Beneath the Marigolds

by Emily C. Whitson

  He shakes his head.

  “Shit. Okay, Teddy, let’s take your shirt off. Maybe you’re just getting too hot.”

  I reach for his top, now completely drenched, and pull upward. Teddy sways gently.

  “Teddy, I need you to lift your arms up, okay? Henry, can you help me?”

  Henry comes toward us, but he seems unconcerned. He yanks Teddy’s arms above his head, and I’m able to get the clothing off. Teddy still looks faint. His eyes droop.

  “Why don’t you lie down? On your back.”

  He slumps onto the jungle floor, leaves crunching and twigs snapping beneath him. I lift his legs and place them on the nearest log.

  “Henry, do you have any food with you?”

  “No, but there’s some at the house. We only have a half mile left.”

  “Why don’t you go get some—something sugary—and bring it back to us? Water, too.”

  “Okay,” he huffs.

  I turn my attention back to Teddy. He’s not sweating quite as much, and some color has returned to his cheeks. I wipe some of the perspiration from his forehead with a towel I brought.

  “I’m okay,” he says. “Just a little hungover.”

  “How much did you drink last night?”

  “Just two or three scotches.” I give him a skeptical look. “I swear. That’s all I remember. I don’t know what happens to me here. It’s like . . . it’s like . . . ah, forget it.”

  “It’s like what?” My curiosity is piqued.

  “It makes me sound crazy.”

  “Just tell me.”

  “It’s like . . .” He blinks rapidly. “It’s like they’re slipping me something.”

  “Slipping you something? Like drugs?”

  Eyes wide, he nods.

  38

  Ann

  An hour later, we’re touring the crops on the far end of the island on a tractor. The meticulous organization is a drastic departure from the wild nature of the jungle: rows of sugarcane, sweet potatoes, yams, and taro line the land as far as the eye can see. As we travel farther away from the jungle and toward the sea, the second mansion on the island becomes visible. It’s just a speck at first, but slowly, gradually, it transforms into a gargantuan development, towering over the crops like a larger-than-life minister preaching to a congregation. Various fruit trees—orange, banana, mango, papaya—stand sentinel to the left of the mansion. On the right, a barn for the livestock.

  The mansion is similar in design to the participants’ mansion: Spanish-style roof tiles, stuccoed walls, earth tones. The only difference is the lack of glass. There are no windows, there is no transparency, and the front door is just one massive piece of wood.

  “So, as I’ve mentioned,” Henry yells over the roar of the tractor engine, his mess of dirt-brown hair flapping in the wind, “we try to raise as much food as we can on the island because it’s expensive to ship things.”

  As Henry continues to explain farming to us in a lazy, annoyed manner, I study Teddy. He seems better now. More color in his face, less sweating. But he appears completely spent—his shoulders are hunched, his eyes droop.

  I’ve been chewing on his admission that he thinks he might be drugged, but I can’t make sense of it. If Christina were slipping him something, why would she drug only him? Was it some form of cruel entertainment? And if Teddy had these thoughts, why would he come back to the retreat a second time? I posited these questions to Teddy back in the jungle, but he didn’t offer any helpful insight. He just kept shaking his head, saying, “I don’t know. I don’t know.” And eventually, with a twinge of fear: “Just forget it. I don’t know why I said that.”

  Nevertheless, I decide it would be a good idea to watch Teddy’s drinking tonight. I should be more careful about what I ingest too. Instead of getting water from the bartender or the cook, I’ll fill my glass with tap water.

  As we near the barn, the smell of manure and rotten eggs floods my nostrils. It’s hard to breathe. When Henry turns off the tractor and gestures for us to get down, the lack of wind makes the aroma even more overwhelming. Teddy bends over, hands on knees.

  “Oh my God, it smells like shit,” he says. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

  “Fine.” Henry sighs. He points to the crops adjacent to the housing. “Just walk that way, and we’ll find you after I give Ann the tour.”

  I want to join Teddy, but I need to see what’s inside that barn. I need to have a good layout of the entire island so I can discover potential hiding places. Whether it’s Christina or Reese or someone else who’s doing the hiding, I have yet to determine.

  Inside the barn, the window slits provide only spotlights of visibility. It’s dark, dank. Eerie. Flies are everywhere. The large fans on the front and back entrance creak and moan with every cycle.

  “I’m not sure why you wanted to see this,” Henry says as he leads me down the center aisle, flanked by stalls of cows on each side. “It’s just a bunch of stupid animals that get slaughtered after they’re done milking.”

  I cringe at his words.

  Most of the cows are unbothered by our presence, but one acts as if she’s waiting for me. She’s all white—no spots like the others—and she’s smaller. Her head sticks out of her cage, her big brown eyes following me as I trail behind Henry. I stop when I reach her. Tags pierce her ears. Fleas swarm her face, her mouth, her eyes. She seems so sad, so alone, and I have the strongest urge to open her cage and release her.

  “What are you doing?” Henry asks when he realizes I’m not behind him.

  “Just getting a closer look.”

  The cow’s eyes don’t leave me. Despite the smell and the fleas, I rub the tuft of hair on the top of her head. It’s softer than I thought. Her eyes close, and her tail swings from left to right.

  “Well, we need to keep moving. We’re already behind because of Teddy.”

  I do as he says, but my eyes stay on the white cow as we exit the barn.

  Outside, dozens of pigs and chickens roam small plots of land separated by pens. The chickens are loud—clucking, flapping, screaming. Their beady eyes dart every which way. They look deranged.

  “And here are the pigs and chickens.” Henry says. “Now let’s get going.”

  “Wait, that’s it?” I analyze the small barn and its surroundings, disappointed. There’s not nearly enough space to hide something. Or someone.

  “Yep. Now come on. Teddy’s probably passed out in the field right now.”

  “What about the house? Can we see what’s inside there?”

  “Absolutely not. That’s for the crew. It’s off limits.”

  I scan the house as I follow Henry, searching for answers. I need to get inside.

  Teddy isn’t visible when we return. We call his name, but there’s no answer.

  “Goddamnit,” Henry mutters, stomping his good foot. “I don’t have time for this. You keep looking for him. I need to go pull the car around and get you back to the mansion.”

  “Okay, will do.” I peer at the sky and offer a tacit thank-you. I haven’t had much time alone with Teddy, and I still need to ask him about Reese.

  I run down the aisle between the rows of sugarcane, yelling Teddy’s name. Eventually he calls back.

  “Over here.”

  I hurry toward his voice, taking a shortcut through the sugarcane. The grass is tall—I’d guess between ten and thirteen feet—and I can’t see more than an arm’s reach in front of me. The plants whip my face, my limbs, my torso. But I keep running, running, running, until I collide with Teddy, knocking us both to the ground. He laughs, brushes the dirt off himself, and helps me stand. It’s the most energy I’ve seen from him all day.

  “Where were you?” I ask as I take his hand. “Henry is not pleased.”

  He grins. “I have to show you something. This way.”

  He makes his way back through the sugarcane, and I follow. Now’s my chance.

  “Hey Teddy,” I call as I whack the grass from my face.
<
br />   “Yeah?”

  “Did you know Reese Marigold when you were here last time?”

  He continues to elbow his way through the plants, breaking the stalks at the root and squashing the ground beneath. This was stupid. I should have confronted him when I could see his facial expressions.

  “I did, yeah,” he says eventually.

  “How did she seem when she was here? Was she happy?”

  “Uh, she wasn’t particularly happy when I was here. But I left early, so things could have changed after I was gone.”

  “Why wasn’t she happy?”

  “Well, this guy she was seeing, Lamb, had hit her, so she had a pretty nasty black eye.”

  My chest tightens. So it is true: Lamb hit Reese.

  “That’s terrible. Surely someone did something about it?” Please, God, tell me someone beat him senseless, kicked him off the island, did something after that.

  “Well, not really. It was an accident. Lamb was in a fight with some ex-boyfriend of Reese’s, she tried to pull him off, and she caught an elbow in the eye.”

  “Wait. Ex-boyfriend? You mean like an ex-boyfriend on the retreat? Someone else she was seeing?”

  “No, no. An ex-boyfriend from before.”

  I stop. The stalk of a sugarcane snaps against my cheek, its leaves whispering in my ears.

  “What was this ex-boyfriend’s name, Teddy? Do you remember?”

  He turns to face me, his lips contorted.

  “Teddy, it’s very important that you remember his name.”

  “I—I can’t remember exactly.” He scratches his head. “Oh—it was a car’s name. Italian. Lamborghini or Maserati or something.”

  “Was it Ferrari? Luca Ferrari?”

  “That’s it,” he exclaims. He takes my hand. My legs move, but I can’t feel them. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

  “Wait, Teddy. What happened to Luca? Was he a participant here?”

  “Uh, no. He was part of the crew. A cook, I think.”

  “Did he remain on the island after the fight?” My heart is jackhammering inside my rib cage as I try to keep up with Teddy, my sweaty palm loosening from his grip. A cut piece of stalk catches my forearm, slicing the skin open and drawing blood.

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he stayed. Oh, here we are.”

  We emerge out of the sugarcane into an open field. Before us are hundreds of marigolds—red, orange, yellow. They aren’t separated into rows or aisles like the crops. They are wild, unruly. The sight is beautiful. Breathtaking. I want to wade into the foliage and collapse.

  Teddy breaks off an orange blossom and hands it to me.

  “For you, my lady.”

  I take it, studying the red thumbprint on the stem. I notice Teddy’s thumb is bleeding. A drop of blood escapes his skin and falls to the ground, staining the soil.

  39

  Reese

  Rhea wasn’t super-pleased at the thought that just maybe, just maybe, she didn’t need some guy to make her happy. Her eyes darkened.

  “I think you’re wrong,” she said.

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  I was not in the right mindset to ponder the meaning of life. I wanted to get out of the conversation, but I wasn’t sure how. As if Christina could read my mind, she entered the patio, four handlers in tow, clinking a champagne glass with a knife.

  “Everyone, can I have a moment?”

  The area fell silent. Christina’s facial features were downturned, and her eyes were dull.

  “I just want to make a quick announcement before tonight’s cocktail party. It saddens me to say Teddy is recusing himself from the rest of the retreat. Some personal matters have come up, and he needs to attend to them right away. He needs to leave in a hurry, so he wanted me to tell you all good-bye, and good luck.”

  I looked around at the participants to gauge their reaction. Despite the news, there was a palpable excitement in the air. When Christina turned to leave, an unreadable expression on her face, I turned to Rhea. She wasn’t immune to the schadenfreude.

  “What do you think that means?” she said with wide eyes.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Would you excuse me? I’m going to see if I can find him.”

  “Okay, tell me what you find,” she yelled after me.

  I grabbed a towel from the stack kept near the patio doors. I dried myself off as best as I could, but I was still too wet to enter the house. I made a move anyway.

  I wasn’t sure exactly what I was going to say if I found Teddy, but I knew I had to see him. A part of me thought he might be trying to get clean—I found him passed out, again, by the pool at eleven that morning. Three hours later, he was positively sloshed, barely able to form words. If he was leaving to get help, I wanted to give him my number—just in case he ever needed to talk to someone—and perhaps a few words of encouragement.

  I made my way upstairs. My dress was still wet, dripping onto the hardwood with each step. I knew Teddy was on the second floor somewhere, so I checked each door until I found him. He was in front of an overflowing suitcase.

  “Teddy?”

  He jumped at my voice. When he saw me, he backed up until he was touching his belongings. He blocked the bag with his hands. He seemed completely with it. How had he sobered up that fast?

  “You must be feeling better,” I said.

  “I do, yes. I got some food and some water.” His voice was steady. No slur.

  “So I hear you’re leaving us?”

  “Yeah. Hate to leave in a hurry, but it’s something of an emergency.”

  “I hope everything is okay,” I prod.

  “Oh yeah, just some family stuff.”

  “I see. Well, if you ever need someone to talk to, connect with me on Facebook or something. I’d love to keep in touch.”

  “Sure, will do.”

  He seemed to want me to leave, so I took the hint. I was about to head to my room, get out of those wet clothes, when something on top of his bed, next to his suitcase, caught my eye.

  It looked like a check. Difficult to see from a distance, so it was hard to be certain.

  He followed my gaze and quickly stuffed the item in his pocket.

  “Is that all?” he asked. He looked frenzied, almost frightened, so I lowered my head and left.

  40

  Ann

  My hands are trembling. I clench and unclench the leather seats of the SUV as we head back to the mansion. Teddy is saying something, but it’s distant. I can’t hear him over the pounding in my ears. I can’t believe Luca has been on the island this entire time, right under my nose.

  “Ann.” Teddy touches my forearm. “We’re here. I was saying I had a great time with you today.”

  “Oh.” I notice the car has stopped in front of the mansion and Henry is exiting the vehicle. My eyes follow him as he goes to the trunk to retrieve some of the items we took on our hike. “Yeah, same here.”

  “Do you want to take a swim before dinner?” Teddy pleads with raised eyebrows.

  “You go on ahead. I’m going to grab some coffee.”

  “Suit yourself.” He looks dejected, but he leaves it alone.

  Inside, the house is quiet. When I peer out through the glass doors to the patio, I notice Christina is down on the beach talking to three of her handlers. They’re having a meeting of some sort. Everyone seems serious.

  Now’s my chance.

  I hurry to the kitchen. Nick is sitting at the marble island, drinking water and staring off into space. Why is he always . . . just . . . around?

  “Well look who it is.” He beams. “How was your date?”

  “Good, good. Do you know where the cooks hang out when they’re not here?”

  “Uh, I assume back there.” He points to a closed door next to the participants’ entrance. It blends in smoothly with the wall—it’s completely white, even the handle. If you weren’t looking closely, you’d miss it.

  41

  Ann

  I throw open the d
oor to the back kitchen. It slams against the wall, and the thud reverberates throughout the room like a wrecking ball.

  Luca is the only one in the room. He’s in an apron, cleaning the stovetop. When he sees me, he lowers his head, closes his eyes, and mumbles “shit” under his breath. I stride toward him and use the momentum to push him against the refrigerator. His smell—sharp cheddar and coffee—fills my nostrils. I grab fistfuls of his shirt and shake him.

  “What did you do to her?” I yell.

  “Nothing, I swear.”

  “Whoa, whoa,” Nick says. His eyes are frantic. He pulls me off of Luca and gets between us. “What is going on? How do you know this guy?”

  “He’s Reese’s shitty ex-boyfriend. Reese was granted an order of protection after Luca attacked her at one of her performances. After he smashed her head into a wall, he yanked her by the hair and dragged her across the floor.”

  “Is this true?” Nick asks Luca.

  “Yes, yes, it’s true.” Luca looks sheepish, but I’m not buying it. “I made a horrible, horrible mistake. But it was seven years ago, and I’ve apologized about a hundred times.”

  “Sorry, buddy,” I say. “That’s not how it works. You don’t get to act like a crazy person, apologize, and then go back to normal like nothing happened.”

  “Speak for yourself,” he exclaims as I continue to rail against Nick, my arms flailing in every direction. Nick grips both my arms firmly and holds them at my sides.

  “Just calm down,” Nick says. “Let’s talk this out.”

  “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down,” I scream.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Nick coos. “Bad choice of words. Let’s just hear what he has to say before hitting him. We’ll get more information that way.”

  “Hey, what the fu—” Luca asks just as Nick turns to him, grips his neck, and slams his head into the refrigerator. Luca’s eyes roll back into his head, and for a second I’m afraid he’s really hurt. “And you’re going to stay here and answer her questions, okay?”