“You should sit,” Miss Amelia said, the smile still in place.
Sheldon did; he sat down hard on the ground and started to sob.
“Stay true to your word and untie me now,” he heard Miss Amelia say.
But he broke his word, too overcome to move.
✽ ✽ ✽
The island was quiet, still. But its silence did nothing to set Lemon at ease. Too many thoughts were jumbled around in her head. She longed for the burr of Sheldon’s lawnmower or the rapid wing beats of a cormorant overhead. She strained to listen for birds chirping and voices punctuated with laughter, anything to take her mind off the current situation. Merritt was out of control and it didn’t appear as if he could be stopped. Worse yet, Lemon had no idea when Shepherd would return—if, in fact, he would return—and little confidence that Shepherd could actually reverse Merritt’s course even if he did come back. Only one thing was certain: she wanted no part of this place if Merritt held power over it, and all indications were that he would. It was clear to her that she had to leave, sooner now than later.
The problem was opportunity, or lack thereof. Even now as she clomped back toward the tents she could hear Pleasant skulking behind her. Clearly, he’d been assigned to keep an eye on her, so to escape she would have to somehow divert his attention. She’d also need to get Merritt away from his sentry post at the beach. Candace had attempted to flee, only to be caught just as she probably relaxed, believing the mainland offered her enough safe distance from Merritt. Sheila had tried to leave the island as well and came to the same sad end. Lemon had heard someone say once that the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. What had she learned from her friends’ failed attempts to flee the island?
She pushed aside a tree branch and slapped a mosquito from her arm. Kept trudging forward. Kept thinking. Pleasant fast on her heels. Something skittered from a bush off to her right, startling her. Whereas she’d once loved the island and the tranquility it provided, she now found herself on edge more often than not. The slightest movement caused her skin to prickle. The insects she’d at one time tolerated were now unbearable. Thirsty mosquitoes everywhere. Angry biting flies. She imagined small, rabid animals scurrying from every bush, their sharp teeth dripping with long strings of saliva. It was definitely time for her to go.
She moved out of the stand of trees, an angelic sound pulling her toward Mosley’s tent. He looked up from his seated position just outside it and frowned as she approached. Haywood was by his side. He scooted over and patted an empty spot in the grass for Lemon to take.
“I forgot what a beautiful singing voice you have,” she said to Mosley. It was difficult for her to imagine him molesting a child.
He nodded, smiled sadly. “More Alessandro Corbelli than Moreschi. An idea I always resisted. I’ve always thought the castrato to be such a beautiful sound.”
“If you were trying to lose me,” Lemon said, “congrats.”
Haywood chuckled. Mosley said, “You talked to Merritt?”
“I find that I desperately want a shower now,” she replied. “So, yes.”
“And?”
She sighed and plopped down, taking the offered spot between the two men. “I’m ramping up my plans to leave here. The timetable has definitely shortened. He’s worse than Genghis Khan.”
“You’re usually not one for hyperbole,” Mosley said.
Lemon frowned. “I don’t consider it an exaggeration.”
Mosley cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking…”
“That’s always a good thing,” Lemon said, smiling.
“Candace, Sheila…what is the common denominator between them?”
Her smile faded. “I don’t know where you’re going with this. How about you tell me?”
“Malcontents,” he said. “Firebrands, troublemakers, dissidents.”
“You’ve mastered the thesaurus,” Lemon said coldly.
“Those of us who appreciate the life we have here tend to stay clear of trouble.”
“You can’t be serious?”
“He’s very serious,” Haywood piped in. “The other world offers us no promises but one—a loss of the freedom we all hold dear.”
“We could avoid that,” she said weakly.
“What?” Mosley said. “A life on the run? Which one are you?”
“What?”
“Thelma,” he said, “or Louise?”
It all came back in a flood, Lemon’s belief that she was better than these people, all of them. She fixed Mosley in the sights of a scornful glare. “You go ahead and stay here then. A whole host of young boys looking to learn Verdi’s Nabucco can save their parents a mountain of therapy costs.”
Mosley’s eyes watered. “Does it make you proud to further wound me by using something I told you during one of my darkest hours?”
“It does, actually.”
Haywood said, “I’m not certain Merritt is the island’s biggest cancer. Something else Candace and Sheila had in common? They were friends with you.”
Now Lemon fixed her glare on Haywood. “I don’t know that I can stomach hoity-toity from a child pornographer right now. You’re zoomed in on a little girl’s vagina, I don’t care how much you play with color, you aren’t Storaro.”
“I see you’re privy to information I’d believed was held in confidence,” he replied, sitting taller, regal in his bearing. “All the more reason for me to feel good about my shifting alliances. Told you, Mosley.”
“You did,” Mosley replied, nodding.
“You are two of a kind,” Lemon sneered. “So happy you were able to find one another.”
Mosley opened his mouth to respond, but something sounded and stole his words. A crackling that seemed to come from his pocket.
“Is that a walkie-talkie?” Lemon asked, frowning.
“Umm…”
It crackled again.
“It is,” she said. “What’s going on, Mosley? Merritt has you on a leash now?”
“He thought it was a good idea if we could stay in touch with one another even at a distance.”
“When did this happen?”
“They were distributed to us just a while ago. Considering what has happened with Miss Amelia and Sheldon, I believe Merritt is right on this one.”
“She make it back yet?” a voice called from Mosley’s pocket. He fumbled to pull out the walkie-talkie and silence it.
“Your conquering ruler beckons,” Lemon said.
Mosley said nothing.
“Was he talking about me?” she asked.
“I…umm…”
“I don’t believe this,” she said, and stood. “When we talked earlier you were totally against what Merritt’s doing. But now you’ve completely thrown in with him. How is it possible that you’ve had a change of heart this drastic, this fast? What did it take for him to flip you? He promise to ship in a bunch of young boys you could help with their, ahem, arias?”
“Despite what you might think of yourself,” Mosley said, “you’re an ugly woman.”
“I’m shattered to hear that. Especially coming from a humpback whale like you,” Lemon said.
“Now, there’s no need to be this ugly,” Haywood cut in.
She turned and looked at him. “What’s your excuse then?”
Haywood’s eyes narrowed. “It’s inevitable, honey. No point in fighting the tide.”
“Don’t call me honey,” Lemon barked.
“Fine, honey,” Haywood said. “But Merritt is taking over, whether you like it or not. I don’t agree with everything he’s done, but…he has some good ideas, too.”
“Are you still stuck on the stupid air conditioning?”
Haywood jutted out his jaw. “I don’t think you quite understand how uncomfortable this heat makes me. It’s oppressive.”
“You want oppressive? Throw in with Merritt like you’re doing. You’ll learn how oppressive things can be.”
“Any sid
e other than Merritt’s is a losing side,” Mosley said. “I can’t deny that any longer. Haywood, here, talked some sense into me. This is about self-preservation for me now. I need this island. I wouldn’t cope very well with prison. I’m not built for hard time.”
Lemon snickered. “All of that cushion for the pushing? I respectfully disagree.”
“I don’t like this side of you,” Mosley said.
“Whatever,” she said, waving him off.
“You hate us so much,” Haywood said, “why don’t you take leave and go finish what you started with your pale friend last night.”
Lemon’s mouth opened but no words would come.
“People in glass houses,” Haywood said, smiling.
Mosley said, “Please, be gentle with her.”
Lemon wheeled to face him, her jaw jutted out, an angry growl in her voice. “What are you yapping about now, Fudge Boy?”
It was much too late once she turned to look over her shoulder. She’d been so preoccupied with the conversation, she hadn’t heard Pleasant move up close behind her.
Despite Mosley’s admonition, he wasn’t gentle.
✽ ✽ ✽
He lay face down on the cot, binds at his wrists and ankles, a surprisingly strong breeze rattling the repaired front door. He should have been in better spirits. After all, they hadn’t come for him today, either to force him to work or to cuff his back with a knotty tree limb. And with the reprieve he’d noticed a change in how his body felt—the slow process of healing was beginning. Best of all, Deborah had finally left him alone with his thoughts and all he’d had to give up were two wrists and two ankles. But instead of relief—perhaps because of the startling pitch black of the room—he felt unsteady, ill at ease, as though some seismic shift was on the horizon.
Maybe it was simply a reaction to what Deborah had told him. He was chilled by the possibility that Lemon had killed her child. The larger part of him wanted to shake aside the notion, chalk it up as Deborah’s “head game,” but, and it pained Aiden to acknowledge it, he knew that Deborah’s accusation was true. She’d had a cocksure smirk on her face as she described a scene of Lemon hovering over her daughter, a soft pillow in hand.
Smothered the likkle thing.
Aiden squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would somehow chase Deborah’s voice from his head. Of course, it didn’t. He had no doubt that her voice and words would vibrate like a tuning fork on his consciousness for quite a long time. Probably as long as he managed to survive here on the island. Lemon had been his last hope, a well of strength he could pull from. Her fall was his fall.
Smothered the likkle thing.
He opened his eyes, tried to crane his neck to look around. When that didn’t work he attempted to flex his hands and feet to see how thorough Deborah had been in tying the knots. He discovered immediately that she was nearly as competent as Sheldon in that regard. There was not even a centimeter of give in the ties. He sighed and buried his nose in the blanket beneath him. Lemon’s scent was trapped in the material; ironically, something citrus. It sent an undeniable charge through him. There had to be a good explanation, he decided, for what Lemon had done. He’d looked into her eyes, haunted yes, and found them to be warm, loving, and compassionate. Eyes didn’t lie. With that in mind, he resolved to withhold judgment until he had an opportunity to speak with Lemon about what had transpired with her child. But what if Merritt had done something more permanent to her, delivered Lemon a fate far worse than a black eye and scratches on the face? Deborah had intimated as much. The thought was like a cramp in Aiden’s legs; it paralyzed him. He’d lost Saina. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing Lemon, too.
The front door puckered open as he contemplated life here without her. During his short time on the island his senses had become keener, and he could pick up the definite marker of Deborah’s movements in the soft steps shuffling across the room. Her footfalls were jittery, though; something had her on edge as well. Apparently Aiden wasn’t the only one who felt a murky disquiet at the heart of this night.
Deborah reached him and leaned over the cot. He turned toward her, as far as his neck would allow, and took in the scene. She held a torch, and in its light he could see that her eyes were wide with terror and that the tremors rippling through her body were real and not the illusory trick of the torch flame.
She also had a knife clenched between her teeth and a white streak trailing down her cheeks from each eye. She’d been crying, Aiden realized. His scrutiny made new tears well in her eyes at once and fall with a plop. Big, fat, swollen tears. But Deborah hadn’t struck him as particularly fragile, a fact which made him swallow now. What could have her frightened to this degree?
She reached up for the knife, her hands shaking terribly. Aiden heard someone say, “Easy,” a directive that made Deborah slow considerably. It was a man’s voice. Right there in the room with them. Sounded as though it had come from directly behind Deborah.
Aiden’s heartbeat ticked like an old car engine cooling. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“I’m…I’m letting you free,” Deborah told him, her voice shaking as much as her hands.
“Who’s that with you?”
She shook her head and didn’t respond. The knife glinted in the flame as she eased it under the coil of rope at Aiden’s wrists. He took in a breath and held it as Deborah sawed through the thick binds. “Don’t make a mistake and cut him,” the mysterious voice said. Deborah sawed the rope more deliberately. After a few beats, the rent fragments of rope fell away like dead snakes. Aiden moved his wrists in a circular motion, flexed his fingers, worked circulation back into his hands.
“Now,” the voice said, “take care of his feet.”
Aiden could feel Deborah slowly sawing at the rope around his ankles. Once it fell away, the voice said, “Place the knife back between your teeth where I can see it. Help him sit up.”
Deborah’s skin was slick and her sweat musty. Her breasts mushed against Aiden’s chest as she wrapped her arms around him. The knife clenched between her teeth brushing against his face as she helped him sit up. He could’ve managed for himself, but his mind was whirling, all of that brain activity negating any messages sent to his limbs.
“I’m going to tell you how to find the beach and get off the island,” the voice said, and it took a moment for Aiden to realize these words were meant for him.
“Off the island?” he stammered in reply.
“We have three boats moored at the beach,” the voice went on. “A big skiff and two fiberglass johnboats. Pick whichever one you like. I think the johnboats are easiest to handle, but the ride is choppy. Your stomach might not be able to handle it. The skiff is more powerful and therefore tougher to handle.”
Aiden whispered, “This is serious? You’re actually letting me go?”
“It’s dark, and the island can be tricky, but if you listen closely to what I tell you, you’ll manage just fine.”
The figure emerged, lit by a second torch—a face to match with the voice. Aiden blinked to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.
Sheldon smiled. “Go ahead and pinch yourself. You’re not dreaming.”
“You…”
Sheldon nodded. “Yes. But I don’t have time to explain. I want you out of here before the shit hits the fan. None of what is about to happen has to do with you.”
“Lemon?” Aiden heard himself ask.
“I wouldn’t worry about her at this point.”
Aiden shook his head. “I need to know that she’s okay.”
“Don’t you want to get off this island? We don’t have time for this.”
“I need to know,” Aiden repeated.
Sheldon sighed. “I haven’t seen her. That’s the truth.”
“She was caring for me. And then we had a misunderstanding and she was just…gone. I don’t know what happened to her. Deborah took her place.”
“That’s right, I did,” Deborah cut in. “Now this man’
s tryin’ to help you. Quit worryin’ ‘bout that bitch. She ain’t worth it.”
“She treated me kindly,” Aiden insisted.
He could see Sheldon’s eyes soften under the glow of the torch. Sheldon said, “If they haven’t harmed her already, I’ll make sure that they don’t. That’s all I can offer you right now.”
Aiden nodded and bit his lip.
Sheldon returned to the business at hand. “You have to get through the salt marsh, then a barrier flat, and a dune ridge before you reach the beach. This island is large and confusing to most. But I’ve studied it more closely than anyone. I can simplify it for you.”
Aiden’s chest rose and fell, his breaths loud and laborious.
“You have to listen carefully to me now, Aiden.”
Tears rolled down Aiden’s cheeks.
“You really need to listen to me now.” Sheldon’s large hand engulfed Aiden’s shoulder.
“I’m listening,” Aiden said.
Deborah took that moment to dart across the room and out the door into the black night. Sheldon made a move to give chase, then stopped and turned back. “She’ll go right to the others for help. We don’t have much time. This is what you do…”
Aiden listened carefully as Sheldon outlined the escape route. On one hand, Aiden felt unspeakable joy at the thought of freedom. On the other hand, he felt an abiding sorrow because Lemon wouldn’t be joining him.
“Repeat it back to me,” Sheldon said once he’d finished.
Aiden repeated it all, practically word for word.
“Good. And stick to my directions once you get in one of the boats and on the water, too. The Pamlico is just as tricky as the island. You don’t want to lose your bearings out there either. Now go. Remember to stay in the shadows. The others will be focused on dealing with me.”
“What are you going to do?” Aiden asked.
“Lovely night for a bonfire,” Sheldon replied, the hint of a smile on his face.
Aiden swallowed.
“Look back once you’ve set sail,” Sheldon said. “Take pleasure in seeing the island light up the sky. Call it sweet revenge for what we’ve done to you.”
Scared of the Dark Page 20