by Lynsay Sands
"Sarita, dear, turn out the light before Ramsey's man sees it," Mrs. Dressler ordered.
She glanced toward the woman, and then stepped over to the wall and flicked off the light her grandmother had just turned on. But a vision of Elizabeth Dressler was burned into the back of her eyes as she did. The woman was in a wheelchair, not a seat, and there was a terrible scar down the side of her face. A face that otherwise seemed familiar to Sarita despite never having seen her before even in pictures. While she'd sent pictures every time they were requested by her grandmother--which was several times a year--when Sarita had requested one in return she'd been told her grandmother didn't have a camera.
"Set me down. I can stand!"
Sarita bit her lip at her grandmother's cantankerous order and turned to look to where the two had been before the lights went out again, but she couldn't see a darned thing. She was completely blind now after the intrusion of the bright light. Her eyes needed to adjust again, she supposed, and then frowned as she realized Domitian hadn't responded to the demand and her grandmother hadn't repeated it, yet she could hear movement. Guessing he'd used some of that mind control business to soothe her grandmother and prevent further protest, he was probably now carrying her around to set her on the couch. Sarita decided to find her own way back to the couch.
Reaching forward tentatively and finding nothing in her path, she moved forward, sure the back of the couch wasn't far away.
"Look out the window, Thorne dear, and be sure your father's man didn't notice the light going on and off. He might come to investigate," Elizabeth Dressler murmured and Sarita stilled, her ears straining for the sounds of movement. She hadn't seen anyone else in the room when the lights had gone on, but she hadn't really looked anywhere but at her grandmother and Mrs. Dressler.
Something brushed against her arm, and Sarita stiffened and turned her head. She smelled a hint of sea breeze and jungle and then a shadow moved in front of the window to the left of the front door, and she caught her breath at the misshapen silhouette revealed. Instead of a head and shoulders, it looked like Thorne had three heads, or a head and two humps, she thought. She glanced around with surprise when someone touched her arm.
"This way," Domitian said softly, drawing her to the right and in front of the couch again. He steered her along the couch and then urged her to sit. "Your abuela is on your left."
"Thank you," Sarita murmured as she settled on the cushions and then felt a hand on her arm. Knowing it was her grandmother reaching for her, she covered the hand with her own, but glanced back to the window only to see that the silhouette was gone.
"He doesn't appear to have noticed anything amiss," a voice as deep as Domitian's announced near where Mrs. Dressler sat.
"What are you doing here, Chiquita?" her grandmother asked unhappily as Sarita felt Domitian settle on the couch next to her.
"I came for you," Sarita said apologetically, squeezing her grandmother's hand in the darkness.
"Oh, such a good girl," her grandmother crooned sadly and Sarita caught a whiff of roses and then found herself pulled into the soft embrace of a much shorter and rounder woman as she added, "But I don't understand. Why?"
Sarita hugged her back, closing her eyes as a wave of emotion rolled over her. It had been two years since she'd had the love and comfort of family. Forcing back the overwhelming feelings, she cleared her throat and explained, "Dr. Dressler called and said you fell and hurt yourself."
"Fell?" her grandmother asked, pulling back as if she were trying to see her face to verify she'd heard her right.
Since Sarita couldn't see her grandmother, she doubted very much that the old woman could see her, so she said, "Yes. He said he was worried that there could be complications and felt my visiting might help you get through this."
"But I haven't fallen," Maria Reyes said with a confusion that soon turned to vexation as she added, "The old bastardo! What is he up to now?"
"Nothing good, I'm sure," Elizabeth Dressler said wearily and then asked, "But if he invited you to the island, why did you have to swim from the little island?"
"You were on the little island?" her grandmother asked.
"Si," Sarita answered, squeezing her hand and then said, "I was here first. When I arrived I was told you were in the hospital and would be back on the island soon and I should wait. But the third day I was here, he knocked me out and I woke up on the little island with Domitian. We think we were supposed to be part of some kind of experiment," she admitted, but didn't explain that she thought it had to do with sex. It was her grandmother after all.
"Then you are one of the hybrids," Elizabeth Dressler growled, sounding furious. "And you were probably privy to what was going on the whole time."
Sarita stilled, at first thinking she meant her, but then the woman added, "What did Ramsey want you to do to our Sarita?" The question had barely ended before she snapped, "Thorne, restrain him."
"No," Sarita barked, practically throwing herself across Domitian's lap. "He's not with Dressler, he's here to catch him."
"What?" Mrs. Dressler gasped.
There was suddenly absolute silence in the room as if everyone had frozen and Sarita frowned with frustration, wishing there was some light so she could see where everyone was and what they were doing. Especially Thorne.
Hoping the stillness meant they would listen and leave Domitian alone, Sarita straightened to sit next to him again and explained, "People have been going missing from North America. Enough that it was noticed, and a--" she hesitated and then said "--a special policing team was put together to find out who was taking them, why, and where they were taken to. This team tracked the disappearances to Caracas and Dr. Dressler, but by the time they got here, Dressler had taken a sabbatical from the university and retreated to the island. They were able to find out he had an island, but not where it was. Apparently there's no record of his owning an island."
"He bought it under my maiden name," Mrs. Dressler said. "Elizabeth Salter. I didn't understand why at the time, but it was probably for just this sort of eventuality. The man is always thinking ten steps ahead of everyone else," she finished bitterly.
"Oh," Sarita breathed and glanced instinctively to Domitian. She couldn't see his expression, but when he squeezed her hand, she turned back. "Well, they didn't catch that, so sent teams out in boats to scout the islands. But eight of their people went missing during the searches and they were no closer to finding the island, so Domitian agreed to accept a job from Dressler to be a chef on the island to help them locate it. The plan was for them to track his phone to find the island, but Dressler didn't really want Domitian for the chef job. That was apparently just bait to get him here. The moment he got on the helicopter to fly here, he was knocked out. He was then dumped on the little island with me. That was the day before yesterday. Or maybe it was the day before that now," she added uncertainly, exhaustion slowing her thinking. Finally she stopped trying to work out the day count and simply said, "This is the third morning since both of us woke up on the island."
There was silence for a minute and then Thorne asked, "This special police force is going to storm the island?"
It was hard to tell if he was glad or concerned, Thorne's voice seemed to hold both emotions and again Sarita wished the light was better so she could see his face. As the sun rose, lighting in the room slowly got brighter, but it was still full of shadows and Thorne seemed to be in the darkest shadow in the room.
"They want to," she said firmly. "But they can't until they figure out where it is. As I say, they were hoping to track Domitian's phone, but Dressler must have destroyed or disabled it or they'd already have stormed the island, taken Dressler into custody, and freed the people he's taken."
"But why would El Doctor put you on the little island with this man, Chiquita?" her grandmother asked.
"Probably to harvest eggs," Mrs. Dressler said grimly, saving Sarita having to answer.
"He wouldn't need the man for that. Just Sarita,
" Thorne said, and the familiarity with which he used her name startled her. He spoke her name as if he had known her for years. But then, perhaps he too had been there for the letter readings, she thought. Perhaps like Mrs. Dressler he felt he knew her from her writings.
A crooked smile claimed her lips. It seemed like everyone in this room knew all about her life and had known of her and felt connected to her for years, Domitian with his private detective reports, and the rest of them from her letters. She was the only one who didn't or hadn't known much in return. She hadn't known about Domitian at all, and other than mentioning their names, her grandmother hadn't said much about Thorne or Elizabeth Dressler, and hadn't revealed much about herself either . . . like that she'd been a prisoner here all these years.
"Perhaps he was hoping for some fertilized eggs," Mrs. Dressler said into the silence.
"He couldn't have expected my little Sarita to have sex with a stranger," her grandmother protested at once. "She's a good girl."
Sarita winced at those words, and felt Domitian squeezing her hand gently.
"I wouldn't put it past Ramsey to have put drugs in whatever food and water he supplied to get whatever he wanted," Elizabeth said gently in response and then turned her head back toward Sarita and Domitian and added, "It's good you left the little island. Whatever reason he had for putting you there could not be good. But why come here?" she asked almost plaintively. "This is even less safe for you than the little island."
"That is my fault," Sarita admitted. "Domitian wanted to swim for the mainland, but I found a half-written letter from you, Mrs. Dressler, to someone named Margaret. It was tucked in a book in the office. In it you mentioned that this island was about half an hour or forty-five minutes north of the little island by fishing boat. That seemed manageable, whereas we weren't sure how far the mainland was.
"Besides, I was worried about you, Grandmother," Sarita said, addressing the woman next to her. "I saw one of his experiments in that lab of his, and after Dressler knocked me out, and then I learned about all the people he's been taking and experimenting on, I was worried about you. I thought this way we could check to be sure you were all right, get the exact coordinates for the island from you, use your phone to call the mainland, and pass along the information. And now I can tell them to be cautious, that there are hybrids and humans who are not on Dressler's side, but some who are."
"Oh, Chiquita . . ." Maria Reyes squeezed her hand firmly with one of her own, and patted it with her other. "We have no phone. El Doctor would not trust us with one. We could not even seal any letters we sent from the island. They had to go through him and he read them first."
Sarita wasn't terribly surprised by this. It actually explained the odd tone of the letters over the years. They were affectionate yet reserved at the same time.
A curse from Domitian brought her from her thoughts and Sarita turned his way and assured him, "It is all right. There is a phone in the big house."
"Are you sure?" he asked with concern.
"Yes. The office door was open one day and I rushed to it thinking Dr. Dressler must be back, but Big Beefy Guy was inside talking on a phone."
Rather than relax at this news, she could actually see him frown. The room was getting lighter quickly. In fact, she could see him well enough to notice that he was extremely pale.
"Getting into the house might be tricky," he said now with concern. "I do not like your taking that risk. I will do it myself and--"
"Yeah right," Sarita said and snorted rudely at the suggestion. "Not gonna happen. Besides, it isn't that risky. Dressler's security is a joke," she assured him. "All we have to do is wait until dinnertime and we can practically walk in."
Domitian shook his head. "I do not want you taking that risk."
"And I am not going to be left behind like some helpless creature who can't take care of herself," she snapped impatiently. Honestly! She was trained for this stuff. Well, not exactly this stuff, Sarita acknowledged, but she wasn't some--
"Perhaps it would be better to try to steal a boat," Domitian said now. "That way we could take every one in this room and get them safely away from the island before the raid." Glancing to where Thorne stood hidden in the shadows, he asked, "He has more than one boat here, si?"
"Yes," Thorne answered. "But the keys are kept elsewhere and he keeps both the keys and the boats well guarded. He makes sure that no one can leave the island without his say so. As for the security on the house," he added and Sarita thought his head turned slightly her way. "While most of the men leave their posts at dinnertime. There are still some on duty, and the cameras do not turn off. They are on all day every day. The minute you entered the house someone would know."
Sarita pursed her lips as she considered the situation and then said, "His office has French doors. We'd have to go in that way. I could barricade the doors to the hall while you made the call. You'd have to be quick, just tell them the island is owned by Elizabeth Salter, and warn them to be prepared for a large security force and then get off. Hopefully that way we can get out before they stop us."
"And if we don't?" Domitian asked solemnly.
"Then we get caught and hold on until help comes," she said with a shrug.
"You don't seem to understand," Thorne said now. "The cameras are everywhere around the house, labs, and dock. They are also in trees on the border of the jungle so that Dressler can see every inch of shoreline and yard."
Sarita stiffened and looked to Domitian with alarm. "He'll know we're here then."
"No," Thorne said, drawing her gaze his way again. "Fortunately for you I couldn't sleep last night and was out . . . walking. I noticed you in the ocean long before you neared shore and took care of the cameras on the cove where you came out."
"Took care of them how?" Domitian asked.
"I snapped a branch above one, so that it hung in front of it obscuring its view. No doubt they'll send someone out to check on it, but hopefully they'll just assume an animal landed on the branch and snapped it."
"You said you took care of them," Domitian pointed out.
"I positioned myself in front of the other one until you left the cove," Thorne admitted reluctantly. "They won't think much of my being there."
"In the tree?" Sarita asked, recalling the sounds she'd heard and the moving branches in the tree. If this man had caused it, he was one hell of a tree climber, she thought. The branches she'd seen move had been at the top, some thirty feet in the air at least.
Thorne grunted in the affirmative and then added, "There are no cameras in the jungle itself, just in the trees along the border. There were at one time but they kept getting damaged or destroyed by animals, so Dressler didn't bother replacing them. He felt watching the approach to the jungle was sufficient. So once the two of you had started up the hill, I hurried ahead to wake mother and warn her you were coming. Once I had her situated out here, I took care of the cameras along the side and front of the house as well, and then went up to wake Maria."
"Will he not think it odd that all the cameras on the front and side of the house were destroyed?" Domitian asked, a frown in his voice.
"No. I destroy them regularly," Thorne said with a shrug.
"And Ramsey repairs them regularly," Mrs. Dressler added dryly. "It is a silent battle of wills between Thorne and his father."
"Do not call him my father," Thorne said stiffly. "He is a sperm donor, nothing else."
"Wait," Sarita said now, sitting up straight and trying to pierce the shadows around Thorne with her eyes as she asked, "How did you know who we were, or that we were headed here to the house?"
"You were talking when you came out of the water," he said with unconcern. "But even if you hadn't mentioned wanting to see your grandmother, I would have recognized you at once from your pictures," he said quietly. "Except for the color and style of your bathing suit, you could have stepped out of the one you sent Maria of you and your friends at the beach celebrating your getting into the police college
."
"Right," Sarita said and sagged back on the couch, reminded of the skimpy suit she was wearing. She was suddenly grateful the light wasn't that great in here. Forgetting that her grandmother had already seen her, she said, "Don't have a heart attack when you see my swimsuit, abuela. It wasn't my choice, it was what Dressler left at the house for me." She grimaced and added, "Although I suppose I shouldn't complain--at least I had a change of clothes, even if I don't care for how revealing they are. Poor Domitian has been wearing the same boxers for three days."
"Oh dear, well we can do something about that at least," Elizabeth Dressler said, and suddenly wheeled her chair around the couch and toward the kitchen. "Come along Sarita, Maria, we'll raid my closet and see if we can't find something a little more suitable."
Sarita stood when her grandmother did, but glanced uncertainly to Domitian.
"Thorne," Mrs. Dressler said then. "Will you see if you have something Sarita's 'friend' can wear?"
"Of course," he murmured.
Mrs. Dressler nodded with satisfaction and then smiled at Sarita's grandmother when she took up position behind her chair and began to wheel her from the room. "Thank you, Maria," she murmured and then said again, "Come along, Sarita."
"Go. I will be fine," Domitian said when she still hesitated.
Nodding, Sarita turned to follow the two women. It turned out she'd been wrong. There might be three bedrooms upstairs, but the room she'd assumed would be a dining room turned out to be Mrs. Dressler's bedroom on the main floor. Still, Sarita suspected it had originally been a dining room, but had been converted to accommodate the elderly woman in her wheelchair.
"Here we are. Now, let's see . . ."
Mrs. Dressler's words drew her attention to the closet the woman had opened. It was a good size, running the length of the room, but the clothes all hung high enough that there was no way the woman could reach them. Sarita had just decided her grandmother must fetch the clothes she wanted for her, when Mrs. Dressler snatched up a long rod hanging amid the clothes and used the hook on the end to lift down a lightweight cotton peasant blouse.
"What about this?" she asked, holding it out to Sarita.