Allison are shocked by her ignorance. Max, too, truth be known. He fills her in. “North Shore Marvel Park. It’s an amusement park.”

  “And we usually always go. Every year...” Mandi doesn’t stomp her foot. But her tone suggests she could.

  “Exactly! It never changes. I am so over No-ShoMP.” Allison hears herself. Backpedals. “I’ll totally go, though. If that’s what you want. Seriously, I don’t mind. It’s whatever, really.”

  All eyes on Dawn once more. Awaiting her decree.

  “Actually... This is probably going to sound weird, but... Do you guys know anything about a place called... Adderpool?”

  The Islanders are taken by surprise. The color drains from Max’s face. Mandi’s mouth hangs open. Allison’s shock shifts slowly into a smile.

  “Now we’re talking, Dawn...” She reaches out. Plucks the flag from Dawn’s fingers. Wields it like a wand. Boops the end of Dawn’s nose. “We can totally take you to Adderpool.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The front door opens. Closes.

  No one calls out to announce their arrival. Nobody inquires who else might be home. Just enters. Climbs the stairs. Heads down the hall. Into the master bedroom.

  Where Trevor is waiting. “You were out all night.”

  Sylvie leaves a trail of muddy clothes on the carpet behind her. Continues into the en suite bathroom. “Yep. I was.”

  Trevor follows. Stepping over her dirty laundry. Moving into the bathroom doorway. “You could’ve called.”

  “How’s about this: You’ll know I can call, when I do call. Right?” Down to unmentionables, Sylvie leans into the shower. Starts the water. Covering the better part of her hip: A massive bruise. Darkest violet with yellow in its center.

  The sight momentarily overcomes Trevor’s resentment. “Oh my God, Sylvie--”

  “It’s nothing... I had a fall.” She doesn’t tell him about the pit. Doesn’t mention the creature. Says nothing about Roscoe. Bottles it up. With everything else.

  “A fall? How far did you--”

  “It’s Circle Business, Trevor.”

  All at once, his concern for her fades. “I think I’m pretty much done with the ‘Circle business’ business, Sylvie.”

  Steam rises between them. Fogging the mirror. The glass walls of the shower. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning... What do you think? Meaning: I’m sick of the secrets. I don’t care if it’s Circle business. You can’t keep me on the outside anymore.”

  “You want into the Circle?” She doesn’t scoff at the idea. Not openly. But she’s close. She pops open the clasp on her bra. Shrugs it off. Scoots her panties down. Kicks them away. “No.”

  Trevor blinks.

  Sylvie steps over the bathtub’s edge. Slides the glass closed.

  “No?” He enters the bathroom. Shouts to be heard as Sylvie ducks under the shower head. “I’ve never asked. Never questioned. You said how it had to be and I’ve taken you at your word from the very beginning. But enough’s enough. Aaron’s dead. Our son. And you and I both know there’s more to what happened than just some... Faulty generator.”

  Sylvie braces herself against the tiles. Lets the water pound her aching muscles.

  “I can’t go on like this.” Trevor presses. “Can’t just stay... Consciously ignorant. If you know - I’m begging you - You have to tell me.”

  Sylvie rubs a clear spot across the shower door. Puts her lips close to it. “It’s... Circle... Business.”

  Trevor’s hand flashes. Slaps flat against the glass. “It’s MY business!”

  She flinches back. Shocked. The display of rage so far outside her husband’s character.

  “I want to know what happened to my son!”

  “We are taking care of it.”

  “That’s not good enough. Not anymore. I want you to bring me in.”

  “The Circle doesn’t give a shit what you want! Don’t you get that?” Sylvie throws open the shower door. “People aren’t brought in for what they want. They’re brought in for what they can offer.” She tries moving forward. Stunned when Trevor stands his ground. Blocks her escape.

  “So tell me, Sylvie: What did Aaron have to offer?”

  She glares up into her husband’s face. Defiant. “The same thing as every other Lesguettes...” Trevor’s never stood up to her this way. He’s taller than her. Heavier. But somehow, she’s always been bigger. “A lifetime of service. Loyalty. Commitment.” Sick of waiting, Sylvie shoulders him away. Hard.

  He stumbles back. Slams into the counter. Grabs onto the towel rack: The only thing that keeps him from landing on his ass.

  “The question is: What have you got?” She steps out. Leaves the water battering the tile behind her. “All your skill in real estate? Relationships with local home inspectors? A solid reputation for getting above-asking-price? Worthless.” She grabs a towel. Gives herself an ineffectual once-over. “So are you ready to give it up? Your career? The money? Security? What are you willing to sacrifice?”

  “How about my kid? My wife?�
�� Trevor rights himself. Stands up. Tries for dignity. “Or is that not sufficient?”

  “The things you’re talking about? They never belonged to you.” She flips the towel over her head. Scrubs at her hair. “They’re not yours to give.” Her words hit him hard. Harder than the shove. Trevor loses inches. Slumps against the wall.

  Sylvie dumps her towel. Far from dry, but done with drying. She moves past her husband. Still dripping. Across the tiles. Onto the bedroom carpet. “All you have is you. And the Circle doesn’t want you.”

  He can only watch her go.

  She assembles a fresh outfit: New undies from the top dresser drawer. Nylons. Stiff white blouse from the closet. On the back of the bedroom door, her tweed skirt and blazer hang in the dry-cleaning bag. Groaning and grumbling, she squirms into them.

  “You’re leaving again?” Trevor knows it’s pointless to ask. Can’t help it: “Where are you going?”

  Sylvie rolls her eyes. Enunciates: “On... Circle... Business.”

  From outside: A honk. Sylvie speeds a brush through her hair.

  Trevor moves to the window. Peeks out through the blinds.

  Burl. In the truck. Still idling by the curb. He’s been waiting for her.

  “I want to know, Sylvie.” Quiet now. No aggression to it. Just a statement of fact. She can do with it as she sees fit.

  “And I feel real sorry about that, Trevor.” She steps over the remains of her previous outfit on the way out “But you don’t get to know.” She exits. Leaves him with her laundry on the floor. Water roaring in the shower. Steam billowing into the bedroom.

  Her heavy footsteps descend the stairs. The front door opens. Closes.

  She doesn’t shout up to say she’s leaving.

  Just goes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The utility knife slides out of its metal sheath. Locks into place. Cuts easily into the yellow police tape framing the door. Slices through the notice:

  THESE PREMISES SEALED TO ALL PERSONS