Christian sighed. “There are many things we can’t explain, Alice. Yes, I do believe in the supernatural. As the son of a minister, I know there is an afterlife. I believe in heaven and hell.”
“How can you believe in that?” I asked in amazement. “C’mon! You can’t really believe in hell!”
Christian didn’t seem to be offended. He smiled and decisively stood up from the couch, peering down at me. “We may need a second opinion. Will you come with me?”
“Where?” I asked curiously.
“I want you to meet someone. He may have the answers to some of your questions.”
Christian drove his father’s car—an old, rustic sedan. We took Route 68 to Carmel and then Highway 1. My driver suddenly appeared a few years older behind the wheel of his dad’s car, with a relaxed smile on his face and the wind ruffling his brown, curly hair.
“Where are we going?” I asked, enjoying the ride. For a moment I had forgotten my troubles. I liked getting out of town and the liberation that came with travel.
“To see an old friend,” Christian replied. “He lives in an ancient house just on the outskirts of Carmel. I haven’t seen him in a while, but I think he may be able to help us.”
We drove through the quaint town of Carmel, with its polished streets and houses, along the beach road. Finally, Christian pulled the car to a stop outside a ramshackle house, shaded by tall pines.
“Who lives here?” I asked curiously, looking at the peeling paint on a front door in desperate need of repair.
“You’ll see,” said Christian as he opened the door to get out.
I followed Christian up the garden path to the house. Outside the front door sat the skull of a large mammal. From the shape of its jaws it had to be a whale, I remember from pictures in the books my dad brought home.
Christian knocked on the wooden door. “I hope he’s in,” he said, looking around the exterior of the house. “Sometimes he goes fishing along the coast.”
We heard the hollow sound of footsteps then an old man opened the door. He must have been in his seventies. Wisps of gray hair had grown around his ears with eyes as dark-blue as the sea. He wore a clean white shirt and britches, and there was a grandfatherly thing about him that made me like him immediately. “Christian!” the man bellowed with surprise and genuine warmth.
“Hi, Sam.” Christian smiled and pulled the older man into a friendly hug.
“You get taller every time I see you. Nice of you to drop by. Who’s this?” asked Sam, squinting at me with inquisitive eyes.
“This is Alice, a friend of mine. We have some questions, and we were hoping you might be able to help us with some of the answers.”
“I’ll do my best. Come in.” He gestured, and I followed Christian into the house.
The décor had a distinctly nautical motif, filled with antique bric-a-brac and miscellaneous maritime knickknacks. The antique glass cabinet housed ships in bottles, and oil paintings of sea-faring vessels and ocean panoramas decorated the walls. I even spotted some seismic charts in the corner—cluttered without being untidy.
We settled into a pair of comfortable cushioned stools opposite Sam, who took his position in a big leather armchair. He took out a pipe, lit it with a match, and started to smoke.
“We need to know about a little local history,” Christian explained.
“Well, in that case, my boy, you’ve come to the right place. What’s on your mind?”
“We’re looking for information about an ancient curse, the curse of Monterey Bay,” said Christian.
Sam’s eyes grew heavy with nostalgia. “Ah, yes, and what a strange and unfortunate curse that is.”
“Can you tell us about it?”
“Sure. Well, long ago, this whole region was inhabited by the Esselen Indians—a hunter-gatherer tribe who lived peacefully in the hills and valleys surrounding the bay.”
I listened carefully to Sam’s words. I had recently learned of the tribe he mentioned, and back when I lived in the Midwest, we had visited an Indian reservation belonging to the Sioux Indians. I sympathized with their predicament and had even joined a campaign protest, organized by my school, to save Native American land.
“When the first white settlers came to Monterey in the eighteenth century, they quickly colonized the region. A fort was set up for a garrison of soldiers. Among them, a young lieutenant—Charles Drake. A dashing young fellow from Texas with a love of life. He was an expert marksman; I heard he could shoot a jackrabbit at a hundred paces.
“The soldiers tried to make peace with the Esselen and offered gifts to Chief Gray Wolf. A wise old soul but also stubborn and fiercely protective of his people. He had a feisty daughter named White Dove. She had long hair, as dark as a raven’s feathers, and large brown eyes and skin as brown as the winter sun.
“When young Lieutenant Drake first laid eyes on White Dove, he instantly fell in love with her. She was equally dazzled by the white man’s charm. A secret romance ignited between the two of them, and they met on the peninsula of what is now Lovers Point. She brought flowers to Charles, and the two would sit by the bay and watch the seabirds from the shore.
“One day, though, White Dove’s father followed his daughter and caught her holding the lieutenant in a passionate embrace. A terrible fight ensued between the old chief and his daughter. She said some harsh things to her daddy—told him his stubbornness would cause the demise of his people, since he refused to bargain with the white man. Enraged, the chief forbade her to see Charles again.
“Every day, White Dove wept for her lover, and she longed to be with him. She became more heartbroken with each passing day. Charles missed her just as much, and one night he stole into the Esselen camp and took White Dove. He planned to run away with her, so he had hidden a sea kayak in the bay for them to make their escape. Unfortunately for the young lovers, a terrible storm raged, and White Dove drowned. Her body later washed up on shore, along with Charles Drake’s, since he had drowned trying to save the woman who’d stolen his heart.
“The old chief, mourning the loss of his daughter, wept and raged. Gray Wolf cursed the moon and the heavens and prayed to Sedna, god of the sea and the underworld. He asked Sedna to put a curse on the bay.”
I shuddered, caught up in the story. “What kind of curse?” I asked.
“Well, the chief became furious with Drake, so he asked his god to make sure that anyone who drowns in Monterey Bay is destined to stay in the fourth plane. They cannot leave this area until they atone for any harm against others. Although they walk among us and they look like us, they are…different. They may have a heart, but it does not beat. They are ghosts to us.”
“A heart that does not beat?” I repeated. “But how is that possible?”
“They belong to the souls of those who have drowned in Monterey Bay,” Sam continued. “There are tales of a green light along the shore. Some say it is the lantern of White Dove looking for Charles. The sound of the wind along the coast is the Indian woman calling for her lost love.”
“Such a sad story,” I choked out past a lump in my throat. “Poor White Dove.”
“And poor Charles,” Christian said, also touched. “That’s quite a story, Sam. Thanks for sharing it with us.”
“What about the curse, though? Is there any way to break the spell?” I asked.
“Some say the only way would be to demonstrate an act service to humanity—or sacrifice what they love most. Old Gray Wolf was so angry, he demanded his daughter give up her love for Charles Drake.”
“How can these poor drowned souls move on?” I asked. “Being stuck in the fourth plane can’t be fun.”
“Some are afraid to look closely at how they’ve hurt others through their own selfishness and they refuse so are destined to remain there forever, watching friends grow old and loved ones die while they stay the same.”
The thought saddened me deeply. I couldn’t imagine the pain of those stranded souls, being stuck on earth forever and con
demned to watch their loved ones die. “It must be a very lonely existence,” I said. “I feel sorry for them.”
“Me, too,” said Sam as he bowed his head. “May their poor souls eventually find peace.”
The three of us maintained a moment of silence in reverence for those poor souls, interrupted only by the ticking of the hallway clock.
As we sat there, I wondered if I should mention the island. Sam seemed friendly and knowledgeable and not as skeptical as many of the folks in Monterey. I took a deep breath and plunged in. “There’s something else,” I said hesitantly. “When we were all out kayaking a few weeks ago, I-I thought I saw something.” As soon as the words tumbled out, I glanced sideways at Christian, but he nodded in support.
“Well, what did you see?” asked Sam.
“I saw—I saw an island,” I said, drawing out the sentence in a long breath.
“An island?” repeated Sam. “What kind of island?”
“It rose from the sea and had a golden beach with two mountainous peaks. I saw it through the fog, but when I paddled toward it, it disappeared.”
Sam stared at me. “You say it had two peaks?”
“Yes,” I nodded. “Why? Do you know about it?”
Sam shook his head. “No, I didn’t say that. An island in the bay, huh? Now that is mysterious.”
“It sure is,” Christian replied.
They probably thought I’d just hallucinated it. “I was wondering if it might have anything to do with the curse you mentioned,” I persisted.
Sam just looked at me with silence, I sensed he held something back. Finally, he spoke, “No, I’ve never heard of an island linked to the curse.” Then he shifted in his seat and gave me the brush-off, “Well, I think that’s all I have to tell you folks.”
“Thanks for your help, Sam,” Christian replied, getting up.
“Anytime…and don’t stay away so long next time,” Sam said, then took a puff on his pipe.
As we walked away from Sam’s house, a distinctively chilly feeling came over me. I remembered his words: The dead walking among us. How is any of that possible? And if it is, who’s dead, and who’s not? This discovery chilled me like a sharp icicle through my heart.
We rode in silence during the journey back as Christian drove along the darkening, winding coastal road to Pacific Grove. My head turned toward the bay, I watched the seemingly benign waves dance on the water.
Once or twice, Christian glanced over at me. “You okay?” he asked.
I nodded.
“You know something, don’t you?” he said, gently nudging me.
I turned to face him. “What do you mean?”
“When you fell into the bay, did you see something other than the island?”
I contemplated answering then said, “No,” I wasn’t ready to tell Christian yet about Henry, not until I found out the facts for myself.
Christian let it pass and kept his eyes on the road.
“Do you believe what Sam told us?” I asked.
“There are a lot of strange tales,” Christian said, “but yes, I believe there is some truth in it. I don’t believe things are over when we die. I believe that life carries on in another form or state.”
I paused to ponder his idea. I had never been sure what to think about an afterlife, but since my mother had died, I had had some doubts. I wanted to believe she was an angel in heaven, that she had gone on to some peaceful place free from illness and worry. Maybe she is watching out for Dad, Sophie, and me. I wanted to believe this, but I wasn’t sure. In any case, the hope of it gave me a sense of peace and the feeling that one day I might join her.
“Here we are,” said Christian, turning off the engine as he pulled up in front of my house. He glanced across at me, with concern. “Are you alright?”
I shook myself out of my reverie, smiled weakly and nodded. “Yes. Thanks for taking me to see Sam.”
Dad and Sophie were making dinner in the kitchen when I walked in. I smelled popcorn so that was obviously on the menu. Sunday nights our family had a ritual of eating popcorn and settling down in front of the TV for a movie.
“We had an awesome day!” Sophie cooed. “Daddy took me to the aquarium. We saw this jellyfish with the biggest tentacles ever! Then I saw a pair of seahorses that Daddy keeps in a beautiful tank. Did you know they mate for life?”
“Where have you been, honey?” asked Dad, handing me a bowl of popcorn.
I paused. “I went for a drive along the coast with Christian O’Neill.”
“The minister’s son?” Dad said with some surprise, as I hadn’t spent much time with any boys since Mom died. “That’s great. From what I know of him, he’s a nice kid.”
I nodded. Christian was nice, but Henry was the one always on my mind.
“Are you going to join us? We’re watching Mermaids.”
I shook my head. “No. I have some homework I need to do. Algebra tomorrow,” I said, then excused myself to go upstairs with my bowl of popcorn in hand.
More important than algebra, I thought about the ancient curse Sam had spoken about. A heart that does not beat—I couldn’t get those few words out of my mind. If their hearts do not beat, how can they love? And are they even still—human?
Chapter Seven: The Shipwreck
The Monterey High homecoming parade was in two weeks, and the whole school was in a rapturous state of excitement. A homecoming queen and king were to be elected by ballot, and Principal Philopolis had scheduled an assembly at which the results would be announced.
Five finalists vied for the queen’s crown: Heather Palmer, Laura Ellis, Becky Goldman, Eva Laing, and Juanita Sanchez. All had grown up in Monterey County and as beautiful as the light that shimmered on the bay. Dark-haired Juanita originally from Mexico; Becky and Eva grew up in Monterey; Laura came from nearby Moss Landing; and sunny Heather was Pacific Grove born and bred.
“It’s all so predictable,” Emily said with a frustrated sigh. “Why can’t we have a transgender homecoming queen up for nomination? I never thought Orange County would be more progressive than Monterey.”
“Wait. If we had a real queen—as in transgender or drag—what would that make the king?” I quipped.
Emily laughed, then announced with theatrical finality, “Doesn’t matter anyway. Heather’s gonna win.”
“How can you be so sure?” I asked as we took our seats in the assembly hall, just before lunch, next to some rowdy seniors. Heather was certainly very beautiful and popular, but Juanita and Laura had their own fan clubs, especially among some of the older students.
Emily shrugged. “I just have a feeling. Call it my woman’s intuition.” She seemed so certain. I wondered how she knew, but Emily had an acute intuition, so I didn’t doubt her prediction.
All that morning, the ballots had been collected and counted. Now, Mrs. Philopolis walked up to the stand. She searched for her glasses, opened the folded results, and got right to the point. “And this year’s homecoming queen is…” As if the weight of the world rested on the principal’s next words, she paused, then finally blurted out dramatically, “Heather Palmer!”
Heather smiled radiantly and stood up to a tremendous round of applause as she stepped up to the podium to be congratulated by the principal. She looked so gorgeous in her pink cashmere sweater and jeans, with her long, fair mane falling softly around her shoulders, and she moved so gracefully.
I wish I looked like that, I thought to myself, envious as the seniors started chanting Heather’s name and wolf-whistling at her. I knew I would never be the queen of anything, let alone homecoming queen—not that I wanted that kind of attention, anyway. I always shied away from the limelight and preferred to stay in the back.
Heather gave a short speech—a sweet, sincere promise to do her best to represent Monterey High.
“No surprise there,” said Emily, clapping her hands not so enthusiastically. “I guess we’ll have to wait till next year for our transgender queen.” She had never been a big
fan of Heather, something I determined from her distasteful remarks at the boat party.
I watched Heather smiling on the podium, her blond hair shining radiantly under the fluorescent lights, and again that twinge of jealousy. It seemed as if the girl had everything: beauty, adoration, brains—all the things a sixteen-year-old girl craved and more.
Later, in the cafeteria, I sat with an untouched bowl of limp pasta in front of me. I watched Emily across the table crunching a Caesar salad but pushing the croutons to a pile on one side of her plate, using her fork with tremendous concentration.
Finally, she looked up, having noticed my inquisitive stare. “What?” she said, wiping the corners of her mouth. “Do I have dressing on my chin or something?”
“How did you know Heather would win?” I asked.
“It’s really just simple arithmetic. One girl plus all the popularity in the school equals homecoming queen,” she explained. She took another bite of her salad, crunching it noisily. “Besides, the kids at this school aren’t progressive enough to elect anyone else.”
“I think there’s more to it than that,” I said. “You seem to have an uncanny way of knowing things, predicting what’s gonna happen. It’s like you have this innate ability or something.”
Emily continued devouring a piece of iceberg lettuce, her green eyes as glassy as a cat’s. “What are you saying?”
“Nothing. I’m just asking if there’s anything I should know,” I said. “I mean, we’re friends, aren’t we? And friends tell each other stuff.”
“Oh yeah? Are you keeping any secrets from me then, Ali?” Emily countered, her eyes flashing as she studied me intently.
The question silenced me for a moment. I hadn’t told her about Henry or the trip to see Sam. I let the matter drop, but I still wondered. “No, I guess not.”
I hadn’t told Emily about Henry because I needed more information about him before I went public with it. Too many unanswered questions, and our meeting with Sam only opened a new can of worms. I decided to seek answers of my own after school, and I knew just where to start.
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