Devil's Island

by Jason Halstead

  Chapter 13

  Sam was running before he even knew why. Tamara’s scream hit a nerve in him and propelled his feet forward while his brain tried to cope with the images the blood curdling yell created. He knew that type of scream. Only someone in terrible pain was capable of making it. His officer had made a sound similar to it as he lay dying with his arms torn from his body.

  The reflexes he'd tried to drink away took over. Unfortunately, the last time he'd used them he didn't need to accommodate a prosthetic leg. The artificial foot hit a patch of sand wrong and twisted the straps on his leg to throw him off balance. The next thing he knew he was tumbling down the incline. The sand worked its way into his clothes, hair, and mouth but other than a few scrapes it kept him from hurting himself.

  “Are you okay?” Alex asked as she helped him to his feet. He spit the gritty sand from his mouth and looked down at her. He hadn’t known the other girls were following him. He shook his head and ignored her question. Sam straightened his fake foot and started running again. This prosthetic wasn’t designed for moving fast and he almost went down twice more before reaching the crowd that’d begun gathering around Tamara and the cop leaning over her.

  “Tamara!” Sam cried, seeing her on her back, eyes closed. He couldn’t tell if she was breathing or not. What happened? Why wasn’t she moving?

  At his voice, the young woman stirred and sat up. Confusion filled her gaze as she took in everyone gathered around her. Then her eyes hit him and stayed locked with his. Her shoulder slumped down and she visibly relaxed.

  “Tamara, are you alright?” Sam asked her, dropping next to her. She reached out for him, and he pulled her into a tight hug.

  “I take it you know this young woman?” a cop asked. Sam turned to take a good look at the officer, taking in his Hispanic coloring and gentle face. His name read T. Gomez on his chest.

  “Yeah,” he told Gomez. “What happened?” Tamara was shaking in his arms. He’d never seen her act like this before. She'd always seemed so strong in the past.

  “Then I’ll leave her in your hands,” Gomez told him. The cop stood and walked away without answering Sam’s question. “Johnson! I want these people pushed back. We don’t need anyone else passing out after seeing this shit.”

  Sam looked around, trying to make sense of what happened since Tamara was nearly catatonic. He saw Adrian and gave a quick nod of his head to the younger man.

  “She looked at the satanic ritual site over there and just lost it,” Adrian answered his unasked question.

  Tamara moaned in his arms, hugging him tighter.

  “Ritual site?” Sam asked, then looked beyond the other man. It made sense now that he thought about it. Once he looked past the blood and bones to the patterns drawn in the sand, coupled with the black candles, it made sense. At least, it did as far as he knew of such things.

  “That’s what the cops are calling it,” Adrian answered.

  “I’m telling you I’m fine, Subie,” Brock stated firmly, and Sam saw the large man try to hold her at arm’s length. Sam wondered about his actions. Considering how much the two tended to show public affection, why was he holding her back now? Was it because he didn’t want to be seen comforted by a woman? “It was Tamara that screamed. Then she started swinging at us like we were attacking her.”

  Sam put his arm under Tamara’s legs, set his good leg, and lifted her up while standing. He had to catch his balance, his prosthetic working as he desired for once. Despite her body going from anorexic to beautiful in only a couple days, she still felt light in his arms.

  “I’m taking Tamara home,” Sam told Tamara’s friends.

  “Do you need any help?” Adrian offered.

  Alex and Adrian both faced him. Sam could tell from the anxious way Alex kept looking at Adrian that she didn’t want to be alone, but the solid man ignored her.

  “No, I can handle this,” Sam told them. “You two stay and help Brock and Subie.”

  “Hold on a sec,” Adrian said, then turned to Alex. “You have a pen and something to write on?” Alex searched in her purse for only a second before pulling out the requested items. Adrian took them and hastily scrawled something. “Here. Call me if you need anything.”

  Sam awkwardly took the paper, seeing that it had the man’s phone number on it. “Thanks,” he told them. Sam turned and began walking up the beach, careful of each step he took. He really didn’t feel like kissing the sand again tonight.

  Once he was back to his car, he almost wished he’d taken Adrian and Alex up on their offer of help. Tamara refused to let go of him even when he struggled to put her in the passenger side. He finally convinced her to sit there and wait for him. By the time he raced around the car and climbed in the driver's seat she'd curled in a fetal position and was shivering again.

  He wondered why she had been affected as much as she had by that place. Was it something in her past? As bad as Sam’s past had been, it hadn’t bothered him nearly as much. Then again, he knew his past. Shitty as it was, at least he could remember it. Maybe she'd seen something like that before?

  “It’s okay,” Sam soothed her. He reached across to lay her hand on her thigh. She twisted in her seat and grabbed onto his hand and threatened to dislocate his shoulder as she pulled on it. “I’ll be right here. I just need to get—oomph.” He grunted as she stopped pulling on him and pushed herself across the console to press her lips to his as she slipped her arms around his neck and held him prisoner against her. The kiss wasn’t filled with lust or need like her past embraces had been. There was no tongue involved, just the firm press of their lips.

  Tamara’s arms slipped from around his neck and he jerked back, knocking his head hard on the roof of his car.

  “Don’t leave me, Sam.” The simple words hit something deep inside him. Tamara turned away from him, huddling into the seat.

  “I won’t,” he told her softly, reaching out to touch her head. He hesitated before making contact and pulled back. It occurred to him that now would be the perfect opportunity to drive her away. All he had to do was be cruel to her right now while she was vulnerable.

  He couldn’t do it. He knew she was going to wise up and leave him sooner or later. Right then, looking at her as she shivered in the fetal position in his car, he knew he couldn’t bring himself to do that to her.

  He leaned back and started the car. As soon as he put it in gear Tamara reached out to him and gripped his thigh.

  That’s when Sam knew he wasn’t going to push her away. He was going to pay for it down the road he had no doubt, but he couldn’t hurt her. Somehow in only a few short days she’d made herself a part of his life.

  The drive home was quiet. Tamara willingly got out on her own and even walked inside. Sam worried about her not talking, but knew she needed time. He wanted to know what shook her up so bad, but he had to give her space. If anyone knew trauma, it was him. His eyes went to his cupboard and he wondered if maybe she'd like a drink. He sure could use one.

  He shook his head and turned away. "That's the last thing we need," he muttered. If he got drunk and she was fucked up he'd make things worse. He always did. Maybe just this once he should try facing his problems instead of hiding from them. He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then let it out. He went to his room while Tamara was in the bathroom. He was scared, but he felt good too.

  Something had changed. He felt needed. He felt like he had a purpose. He nodded his head and realized he was almost smiling. Almost. He relaxed his face and turned to get ready for bed.

  Tamara came out of the bathroom a few moments later. She turned to look at him in the doorway, hope and pain mixed in her eyes.

  “Stay with me,?” she asked. She didn’t wait for an answer before walking in. Sam hesitated, unsure of what he should say or do. She had that long shirt on again with Bill Murray's face on it. It fell past her hips just far enough he couldn't tell if she had any shorts or panties on. She pulled the sheets back and looked a
t him, waiting for an answer.

  Sam swallowed and wondered where the good feelings he'd had a few moments ago had gone. He was nervous. Did he dare let her sleep with him? He wasn't afraid of wanting her, he was afraid he'd be taking advantage of her. His mouth was dry and he turned to stare out the door to his kitchen. He couldn't do this, not without a drink to numb his mind.

  "Please?" she whispered. "No sex. I just, um, I just need to—"

  Sam's heart slammed in his chest when she looked away and fresh tears fell onto his sheets.

  "I'll go," she breathed and turned away.

  "No," Sam croaked. He coughed and cleared his throat. What the fuck was he doing? "Stay."

  She looked up at him and smiled through a sniffle. She crawled into bed and waited for him to take off his leg and strip down to his boxers. He slipped in beside her and lay there stiff as a board. Tamara moved over and pulled the sheets up to cover them, then molded herself to fit against his body and lay her head on his chest.

  "I need to feel like somebody cares about me," she whispered.

  Sam grunted and let his arm wrap around her back. He gave her a squeeze.

  "Do you?"

  "Do I what?"

  "Care?" she tilted her head up and looked at him.

  He swallowed the lump in his throat down again and nodded. "Yeah," he whispered. "I care. You're all I’ve got anymore. "