Softly, the Ynaa placed his hand on the man’s shoulder and arm. Then his grip tightened and he pulled, tearing bone from socket, meat from meat, blood spitting from the wound. It was so fast. Only seconds. The Ynaa threw the man’s arm down on the ground, the splashy thud somehow audible amid the screams of the crowd. Derrick had just stood there, a statue of himself. The Ynaa, now covered in blood, continued walking as if nothing had happened. By the time the ambulance came, the man had bled out.
“Why do the Ynaa kill without remorse?” Derrick asked.
The bartender heard the question and jerked back, suddenly having business at the other end of the bar.
Mera nodded, paying no attention to the frightened bartender. “Our world was mostly water, spotted with large islands. We had five intelligent races that competed for life, resources, and territory, all of which became limited as the populations of each grew beyond their shorelines. The growth was unsustainable without conflict.” Derrick watched Mera take a swig of her beer. “We learned to do things to ensure our survival.”
He waited, but she added nothing. Finally, he nodded. “I get it,” he said, hiding his bitterness.
When the Ynaa arrived, they came speaking human languages and bearing gifts. Cures for diseases, energy technologies that solved Earth’s sustainability problems. In exchange for some time on the planet. The nations of the world were awestruck, thankful, and afraid. They accepted the offer, knowing they had no choice and grateful for the opportunity to save face.
As another gesture of good faith, the Ynaa chose to stay where they landed. The United States, in continuance of its absentee landlordism over the Virgin Islands, wasted no time agreeing.
At first, the killings were few enough to occasion only quiet whisperings. “You hear about the killing up Ras Valley?” someone would say, and everyone would know who had done it, just by the details. Soon, though, the trend became more apparent and more terrifying. People spoke up. And then they would hear the Ynaa response. The lesson. People needed to learn the lesson, they’d say. They said this with the open condescension of adults speaking to little children.
“And you’re different?” Derrick asked Mera.
“I’ve learned a new lesson.”
“A new lesson,” Derrick repeated, chewing on the words.
“Yes.”
He leaned forward in his chair. “How did you acquire this new lesson, when the rest of your kind didn’t?”
“My work with the humans.”
“As ambassador?”
Mera nodded, her face tightening.
“You’ve only been here a few years. How did you learn so fast?”
She let the question hang. Then she smiled, the corners of her mouth curling slightly, the muscles in her face relaxing. Her eyes fixed on Derrick’s, and he felt the tremble creeping up his spine. They both knew that the conversation had morphed into another one entirely.
“Your drink,” Mera said. “It’s empty. Should we have another?”
Derrick nodded and, controlling his body to affect calm, waved down the bartender. The bartender warily returned and took his request for another rum and cranberry. It came quick, lemon biting the top of the glass. He removed the lemon and gave it a good squeeze, dropped it into the glass, and stirred with the cocktail straw.
Mera requested another Heineken from the skittish woman, then returned her attentions to Derrick. “Tell me about the women you’ve dated,” she said, smiling.
He blinked. What was really happening here? For the third time this evening, he considered Mera, trying to figure out how her mind worked.
“The women,” Derrick repeated. He sucked at his drink through his cocktail straw. “What you want to know? My relationships were all failures.”
“But there’s more to the story than that, isn’t there?”
“There was one who decided that my agnosticism was too big a deal to simply overlook. One who spent most of her time asking me to try coke she’d bought by sneaking cash from my wallet. One I couldn’t bring myself to love and couldn’t figure out why. One that cheated. One I cheated on. One that left the island because she hated the Ynaa and didn’t want to be anywhere near you and hated me for not wanting that, too. That one was the most important one and the first of my many failed relationships.”
As he talked, Mera leaned in.
“It doesn’t really help that I am now working for one,” Derrick said. “Not been having much luck with women after taking this job.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. She seemed genuine. She was so close now that he could touch her if he moved at all. It was distracting.
Over the next half hour, Mera asked him about his family. Dad was dead, he told her. Mom left right after Lee was born—to Florida or the Bahamas, depending on who you asked. Been raised by Grams for most of his life. How did his dad die? Hypoglycemia. His sugar got too low; he slipped into a coma and never woke up. She apologized. He told her it was okay. It all happened a long time ago.
She touched his hand briefly.
“I want to know more about you,” he said.
“Okay.” Mera downed the last of her beer and waved down the shaky bartender again for another. “I’ll tell you.”
He started to ask a question, but she cut him off. Then she told him a story.
It was 1827, and an earthquake had hit St. Thomas. After the earthquake, the water rolled back past Water Island. In those days, people didn’t know what they knew now. A couple of dozen people ran out into the ocean, picking up flapping fish with their hands and stuffing them into shirts, sacks, metal pails. One of those people was a middle-aged woman named Amelia, her name inspired by the town where she was born: Charlotte Amalie. She was a beautiful woman, Mera told him. Part Carib. Long dark hair to her back.
“When the water came back in, she was still out there,” Mera said. “They pulled her drowned body from the water along with the rest.”
As she told the story, tears filled Mera’s eyes, making them look like deep puddles, the pupils glistening. Derrick placed his hand on hers. She accepted the gesture and blinked a few times. A tear broke free from her eye, drying on her cheek so fast it couldn’t be normal. Derrick tried not to gasp but realized that his mouth was hanging open.
“Don’t ask me anything else,” Mera said. “For now.”
“Okay.” Derrick kept his hand on hers. Something had just happened. An exchange. They each had given a piece of themselves in sacrifice to the other. It was obvious that Mera had given more.
Derrick took a moment to look around the bar, realizing how close the two of them were, how completely he had lost awareness of his surroundings. People were sitting at the bar and at the tables around the bar, many of them making quick glances his way. Let them, he decided. He tried to locate the man from earlier, the one with the stereotypical shirt. He found the table, but the man sitting there was different. Same short gray hair, yes, but thinner in the face. A sharp jaw. Small dark eyes. An animal terror burned through Derrick.
Mera followed Derrick’s eyes. When she saw the man, her body tensed, too. She placed two crisp hundred-dollar bills on the bar table—far more than enough for both of them. “Let’s go.”
• • •
Out in the parking lot, Mera picked up her pace, so fast that Derrick struggled to keep up. When they were only a few feet from his car, he heard someone call out to them.
“One moment,” the voice said.
Mera didn’t turn, so Derrick didn’t, either. He picked up to a jog to narrow the distance between himself and Mera.
“Didn’t you hear me?” the voice said just a moment later. But it was not right. It was too close. Derrick could hear it practically in his ear. He spun, and the face looking down at him smiled. Inches from him. Close enough to tear his arm from its socket.
Derrick stumbled back, losing
his balance, falling. By the time he hit the ground, Mera had moved to stand between him and the man. An unreality swept over Derrick, as if he had plunged into a parallel universe that didn’t make complete sense. Nothing he had ever seen moved that fast.
The tall man took a step back, putting his hands up. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay.” His gesture looked so distinctly human, it sent Derrick scrabbling away from the two of them, crawling backward on all fours.
The Ynaa man stared down at Derrick, amused. “Didn’t mean to frighten the poor boy, but you two were pretending not to hear me.” The Ynaa’s eyes stayed on Derrick, giving him no room to do anything but tremble. Something like recognition appeared on his face. “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?”
Mera stepped closer to the other Ynaa. Finally, he looked away from Derrick.
“Don’t do this,” Mera said, a strong edge in her voice.
“I’m Okaios,” the Ynaa said, returning to Derrick. “A friend of your ambassador.”
“Derrick,” he said. Your ambassador? He tried standing, but his trembling legs didn’t get the message the first time. He tried again and barely managed to find his footing.
“Pleasure to finally meet you,” Okaios said. “Officially, I mean.”
“Go to the car,” Mera said. She didn’t turn, so it took Derrick a moment to catch on that the command was meant for him. When he realized it, he turned to go.
“Wait,” Okaios said, his voice deep, a growl to it. Derrick turned back to face him. “I have a question.”
“You don’t,” Mera warned.
Okaios ignored her. “Did she also tell you why we’re here?”
“What do you mean?”
Okaios tried to get closer to Derrick. Mera stood firm, blocking his way. “She’s been so open tonight,” he said. “So careless.” The words hissed out in a way that could not be mistaken for human. “Just want to make sure she didn’t betray herself. Betray us. Betray you.”
“No, she didn’t.”
“Good,” Okaios said. “I’m relieved. I would have had to keep that quiet if she had.”
“Go,” Mera said again.
This time, Okaios said nothing to stop Derrick from heading to his car. Derrick could hear them talking behind him, but not in words he could understand. The language hissed and whistled in ways unfamiliar to his ears. Still, he could hear the edge in Mera’s voice. The threat. Okaios’ threat had not been lost on him, either. He opened his car door and tried to shut them out of his experience. He wiped the sweat at his hairline.
Sitting there, he replayed the whole thing, trying to figure out the quick succession of events. He hadn’t had time to process Mera’s revelation before being launched into whatever had just happened. At the very least, he had avoided something terrible, even though he wasn’t sure what or how. He wiped the sweat away again, but it was everywhere.
When the passenger door opened, Derrick watched Mera climb into the car. She looked calm mostly, but he thought he could detect an underlying emotional turmoil she was trying desperately to hide.
Without a word, Derrick started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.
• • •
The drive up to Mera’s house passed mostly in silence except for Mera’s directions, which were simple and curt.
When they pulled onto the dirt road up Northside, Derrick finally broached the subject. “What was that about?”
“You were there. I’m sure you can figure out enough of it on your own.”
“I could, but—”
“I really can’t tell you anything else.” Then she repeated the phrase again: “You were there.”
The car rocked and shook as Derrick drove over the uneven road. The headlights revealed just enough of what lay ahead that he could avoid the worst of the dips and bumps. Night bugs flew past the high beams.
The road swerved to the left, and a driveway revealed itself in the bush, a large house beyond. Derrick crawled to a stop and turned off the ignition.
“I knew him. I saw him kill someone once.”
Mera nodded. She didn’t seem surprised. “Then you know the danger.”
“Now I do.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Risking you.”
The lights in the front of the house came on, revealing varnished double doors. The government had leased the house to her, Derrick guessed. So far removed from the rest of her people on Water Island. Apart from the islanders, too. Hidden at the end of a long dirt road.
“It’s okay,” he said, understanding some of Mera’s isolation. Like him, she didn’t really belong anywhere—an island on an island.
She opened the car door and stepped out. Derrick did, too, deciding to walk her to her door. He didn’t quite manage that. He followed behind her quietly, his head lowered. The night whipped at him, the air cool though somehow not welcoming. The trees and the bush around them rattled like a million tiny bones. Crickets chirred endlessly. The mountain frogs whistled like birds.
When Mera turned to tell him good night, Derrick leaned in and kissed her. He hadn’t known he would do it. He just did. Nothing happened at first. He just closed his eyes and kept his lips on hers, not moving. He noted that her lips were unexpectedly soft and warm, but he was afraid to push any further. After what must have been a few seconds, Mera’s hands reached up and tightened around his forearms. He felt his own heat rise, and he tried moving his lips to nudge hers into the dance of a long, passionate kiss. Her lips didn’t oblige. With gentle force, she pushed him back. Though it was gentle, Derrick could do nothing to counter it. When he tested, it was like pushing against a brick wall.
Derrick opened his eyes and saw Mera staring at him. He could not read her expression. She gave nothing away.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Mera smiled. “Good night.”
Derrick released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Good night.”
Mera took her hands from his forearms, and without any preamble, she turned, unlocked her door, and stepped inside.
In the long minutes that followed, Derrick stared at the door. The whirlwind of the night had finally numbed him to his own emotions. He couldn’t tell what he actually felt, though he could sense the tumult within that would eventually come.
When he got home, he would have to take his stuff off his grandmother’s porch. He would have to call up a friend—Louie, probably—and sleep on his couch for a few days while he found a place to live. There would be other consequences, too. Tomorrow, he would have to deal with the fallout from tonight. Eventually, everyone would know. People would talk. And other things would happen that he couldn’t possibly imagine.
He told himself it would be okay in the end. Let it happen. Let them talk. He could live with that. His choices were his, and he had made them with both eyes open.
Walking back to his car, he thought of Mera, the heat of her lips still on his.
I’ll be your bridge, he thought. Between worlds.
Moon
Aubrey was in her garden again. Weeding, by the look of it. Lee always got up the stairs before her grandmother, and most mornings she would meet Aubrey messing around in her garden, watering or weeding or cutting open a yellow passion fruit to eat.
Lee had been seeing a Jeep parked next to Aubrey’s house. But she never saw who it belonged to, and she wasn’t close enough to her landlord to ask. She knew that it wasn’t Jackson. He had been gone for quite a while.
“Good morning,” Lee said.
“Morning.” Aubrey stood up for a moment to wipe some sweat from the back of her neck.
Lee watched her. She couldn’t get over how young Aubrey looked, plucking the bits of bush away from her hibiscus tree every morning. She had the most beautifully muscled arms.
“You
want some passion fruit?” Aubrey asked.
Aubrey was always offering passion fruit from her garden, or mangoes from the tree in the back of the house when they were in season. Lee would go downstairs with a bag full of mangoes that she would devour over the course of a week, only to get it refilled the next time she saw Aubrey.
“No thanks,” Lee said.
Aubrey plucked one from the passion-fruit vine and walked over and handed it to her anyway. “Maybe you’ll want it later,” she said, smiling.
“Thanks,” Lee said.
Just then, Derrick’s busted-ass jalopy rolled down the steep hill. Lee looked at the ramshackle mess, still unwashed, still looking as if it had been built from scraps of rusty galvanize. Aubrey gently touched Lee on the shoulder and returned to her garden.
Derrick parked next to Grams’ much better-looking electric hatchback. He had to be one of the few people on island still driving a gas car.
“You look like a boy,” he said as he got out of the rattletrap.
Lee was wearing a New York Yankees cap and a fresh pair of Jordans. The baby-blue blouse of her uniform was half out in the back. Her skirt could be girlie if worn by someone else—anyone else—but on Lee, it might as well have been basketball shorts.
She never bothered to answer her brother when he pointed out her tomboyishness. She didn’t sense judgment in his words—merely the playful teasing of an older brother.
“Where’s Grams?” Derrick asked.
“Downstairs.”
“You know what she’s going to tell you when she gets up here, right?” He looked at her hat.
“Nothing as bad as what she is going to tell you.”
Derrick laughed, but it sounded hollow. He seemed tired, weighed down. “I guess so.”
There was the sound of a door closing, and Grams appeared at the foot of the stairs. She had a bunch of bags in her hand. Lee watched Derrick’s body twitch with the impulse to help, but his feet stayed frozen in place.
What a punk, Lee thought but didn’t say. She poked Derrick in the side.
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