by Jen Blood
“It’s okay,” I said. “Don’t worry about it right now, all right? Just relax. Get some sleep. We’ll be right here when you wake up.”
◊◊◊◊◊
“Did you find out anything else?” Diggs asked the second I closed the door behind me. He’d been lurking in the hallway, which had become an unfortunate habit of his.
“Jesus, Diggs. Wear a bell, would you?”
“Sorry.” He didn’t look sorry at all.
“Yeah, right,” I said. “But… No, nothing much. He went to Nicaragua apparently. Did you know his wife was pregnant when they killed her? Seven months along.”
Diggs’ brow furrowed. “Christ,” he said.
“We have to stop them,” I said. “It’s like they have a meeting every year to figure out how they can be a little more evil than they were the year before. The horror stories never end.”
“I don’t know how Juarez held it together this long. I mean, you’re a pain in the ass, but if something happened to you—”
“It won’t,” I said. I looked him square in the eye. “Don’t even start thinking that way. If we start worrying about all we have to lose, we’ll never do this. We have to stay focused.”
“Trust me, I’m doing my damnedest. It isn’t easy, though. Did he say anything else?”
“No,” I said. “No big revelations yet.”
We went downstairs. Cameron and the rest of the gang were still in the meeting room. I glanced at the wall clock and realized half the day had passed. It was just past three o’clock.
“Is there somewhere we could talk privately?” Cameron asked before we’d had time to get settled. I glanced at Diggs. He nodded readily.
“After we’re done,” Cameron said, directing the statement at Carl and Monty, “I’d like to go over whatever security you have in place for the island. We should beef that up as quickly as possible, just in case.”
“That brings up an excellent point, actually,” I said. Jamie was seated at the table with Carl and Monty. She looked at me like she knew exactly what was coming. “I thought you were headed up north with the rest of your crew.”
“I’ll join them soon,” she said. “I didn’t expect to find Jack out there this morning—I just want to make sure he’s all right. I’ll leave tomorrow.”
“What about the storm?” I said.
“It’s not coming in until afternoon—I’ll be fine. Trust me, I’ve driven in worse.”
I didn’t argue, mostly because Jamie didn’t seem like the kind of person who responded well to arguments. She nodded toward the other room.
“The kitchen’s empty, if you want to talk in there.” A dismissal if ever I’d heard one. Maybe I still technically owned the island, but she was getting pretty damned comfortable running the place.
Einstein preceded us into the kitchen and headed straight for the fridge. He sat down expectantly and looked at me. Then at the fridge. Then at me. Subtle.
On the top shelf were stacks of glass containers, neatly labeled. Chicken liver. Peanut butter carob. Banana blueberry. Duck hearts. Presumably, treats for the dogs—though the banana blueberry didn’t look bad. I took out a couple of heart-shaped cookies and gave them to Einstein, while Diggs and Cameron settled at a small table by the window. Outside, it was already getting dark. The temperature had dropped today, and the winds were already picking up.
I sat beside Diggs, facing off against Cameron. “Okay. So, what’s with the urgency? I mean, apart from the obvious?”
“Did Jack say what he’s remembering?” Cameron said. If possible, he looked more intense now than he had since he’d found me in the woods.
“No,” I said. “We didn’t talk much about it.”
“So he said nothing about me?”
“No,” I lied, thinking of Jack’s warning. “Why should he?”
I saw a trace of very uncharacteristic uncertainty.
“Cameron—” Diggs started, when Cameron still didn’t speak.
“Jack and I have some…history,” he finally said. “Before he was taken from J.—before his memory was wiped and he was placed with the nuns in Miami.”
“You knew him as a kid? How?”
He shifted to look out the window when he spoke again, avoiding both Diggs and me. “I was the one who wiped his memory. I was the one who took him from the project in the first place.”
Chapter Thirteen
Jack had heard it said that people only dreamed in black and white, but he’d never found that to be true. His dreams were always rich in color—tropical jungles in vivid shades of green, vibrant splashes of yellows and reds. The jungle he saw now was familiar; he visited it often in his sleep. When he awoke, however, he could never remember how he knew the place.
Above his head, monkeys scream. Swing from branch to branch. Colorful birds screech at him. Watch your step, Jackie. Dad’s watching, a voice cautions. He looks up. He is holding someone’s hand—a woman’s. He can’t see her face, the sun blinding him.
They continue to walk. He wants to stop; he is tired. Hungry. The jungle gets darker and darker.
“Where are we going?” he asks the woman.
“They’re asking for us. Everyone’s waiting, Jackie. They’re waiting for us.”
She is crying. He knows the woman—her hand holds comfort, soothes him. He doesn’t want her to cry.
“It’s all right,” he says. She kneels in front of him. There are other people now, murmuring nearby. Crying. A man’s voice, shouting.
Who wants to go with their child has a right to go with their child. I think it’s humane. I want to go—I want to see you go, though. They can take me and do what they want—whatever they want to do. I want to see you go. I don’t want to see you go through this hell no more. No more.
“Don’t cry, mama,” Jack says.
“I’m sorry,” she says to him. “I can’t let them take you. I won’t let them steal you. Dad will lead the way. He always has.”
Jack looks up. Two men stand by the trees. He can’t see their faces. They have guns—big guns. And military clothes, green that blend with the jungle around them.
“We need to go,” one man says. The woman sobs. She stands, and picks Jack up in her arms. They lead the way up a trail while monkeys scream overhead.
It’s never been done before, you say. It’s been done by every tribe in history. Every tribe facing annihilation. All the Indians of the Amazon are doing it right now. They refuse to bring any babies into the world. They kill every child that comes into the world. Because they don’t want to live in this kind of a world.
The voice is louder now. It strikes terror in Jack’s heart, and he struggles in his mother’s arms. “Go back, mama. I want to go back. Not there. I don’t want to go there.”
She holds him tighter, her tears warm on his skin. She keeps moving, taking them closer. Something terrible is about to happen. Jack can feel it—his chest full to bursting, the air around crushing him. His mother, crushing him. He tries to get away. She won’t move.
“Ssh—Jack. You’re okay. It’s a dream, Jack. Just a dream.”
He woke in a cold sweat, the sheets drenched. His body rung out, heart racing. It was dark in the room, nothing but a spear of moonlight coming in through the glass. Jamie sat at the edge of the bed. She didn’t touch him—just eyed him closely, her voice even. He sat up, pulling the blanket with him. The room was cold.
“You’ve been out for a few hours. The others are together, rigging some security and checking out the island.”
He pushed his lank hair from his eyes. Embarrassed, suddenly, at all of this: his appearance, his behavior… Coming to this woman’s place and sweating all over her sheets.
Jamie watched him as though she read his every thought. She smiled—a sad smile. She had a hundred variations of it, he thought.
“I’m glad you’re here, Jack. Trust me, I always tell people when they’re not welcome.”
“What time is it?”
“Just pas
t eight.”
He’d been asleep for nearly five hours, then. Not quite enough rest to say he was fully caught up, but it was a start. He scratched his chin, and paused at the beard that had grown there. He had great sympathy for Rip Van Winkle, suddenly.
“Do you have showers out here?” he asked.
“We do, but they’re all outside. It’ll be cold.”
“That’s all right. Anything would be good.”
She led him outside. It was freezing, his breath coming in plumes of white in the arctic chill. The shower was behind a wooden partition, the water just a hair warmer than the air. His testicles threatened to climb back inside his body, but Jack lathered himself thoroughly and rinsed himself clean. Jamie had gotten him another change of clothes, and left them on a bench just outside the partition. Shivering, he pulled them on. Wool socks, fleece-lined jeans, cotton undershirt, two layers of outerwear above that. They weren’t Diggs’ clothes, he realized—these were too close to his size. Bear’s, maybe?
When he was finished, Jamie was still waiting for him. Her arms were crossed over her chest, teeth chattering slightly. The German shepherd that was usually with her was gone. It seemed odd to see her without the dog.
“You didn’t have to stay,” he said. “You’re freezing.”
“I’m all right. It’s dark out here. Cold. You shouldn’t have to be alone.”
“Thank you.”
She nodded. He thought he saw a flush of pink to her cheeks in the beam of his flashlight, but couldn’t tell whether it was from embarrassment or cold.
“I don’t suppose you know anyone out here who cuts hair, do you?” he asked.
“I could probably hook you up.”
He smiled. “That would be good.”
They walked back to the house in silence, without touching. Jamie had kissed his cheek once—in Coba, just before they all went to war. That night, he had been too consumed with the knowledge of what J. had done to Lucia to even notice. Now, though, he recalled how soft her lips had been. How cool.
He and Erin had been apart nearly a year now. He’d taken no one to his bed since that time. Not because he was in mourning for the relationship—theirs was never a love affair, he knew now. He cared for her. Enjoyed her, when they were together. But it was hard to give yourself completely to a woman so clearly in love with someone else. Harder still when the ghost of the woman you’d loved refused to make room in your heart for anyone else.
He missed the companionship, though. And the sex, he could admit. He did miss the sex.
Jamie glanced at him—reading his mind again, he was sure. This time, he was the one who blushed. She looked away without a word.
She led him to the meeting room. When Erin brought him here the first time, nearly two years ago, there had been a painting over the fireplace. It had been painted by Isaac Payson, she’d told him. He wondered where it was now.
“Have a seat,” Jamie said. “I’ll be right back.”
He did so, and looked around when Jamie had left the room. There were three full backpacks piled against the wall, several leashes draped over them.
“You’re leaving?” he asked when she returned.
“We decided it would be best,” she said. She had scissors and a towel with her. “The rest of the crew’s already gone with the dogs. I had a few things to wrap up here.”
“Like giving me a haircut?”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“I didn’t realize my hair was that desperate.”
She laughed—a good laugh. Rich, strong. Utterly without self-consciousness. “Have you looked in the mirror lately? Yes, Jack—your hair’s definitely desperate.”
Jamie cut his hair the way she seemed to do everything: with practiced ease and an air of competence he suspected some men found intimidating. He’d never minded a strong woman, though. Her hands were cool on his skin as she brushed away the strands of hair that fell to his shoulders. When she was nearly finished, she crouched in front of him, her face close to his. She studied him, forehead furrowed in concentration as she eyed her handiwork.
“There,” she said. “I think it’s even, at least.” Her breath was minty, as though she’d brushed her teeth in the not-so-distant past. He smelled no hint of coffee. “That should do, until you can get someone else to tidy things up.”
Their eyes held for a moment. When his gaze drifted to her lips, she backed away.
“Now, let’s do something about that beard,” she said. She straightened. The moment ended.
By nine-thirty that night, Jack was clean-shaven, trimmed, and fed. The team—Erin, Diggs, Monty, Carl, Cameron, and Einstein—returned shortly thereafter, and Erin whistled at Jack as soon as she saw him.
“Wow. Did the makeover fairy visit while you were sleeping?” she asked.
“Close. Jamie.”
“She did a good job.” She smiled. “Good to see you again, Jack.”
“It’s good to be seen,” he admitted. “And now, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to talk about tomorrow.”
“Good idea,” Diggs said. He and Erin exchanged a glance that Jack couldn’t read—which wasn’t uncommon for the two of them. Diggs wet his lips and frowned, clearly uncomfortable. “First, though, I was hoping maybe we could take a walk. Before we get down to plotting and planning for tomorrow, I mean.”
“You don’t think it’s a little dark? And cold?” Jack said.
“It’ll do you good,” Diggs said. He slapped him on the back lightly. “Come on. A night hike through the woods. Just the thing to cure what ails you.”
Uneasy now, Jack dutifully added a layer of clothing and took a headlamp Diggs gave him. Then, he headed out the door after Diggs, close on his heels as they took to the trail. It didn’t take long to fall back into the rhythm of movement, focused on where his feet landed, the way his body moved. The two men hiked over a pass of slick granite; up a steep hill littered with apples fallen from trees that lined the path. It smelled like cider just on the edge of turning. The light of the headlamps was jarring, pale white, and made Jack think of extended Steadicam shots in horror films. Moonlight lit their way, casting everything in a pale blue glow. The air was bracingly cold—he breathed in deeply, his lungs still tight from the morning tragedy.
Diggs pushed him hard until they were on the other side of the island, close to the cabins the Payson church members once inhabited. Only then did Diggs slow, waiting for Jack to catch him. Diggs was barely winded, a healthy glow on ruddy cheeks. Jack stopped, his own breath coming hard.
“You all right?” Diggs asked.
“Yeah,” Jack nodded. “I told you, I haven’t been to the gym much.”
“Give it a week, you’ll be back making me look like a slouch again.” He took a long swig of water, then handed the bottle to Jack and nodded toward a weathered wooden stoop in front of one of the little cabins. “Sit a sec, would you?”
“Is this the part where you tell me what all those significant glances from Erin were about just now?”
“That woman’s got to work on her poker face. Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be sorry, just tell me what the hell’s going on.” He sat beside Diggs on the doorstep, both men removing their headlamps. Jack kept his lit and set it beside him so they could still see, and sat far enough from Diggs that he could look the man in the eye. The foreboding built when Diggs hesitated. Jack studied him. None of them looked their best these days. “Diggs,” he prompted.
“You’ve been remembering some things about your past, right?” Diggs said at last. “They don’t necessarily make sense, but you’re still remembering.”
“Flashes, yes. As you said, though—they don’t make a lot of sense.”
“Is there anything about a jungle? Maybe from when you were a little kid?”
Jack thought immediately of the dream he’d had just that afternoon. He tensed. “What do you know, Diggs?”
Diggs paused for another agonizing moment
before he continued. “You know that the high-ups at J. were involved with Jonestown. That Erin’s father was there—and so was Cameron. Jim Jones was part of the operation.”
His stomach turned, heart stilled in mid-beat. “I remember.”
“The day that it all went down, Cameron went in afterward. When most everyone was already gone.”
I don’t want to see you go through this hell no more. No more. Jack heard the man’s voice in his head again.
“All right,” Jack said. “What does that have to do with me?” He already knew, though. Dad’s waiting for us, Jackie. He’s watching. He knew what it meant. A dagger’s edge pierced his temple.
“Easy,” Diggs said, his voice even. “Don’t try to remember, okay? I’m going to fill in the blanks for you.”
Jack nodded, mute.
“You were a year old—living with your mother at Jonestown. You’d been there since the beginning. Before that, Cameron says you were born in the church when they were in California.” Diggs paused. Wet his lips. “Your mother took a fatal dose of Jones’ so-called Kool-Aid… You didn’t drink yours, though. Cameron found you. He took you—hid you from the rest of J.”
“I don’t understand. Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know,” Diggs admitted. “The man’s motives usually elude me. But I think maybe he’d just seen too much killing that day. He liked you—had been around you before, I guess. That’s what he told us, anyway.”
“So he took me, and hid me from J.” Jack turned the idea over. The other images came to him. Hold the gun steady, Jackie. It’s us or them.
“What about the years in between?” he asked. “You said I was a year old. I don’t remember anything until I woke up in that hospital at thirteen.”
“Cameron took you to a family.”
“What family?”
“I don’t know. Cameron wouldn’t say. He placed you with them, but something happened. I don’t know what from there.”
“Cameron told you all this,” Jack said. Jonestown. His mother had died there. It came back in a rush, a wall of water that nearly pulled him under. I don’t know who fired the shot. I don’t know who killed the congressman. But as far as I am concerned, I killed him. Jim Jones. Jack had been there for all of it. His mother, weeping. Holding him too tightly. People shouting. Crying, all around him. The paper cup; the sickly sweet, warm liquid. They fell, one by one. His mother, holding him even as she sank to the ground.