Check

by Pamfiloff, Mimi Jean

  “I told you already,” Grant replied.

  “Let me see the video he sent.”

  Grant slid his cell from his pocket, tapped the screen, and handed it over. With my shaking hand, I hit play.

  Dear God. Stephanie was dirty and scratched up. She still wore the exact same black dress I had last seen her in on the night of the farewell party when she took off. In the background were some tin panels, the kind used for roofs on a shed or chicken coop. I listened carefully to Stephanie’s words. There. That’s it. I replayed the video once more and then looked up at Grant. “They took her to get to me.”

  “What?” Grant said.

  “She says it right there after mentioning Cici, ‘hopefully you can find someone to help you, someone who understands what you’ve lost.’”

  “I don’t see how this implies they took her to get to you,” said Luke.

  “Do you know anyone else who can pay five million dollars?” I asked Grant. “Anyone who’s offered you money recently?” I’d told Stephanie about my conversation with her father and offered her the same. Anything to help her after the loss of Cici.

  Grant shook his head. “No. But how would Warner possibly know about you?”

  I could only come up with one answer: Stephanie told him. And once again, I found myself realizing that I hadn’t put enough attention on the right questions. Where had Stephanie originally obtained the money to come here posing as a guest? We now knew. What I’d failed to ask was what she’d offered in return to this man, given she owned nothing of value and would never be able to pay Warner Price back. What did she promise him in return?

  Sex? Not likely. Stephanie would never sell herself like that, and men like Warner had all the women they wanted, albeit most of them were treated like product. What she offered him had to be something big, something worth taking a risk for.

  She offered him me. Me and this place. The fact was, Warner Price wasn’t the first criminal interested in my island. No government, no police, off the grid. The geographical position was ideal for drug traffickers bringing product to the US from South America. The cash running through the island was also significant and all handled in the Caymans. A money launderer’s wet dream. Once a year, a prior guest would talk to the wrong person and we ended up with a Warner on our doorstep, thinking they could waltz in and take over.

  “Stephanie is bait,” I concluded. “Warner wants to take this place over.” Just like all the others who came before him.

  “I’ve spent the last twenty years in every war zone possible, dealing with warlords, terrorists, gun traffickers, and dictators. Warner Price does not strike me as someone who likes to play games. He’s after the money.”

  I gave him a look. “As you just pointed out, you’ve spent years working as a journalist, reporting on some very unpleasant people. Since when have you ever seen any of them demand five million dollars from a man with your salary and ask for it to be delivered in a few days while not alerting the authorities?”

  Had Warner really wanted to get paid, he would’ve asked for something more reasonable—an amount one might be able to get by cashing in a retirement fund or borrowing from family members.

  “So what do you want to do?” Luke asked.

  I closed my eyes, feeling my body ache in ways I never imagined, right down to the marrow in my brittle bones. “Give him the island.”

  “Are you mad?” Luke protested. “This place is far too important.”

  He still didn’t understand. “I’m not retaking my vows. When I die, the lagoon goes with me.” I was the keystone, the link between this world and whatever truly resided in that water. It was my vow that bridged them, and without me, the door would shut forever.

  “No,” Luke said. “We’ll deal with him like we’ve dealt with the others.”

  “There’s no time.” Plus we’d be risking Stephanie’s life.

  Luke glared at me.

  “Call this Warner,” I said to Grant. “I will tell him myself. Use my phone since yours will not work here.”

  “No!” Luke snapped.

  “What do you wish me to do? Let Stephanie die?” I asked.

  “She made a deal with that man. Not us. Let her pay the price.”

  “You shame me.” Stephanie’s father was standing right there.

  “Fuck you, Rook,” my nephew replied. “Amancia was right. You only care about being the hero, not about us. Not about the island.”

  “My aunt is blinded by her loneliness and sorrow.”

  Luke didn’t speak for a long moment. “She is the only one holding all of us together right now.”

  “She’s here?” I asked.

  Luke folded his arms over his chest.

  “When did she arrive?” I should have known she would return after I banished her. She was obsessed with the lagoon and being reunited with Father Rook. Every dream was a sign. Every gust of wind was him trying to speak to her. She had become volatile and withdrawn this past year. Her grief was finally catching up.

  “She arrived a few days ago.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

  Luke didn’t reply, and I knew why. He was upset with me, and she was likely a shoulder to cry on.

  “You cannot trust her, Luke. She’s not right in the head,” I said.

  “Look who’s talking,” he threw back.

  We didn’t have time for this. “Dial Warner and hand me the phone,” I said to Grant, who did just that.

  The phone rang, and I felt my pulse rate soar. My body was fighting and losing.

  “Who the fuck is this?” said a distinctive voice with a New York accent over the phone.

  “This is the man with the island.” I spoke quietly, trying to conceal my shortness of breath. It wouldn’t do Stephanie any good to let this man know I was dying.

  “Well, well, Mr. Rook. Nice to finally meet you.”

  “You have something I want. I have something you want. There’s nothing nice about it.”

  “From where I’m sitting, there are plenty of pleasantries to get excited about. Stephanie, for example, isn’t so bad on the eyes. In fact, most of my men agree.”

  Fucking pig. “If you touch her, you get nothing. Set her free, the island is yours. Today if she calls me and tells me she’s somewhere safe.”

  A sinister laugh poured through the phone. “I only do deals like this in person. You come here. We talk. Then she goes free.”

  I couldn’t do that. Not in this state. I’d die before I made it. “I’ll send one of my people to—”

  “Uh-uh. I don’t deal with no fucking messenger boys. You come. And only you. You have one day,” said Warner.

  “I need more time,” I sputtered out my words.

  “It sounds like what you need is inspiration. I’ll send Stephanie’s dad a finger or two by courier. Maybe that will convince you to make this a priority.”

  I drew a slow breath. “That won’t be necessary. I will come.”

  “Looking forward to it.” The call ended.

  Fucking hell. I tilted my face toward the ceiling. “I was right. Warner is after this place.” And I barely had the strength to walk, let alone make the three-hour flight to New York City. Even if I could, I was in no condition to face Warner. For a brief moment, I considered sending Luke in my place. He could pretend to be me, but that was like sentencing him to death. Warner was dangerous, and as physically tough as Luke was, I doubted Luke would know how to deal with a psychopath.

  “What did he say?” Grant asked, his voice frantic.

  “Help me up.” I held out my hand to Grant.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  As I struggled to my feet, I felt my soul weeping. If I were a better man, a less selfish man, I would not do this. I would not take this path. But when it came to this woman, I was weak, a sinner, a man who would do anything for her, including breaking every principle and belief I had. “I am going for a swim.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Ro
ok

  Barefoot and shaking, I stood at the edge of the lagoon, contemplating the deep green water. I knew I was reaching for a miracle. Just from the stillness in the air, I sensed the absence of energy and life inside the water. Nevertheless, I hoped this would work.

  “Help me remove my clothes,” I asked Grant.

  Luke was nowhere to be found, but I guessed he was with my aunt, possibly telling her what had happened.

  “What the hell does this have to do with saving my daughter?” Grant questioned.

  The time for secrecy was over. Because there was no time left. “Warner will only release her if I go in person. I am too sick to make the journey.”

  “And so you’re going for a goddamned swim?” Grant looked like he wanted to throttle me, and I couldn’t blame him. His daughter’s life was on the line.

  “How old was I when we met a mere four months ago?” I asked, wheezing heavily.

  “I don’t know. Thirty?” he replied impatiently.

  “And now I’m eighty-something and growing older by the minute—you must have noticed.”

  He stared, likely trying to puzzle out the situation.

  “I am not ill,” I added. “I am aging, and if I’m lucky, that water will slow it down.” I hoped anyway. After so many years, perhaps there was some residual energy in the sediment and rocks. It was worth a try.

  Stephanie’s father stood there with a look of torment in his brown eyes. All he wanted was to save his daughter, and I was talking nonsense.

  “You can stand there all day while Warner Price cuts off Stephanie’s fingers, or you can help me off with my clothes so that I might save your last living daughter.” My words were cruel, but frankly, I didn’t have time for sugarcoating. “Help me,” I repeated. I could go in with my clothes on, but I did not want anything interfering with the water. Like me, the lagoon was dying and weak.

  Grant grumbled a few choice profanities, but helped me strip off my linen pants and shirt.

  My body, pale and emaciated, trembled to keep upright. “Whatever happens, do not go in the water. Do you understand? I don’t want anything interfering.”

  I waded into the lagoon until the warm water reached my waist. I closed my eyes and clasped my hands together, summoning Father Rook—his soul, his energy, the piece of himself he’d left behind on that tragic day so long ago. This place was something I never fully understood, but neither was Father Rook’s gift. He could heal with the touch of his hand—close wounds, mend broken bones, and cure any illness. I had once seen him bring a man back to life, one of the other monks who’d been bitten by a poisonous snake here on the island.

  “Father Rook,” I muttered aloud, “I will not attempt to deceive you. I do this only because I love Stephanie. But I have no intention of remaining a party to this killing in your name. Too many innocents have died here, and I no longer believe in your mission. For this, I ask you to help me, to tell me what you want in return. But know it cannot be my service in perpetuity.”

  “It won’t work, James,” called out a familiar female voice with a thick French-Caribbean accent.

  I turned to see my aunt Amancia standing there in a white dress, her long braids wrapped neatly around the top of her head, and her dark brown skin glowing in the tropical sun.

  “I heard you were here,” I said.

  “Someone had to stop you.”

  “Stop me from what? Ending this place? You’ve only managed to create confusion over the inevitable.”

  She shook her head. “You’re wrong, James. This isn’t over. Not until Father Rook is at peace.”

  “He soon will be once I die.”

  “No. He won’t. Not until things are made right.”

  In other words, he never should have died. The monks he cared for never should have died. My family never should’ve died. And Rook’s child with my aunt should’ve lived on. “We cannot undo the past.”

  “But we can set things right.”

  “By allowing innocent people to die so that others live longer?” I doubted it.

  “Only Father Rook can answer that question.”

  “He doesn’t seem to be talking at the moment,” I pointed out.

  “He made himself clear to me—you want Stephanie to live? You retake the vow.”

  Father Rook often appeared in our dreams, but he never really spoke. He was more of a presence. Recently, however, my aunt claimed to have long drawn-out conversations with him even when awake. I was convinced her grief was making her see things.

  What if I’m wrong?

  “Yes or no, James?” my aunt pushed.

  “What the hell is going on?” said Grant.

  I’d almost forgotten he was standing there.

  “Goddammit.” I ran my damp hands through my thinning hair and looked him in the eyes. The desperation. The torment. I felt it too because like him, I loved Stephanie. I couldn’t let her die. God help me. I do not wish to do this. Was one life worth the pain and suffering to follow if this island and the lagoon continued on? No. But she was worth my pain and suffering. She was the only woman who’d ever touched my soul.

  I looked at my aunt. “Stephanie must never be harmed. I want your word. I want Father Rook’s word.” I glanced at the water. “You’ll never summon her to the water.”

  My aunt nodded. “It was agreed the first time you made us swear. Unlike some people, we do not break our promises.” When I had discovered who Stephanie really was, I had made them promise. Afterwards, as I fell in love with her, I began to understand the true price of what we were all doing and rescinded my vows. Now, if I wanted to save her, I would have to retake them.

  My soul clawed at my heart. The two were at war. One wanted to save the woman I loved, and the other wanted to do what was right. To add complexity to the situation, I had to be prepared; saving Stephanie would not be as simple as going to see Warner and writing a check. There was only a slim chance he’d simply accept money, and that meant he’d be coming here to take the island. It meant putting everyone here at risk. However, it all boiled down to a simple choice: Let Stephanie die, or do what I must to save her.

  The heart always wins. “I agree.”

  My aunt raised one black brow. “You realize you can never have her if you do this. You must keep your vows in every way or she will pay the price. We will make sure of it.”

  Chastity, poverty, obedience. “I understand.”

  “Then say it,” she demanded.

  I felt the hungry energy humming through the air around me like an invisible vulture. It was Father Rook or his soul or whatever was left of him, anxiously scratching for a way back to this world. “I vow to serve you obediently, Father Rook, as your flesh, blood, and bones in this world of the living. I vow stability, living only on this island to serve you and the highest law. I vow to live in poverty, claiming nothing for myself and rejecting all forms of greed. I vow chastity and reject the pleasures of the flesh as a reminder that my body belongs to you and God alone.” As I spoke, relinquishing my rights to love freely, to serve my own conscience, and to live my life in search of happiness, I expected something to happen—my strength and youth to return, my soul to turn black for betraying my beliefs, and the world to look as dark as I felt. However, nothing changed, not even the water, and I knew why.

  I turned and looked at my aunt. “Who have you chosen?”

  “Finding sacrifices was always your job.”

  Fuck. I had been too weak, too ill to think this through. We had kept five of the original men from the ship alive all these years, letting them age and then reviving their youth so they’d live out another life sentence. But Father Rook would not take their lives. I supposed he felt that death was too good for them. That left us only with descendants.

  My aunt looked at Grant and then me. “As I’m sure you already know, because you checked Stephanie’s background and our records, at the moment, he’s the only one you have.”

  Grant snarled, “What the hell is she talking about?�
��

  Over my dead body would Stephanie’s father be given to the lagoon. “Never mind. It’s time for you to leave.”

  “What choice do you have, James?” my aunt pushed.

  “No. Stephanie has already lost Cici because of this damned place—I’m not about to have her lose her father, too.”

  “Rook, what does she mean?” Grant barked.

  “Like everything in this world, nothing is free. Sacrifices must be made—a cursed soul must be given in exchange for the water to heal me.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I’m not cursed. And, for fuck’s sake, yes. I understand that you’re much older than when I saw you last, but…” Grant’s words trailed off. Even he couldn’t explain what was standing right before his eyes: a man of eighty plus years on his last leg. Only four months ago I’d been considerably younger. No one aged that fast.

  “This is real, isn’t it?” Fear flooded his brown eyes, and his brows pulled tightly together.

  I nodded. “Yes, but we’ll find another way.”

  “Look atcha!” my aunt spat. “Your heart’s shuttin’ down. You’re turnin’ gray. There is no time.”

  “If it means saving Stephanie, then I’ll do it.” Grant stepped toward me. “What do I need to do?”

  God, give me strength. Because surely this is not your will. Ironically, at this point, I no longer believed in a higher power. There was no rational being orchestrating this chaos. It wasn’t possible. There were only people who defied science, nature, and death. How or why had nothing to do with God. Nevertheless, old habits were hard to break. I prayed because there wasn’t anything left to do.

  “It’s his life, James. Not yours,” said my aunt. “And if he wishes to trade it for Stephanie’s, then who are you to stand in his way?”

  “I was never there for my girls.” Grant’s face was blank as he stared into the rippling water. “I abandoned them after my wife died. I abandoned Stephanie after her sister died. It’s taken me over twenty years to realize I’ve been running from grief. If I could do it all over again, I would make other choices, but I can’t. I can only try to help the one daughter I have left—like you said.”