Sacrifice Island (13 page)

Terry wheeled again. “If you ask me another question, you and your friend will find yourselves out on the street. Do you understand me?”

That sounded like a yes. Alex waved to Jemma. He needed her help.

Terry stormed past her, up to the bar.

“You have to touch him,” Alex said.

She stared at him for a moment.

“You must still be feeling pretty good from yesterday—”

“Fine. What do you hope to learn?”

“I don’t know.”

“Will I hurt him?”

“No. He’s a mess. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it would help.”

Tears welled in Jemma’s eyes. She wiped them away with the back of her gloved hand.

“You’re sure?”

He was never sure. Could never be sure.

“I’m sure,” he said.

She nodded, and started up the stairs. She peeled her gloves off as she went, and handed them to him, one by one, and dropped them into his hands, careful not to let her pale skin touch his again.

Terry picked up a bottle of rum from the bar. His eyes were red.

“Not now. I can’t right now.”

Jemma turned to Alex. There wasn’t anyone else up here. Alex nodded to her.

He knew their skin brushing together could do it, but Jemma placed one hand on each of Terry’s cheeks. Both of their eyes widened, Jemma’s head flew back, and she began to moan, a lonely, agonized sound.

18

For a moment, Jemma felt her skin against Terry’s. Touch. Skin. Another human. Twice in three days. A new record.

Then pain racked her. Tore through her, lighting every nerve on fire. She took his pain as it slammed though her, touched all of her, wave after wave of blinding white agony. She knew what it felt like to be a piece of driftwood, slammed against the rocks. Intellectually she knew she could handle this. She’d not often touched people who hurt worse than she did. Usually she hurt them, like she had Alex. But sometimes it went this way.

She let go when she slumped to the floor. But she’d seen it all—Terry’s marriage, his wife’s cancer, and the bargain he’d made. She saw his guilt every day, and his questions about what to do.

Terry extended a hand to help her up.

“Don’t help her,” Alex said. Red tinged everything…a burst blood vessel in her eye?

“Her nose is bleeding,” Terry said. “What did she do?”

“She took your pain.”

“I know…I feel…lighter.”

“I need to get her to her room”—Terry reached for her hand again—“but we can’t touch her skin.”

Alex lifted her into a chair. “Here are your gloves, sweetie.”

He only talked to her like this when she lingered in this misty pain place, when she saw everything through gauze and haze and her body felt like she’d been used all over and in every pore.

She took the gloves. She had to put them on by herself. Unless she let him. He’d offered, after all.

She pulled them on.

“I need to lie down,” she whispered.

“Gotta drink something first.” Alex turned to Terry. “Orange juice? Something really sweet.”

She drifted away for a moment and woke as Alex shook her shoulder. His touch—through her shirt—was brief and hesitant. “Here, we’re almost done.” Could she really have touch all the time if she let him?

The horrible juice, warm, thick, syrupy, and painfully sweet, dribbled down her chin. Her shoulder, tender from the pain, throbbed where Alex had touched her.

Old feelings flared: She wanted touch again, wanted a hug. At first she thought keeping herself dressed, always covered, would help—but there had been accidents. It was easier to avoid everyone and everything. No one would want to touch her anyway. It was better, easier, simpler this way.

“Can you get up?” Alex asked.

Terry seemed to have gone, and they were alone in the restaurant.

“I don’t know.”

“We’ll get you up, walk a little bit, and then you can sleep it off as long as you need to.”

As if she were drunk, as if she’d done something bad.

But she was tired.

“Did you see anything?” he asked.

She nodded. “I saw everything.” She couldn’t organize it, though. Couldn’t make sense of it yet. Needed to digest the images she’d seen—flashes of palm trees, starry skies, screams, hot winds, and a gaping loneliness that threatened to consume Terry, and now consume her. She needed sleep. Needed her body and mind to begin to sort what was Terry’s and what was hers.

19

Alex closed the door on Jemma’s cabin. Above his head, fluffy white clouds punctuated the blue sky. He’d helped her get into bed as best he could, tried to make her comfortable. Now he would leave her alone, would…what? What the hell could he do? He walked to his own cabin, kicking at small stones. He wished she’d told him something, something to go on, start researching, get some balls rolling. Instead he could only wait, with the knowledge he’d caused his best friend pain. He hoped it wasn’t as bad, considering she’d dumped all her bullshit on him the day before.

No. That wasn’t fair. He’d done it to himself. And if he were really brave, once he had her back in her room, he would have touched her, and taken some of the pain himself. Doing what she asked seemed like a cop out.

He slid in through the cabin door, closed it behind him. No power. He took a moment to listen. Motorbikes and cars passed on the street, happy voices shouted in a language he didn’t understand. Dogs barked outside. He couldn’t help but feel responsible. The sensation churned in his gut. He wanted to go to her, take her in his arms, tell her he loved her. Console her. Make love to her.

An impossible dream. Always had been.

Prowling, he went out and paced in front of her cabin again. He scribbled her a note, said he was going into town, to use her cell phone despite the roaming charges and to call him if she needed anything.

Alex overpaid for a trike ride, got out at Louie’s Backyard, and headed up the stairs. Soon he’d miss the sunset near Vista Breeze. He didn’t care. He didn’t want a sunset. He wanted Jemma, but it would never, ever happen.

Alex ordered a drink from a brassy American woman. She introduced herself as the owner of the place, and he made halfhearted small talk. The overpriced drink made him feel better about overpaying the driver.

He took his drink out on the porch and gazed down at the crowded main street of El Nido. Tourists and locals swirled with trikes, scooters, and a rare pickup. Dogs, chickens, and cats threaded through them, weaving a tapestry of sound, motion, and color.

He thought about Jemma. About her affliction. He’d been the one to introduce her, at a college party, to the man who would become her husband. The man who would spend years mentally and physically beating her down as he descended into madness. Until finally he snapped. Alex hadn’t seen the signs. Yeah, he knew his friends were withdrawing, but Jemma’d had a miscarriage. He didn’t want to be pushy and intrude. He wished he had. God, he wished he had.

“Alex?” Karen stood in front of him. The setting sun kissed her tanned skin. Hunger for her swelled in him. No—not hunger for her. Hunger for a human. For anyone he could touch. Her short cropped hair, the neat bob, made him yearn to tangle his fingers in Jemma’s thick black hair. What would it be like?

“Hey.” He gestured for her to sit down.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“I’ve had a pretty god-awful day,” he said.

“The island?”

“I wish,” he said. “We still can’t get out there. On top of that, Jemma ate something that disagreed with her. She’s down for the count.”

Should he not mention another woman? He told himself not to feel bad—Jemma had no interest in him (or in anyone, and probably never would ever again) and he was certainly free to have himself a grand old time. He checked his phone to be sure she hadn’t called or texted.

“So I’m completely free for the night.”

Alex watched her response, how she angled herself in the chair toward him, pointed her feet at him, touched her face. All good signs. “Care to show me a good time? Show me around?”

“I can show you a good time.” She smiled and showed off those fantastic white teeth.

Perfect.

She showed him a deserted beach on the far side of town, and he kissed her there as the sun went down. He brought her back to his room (she offered her place, but he wanted to be close to Jemma in case she needed anything). She told him she never did things like this, and he believed her. He told her the same thing, and didn’t care if she believed him. He fucked her under the drone of the air conditioner, with the sound of a beetle hitting the overhead light,
tink, tink, tink
. She smelled like sunscreen, baby powder deodorant, and sweat. Alex imagined the smell of Jemma’s shampoo. Imagined Jemma’s breasts under his hands, imagined her calling him an amazing lover.

He silently thanked his lucky stars when Karen said she should go, she had to work early.

“I’ll call you,” he said. “Tomorrow, day after? We can grab a drink, dinner.”

“I’d like that.” Her good-bye kiss tasted like the mango they’d eaten, and made him smile as she left. He’d call her. He liked her.

Alex went to take a shower. He needed to cool off in the hot night. He soaped himself up and heard a knock on the door.

Jemma?

He barely rinsed, wrapped himself in a towel, ran to the door. Was she okay?

Terry stood before him when he threw open the wooden door. Dammit.

“I’ll give you a moment to collect yourself.”

Back in the shower, Alex finished rinsing, shrugged on a blue polo and a pair of khaki shorts. He opened the door and stepped out with Terry on the front porch. They each took a molave chair.

“What did she do to me?”

Alex knew better than to play dumb.

“She took your pain. It’ll come back, your memories are all intact, but she’s given you a breather.”

“Can she…see things?”

“She can see your pain. She’ll know everything.”

“Then I need both of you to come to the island with me tonight. I have to show you.”

“Show me what?”

“She hasn’t told you?”

Terry’s sweat made a sour contrast to the perspiration Karen worked up earlier. He kept glancing around, unable to meet Alex’s eyes.

“She’s been under the weather all afternoon.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but I think she would find what I have to show you most interesting.”

“I’m sure she would—I’m sure we both would. And tomorrow, when she’s feeling up to it, we’ll go.”

“We have to go at night.”

“Okay, tomorrow night.”

“It must be tonight.”

“No. Jemma can’t be disturbed, and I won’t go without her.”

Terry stood to go.

“Wait up,” Alex said. “What’s this all about? What does it all have to do with the island?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Alex didn’t want to admit Terry had freaked him out but he slept poorly, getting up over and over in the night and leaving his cabin. He went and stood in front of Jemma’s cabin each time. And each time was the same. No lights on, not even the AC on. He wondered if he should knock. If he should try to get inside.

What if she needed help? What if she lay on her bed, unable to call for help?

Or he could be patient and respect her space.

Each time, he trudged back to his cabin, he cast glances over his shoulder. He wanted her to be all right.

And he wanted to know what she’d found out from Terry. Maybe he could be doing something instead of tossing, turning, and swatting at mosquitoes.