by Robin Huber
“It takes some time to get used to, but on hot days, it’s actually kind of nice.”
“Who’s shirt is that?” I ask, eyeing the blood-splotched T-shirt crumpled on the floor.
“Kellan’s,” she says, scooping some water in a cup and pouring it over my back and shoulders. “He took it off and put it on you...when they found you.”
“Why?”
“To cover you up,” she says evenly.
The thought comforts and unsettles me at once.
I cup some water in my hands and splash it on my face, watching the droplets fall back into the bath. “How long have you been here?”
“About a month.” She scoops some more water into the cup and pours it over me.
“What are you researching?”
“Plant compounds that can be used to treat illnesses, maybe even cure cancer one day. One plant in particular has only been sourced on this island. Lean back,” she says, emptying a cupful of water on my hair.
I wipe my face. “What if someone finds out that I’m here?”
“No one will find out that you’re here. And until Derek tells us otherwise, we’re going to keep doing our research. It will be business as usual.”
“What’s the point?” I ask, staring at my dirty nails beneath the water.
“Just because Marc Spencer is corrupt doesn’t mean the whole corporation is. Syntec is a trailblazer in the pharmaceutical industry and the work they do is important, not just for the company, but for medicine in general.” She scrubs my hair and the soft smell of flowers fills my nose.
“Mmm...what is that?”
“One of the locals made it. It’s the closest thing to shampoo I can offer you. But don’t worry, I brought plenty of products with me that I can share with you back at the house.”
“The house?”
“Our living quarters. They’re much nicer, I promise.” She smiles and looks around the rundown space. “This is just our pop up clinic...it’s where we treat the locals. We thought it was better to bring you here, since it’s where we keep all the medicine.”
“Oh.”
“I didn’t think you’d be up for a bath yet, but I did bring you a toothbrush and a few other things I thought you might need this morning.”
“Thank you,” I say, grateful to hear it.
“Are you hungry?” she asks, rinsing the lather from my hair.
“A little.”
“Good. I asked Jason to make you breakfast. He should be here with it soon.”
“Who’s Jason?”
“The third member of our research team. Jason and I are in Dr. Hernandez’s mentoring program at Stanford. Dr. H has been part of some of the biggest medical breakthroughs in recent history, so when I got the opportunity to join him on an expedition, I couldn’t pass it up. Jason followed me here like a little puppy.” She laughs. “Fortunately, he has the brains to back him up. He’s kind of brilliant.”
“You’re together,” I assume.
“Sometimes.” She pours some of the soap mixture in my hands. “Why don’t you work on your nails?”
I begin rubbing it in and scrubbing between my fingers and scraping my nails.
“He’s young. Twenty-three as of last Tuesday. And I’m thirty-one. But we share a passion for allopathic research and the use of plants in oncology. It’s not a quality every man possesses.” She laughs softly and wrings the water from my hair. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.” I look down at my hands, grateful to see the short white tips of my fingernails again.
“Kellan’s thirty, by the way.”
I figured he was Derek’s age, but I’m not sure why she’s volunteering the information. “Okay.”
“Just thought you’d like to know.”
“Why?”
“No reason.” The pitched tone of her voice says otherwise.
After a few silent seconds I ask, “Do you know a lot about him?”
“Not really. He’s kind of quiet. But he’s kind, respectful. He’s a good leader. He keeps the other two in line, not that Adam needs it. But Grant can be...rigid sometimes.”
“Grant?”
“He’s here with Kellan and Adam. He was a marine too. He was with them when they found you.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Sedatives can have strong amnesiac properties. Many of them cause short-term memory loss. I don’t know what they drugged you with. Hypnovel maybe. But it should be out of your system now. Everything should start to come back to you soon.”
“What if I don’t want it to?”
She stops washing me and I look up at her. “I can’t pretend to know what you went through, Makayla. But if you need to talk to someone—another woman—about anything, you can talk to me.”
I nod over the emotion that fills my chest and tears leak from my eyes. “I don’t remember what happened to me...but I can feel it, like black mercury in my veins pulsing beneath the surface of my skin. I can’t wash it away.”
“Makayla,” she says softly, “I don’t have a way to test you to see if you were raped. But we have other preventative medicine for the locals. We can test for pregnancy, STDs...”
I squeeze my eyes closed and hold in a sob.
“When you’re ready...if you want, I can do that for you. It might bring you some peace.”
“Or it could destroy what’s left of me.”
“I think you already know that not knowing is worse than knowing. Like I said, when you’re ready. Whenever that is, I’m here for you. I know you’re far from home, but you’re not alone here.”
“Thank you, Mia.”
Someone knocks on the door. “That’s probably Jason.” She gets up and I hear her talking to someone in the other room.
“Makayla, Jason’s here with your breakfast. Are you ready to get out?”
I nod and she helps me stand up. She pulls the rubber plug out of the tub and I watch the cloudy water swirl around the drain, taking the remnants of the last few days with it. She holds up a towel and I carefully dry off, then she helps me into some clean pajamas.
“I thought you looked about my size.” She smiles. “I’ll see what else I can give you. I’m a habitual over-packer.”
“Thank you,” I say appreciatively.
“Would you like to brush your teeth now?”
“Yes, please.”
She hands me a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste, and I eagerly take it from her.
I lean over the sink and brush my teeth, then I brush them again. When I’m through, I follow her back into the room where I’m greeted by a young man with shaggy brown hair and smiling blue eyes.
“Hello, Makayla. How are you feeling?” he asks like we’re old friends.
“Makayla, this is Jason.”
“I’m much better, thank you.” I sit down on the bed and scoot back against the pillow.
He smiles and hands me a plate of food. “I wasn’t sure what you like, but I made bacon and eggs, and oatmeal with cinnamon and brown sugar. Oh, and coffee? It’s Costa Rican. We get it from the mainland.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Cream and sugar?”
“Yes, please.”
“Tell me when.” He pours the cream in until small clouds form under the surface of the dark coffee.
“That’s good.”
He hands me the warm cup and I take a sip, closing my eyes as I savor the full, round flavor. I think I may have been suffering from caffeine withdrawal on top of everything else. My stomach growls at the sight of the bacon and, although it’s not warm, it’s delicious. I take another bite. Mmmm. “How long has it been since I’ve eaten?” I wonder aloud.
“Probably a few days,” Mia answers. “It’s good to see that your appetite is back.”
“Do you need anything else?” Jason asks.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Okay, then, I’ll leave you to eat your breakfast.”
“Thank you,” I say to him before he leave
s.
“I’ll head back to the house and put a few more things together for you,” Mia says. “Soap, shampoo, conditioner...maybe some lotion, deodorant, and a razor. A hair brush and hair ties are a must. So is sunscreen. Can you think of anything else?”
“Tampons?” I ask, praying to the heavens that I need them soon.
She shakes her head. “I’ll give you a shot when you’re feeling better. It stops you from having a period for a few months.”
“Birth control?”
She nods. “Yes, but more importantly, period control. It’s much more conducive for life on the island. I brought an extra shot just in case mine wore off early. That’s unlikely, so you can have it.”
“I’m already on birth control. Or I was.” I quickly try to figure out how many days I’ve been without it.
She gives me a knowing glance and I see the relief in her eyes. “Good,” she says softly. “But unless you have it with you, you’ll need something else.”
I nod in agreement.
“Whenever you’re ready,” she says.
“Okay.”
“I’ll be back in a little bit.”
“You’re leaving?” I ask, still feeling uneasy about being alone.
“Kellan will be back any minute. You’re safe now, Makayla. Just rest.”
* * *
I sit on the bed and thumb through the magazine Mia left, waiting for Kellan to return. When I’m through, I get up and walk over to the small, speckled mirror in the bathroom and comb my fingers through my hair, which is thickened by the inescapable humidity. I turn around and glance at it over my shoulder and I see someone’s dark reflection in the dull mirror. I spin around, startled, but the pins and needles subside when I see Kellan standing across from me.
He creases his dark eyebrows and raises his hands gently. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice has become a welcome, familiar sound in this unknown place.
“You didn’t,” I say, looking at his eyes, which seem even bluer than before. Maybe I’m finally out of the fog of the drugs. Or maybe my breakfast sharpened my senses. They’re mesmerizing. I reach for the sink behind me, but miss it and stumble backward.
Kellan’s hand is under my back a millisecond later and he’s holding me up. “Are you okay?” His eyes pierce mine and I blink up at him, trying to slow the blurry images suddenly flashing through my mind.
You’re safe now...Stay with me...I’m not going to leave you.
I gasp quietly at the memories of him finding me...saving me. They fill me with comfort and relief, but also apprehension that magnifies the turmoil bubbling inside me. If I can remember him through the fog of the drugs, I’m sure to remember what happened before he found me. My mind plays a quick tug-of-war, but I think about what Mia said. Not knowing is worse than knowing.
“You should get back in bed,” he says, guiding me across the room, and my skin quietly hums where his hand is pressed to my back. But the inky black pulses fast through my veins, blinding me with a sickening feeling of repulsion.
“Don’t,” I say, arching my back away from his hand.
“I’m sorry”—he pulls his hand away—“I didn’t mean to...”
I close my eyes when I see the troubled look on his face. “No, I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.” I sit down on the bed and he stands over me like a fortress, protecting me from everything that happened, and everything that could happen. My eyes follow his long lean body up to his handsome face that’s still shrouded in remorse. “Kellan, it’s okay.”
“I would never hurt you,” he says solemnly. “I would never hurt any woman,” he adds, and I hear an edge in his voice. “No man should ever do that.”
I swallow hard and nod. This new response to him is disconcerting. But I suppose before, when the drugs were still binding my thoughts, the fundamental need to feel safe trumped my apparent PTSD, allowing him to touch me. I close my eyes and exhale a disturbed breath. My father was a psychiatrist. I know the severity of PTSD and I also know that in order to address it, you have to face the trauma that caused it. I’m not sure which is more distressing, the trauma itself, or the fact that I don’t remember it...yet.
“I know you won’t hurt me, Kellan.”
“Good.” He sits on the end of the bed across from me and my skin warms unexpectedly.
My heart races, pumping black through my veins that makes me feel sick. I drop my head and inhale a deep breath.
“Makayla,” he says softly, reaching me through the dark.
I look up at him, at his calm, blue eyes, and the sick feeling begins to recede.
“I need you to trust me. I can’t protect you if you don’t.”
I exhale a slow breath, letting go of the fear, and say, “I trust you.”
He nods and slowly raises his hand to my chin, but pauses before he touches me. I nod softly, giving him the approval he’s waiting for, and he gently presses his fingers to my cheek. I wait for the darkness, but it doesn’t come. I only feel warmth and comfort. He turns my head and runs his thumb across my neck where several small cuts are healing over. “These cuts are healing really well.” He gently runs the back of his fingers over my jaw and my breath hitches in my throat, but not out of fear. “The bruise here is fading too.” He reaches for my hand and turns it over and my heart pounds as I watch his long fingers move across the skin near my wrist. “These marks are almost gone.”
“Restraints,” I say, keeping my voice even.
“Yes.”
“Why would they tie me up? I was too drugged to run away.”
“Because you fought. These marks are proof of that,” he says, rubbing his thumb across my wrist. “So was the bite mark on Quintero’s ear. And the fingernail marks on my arm.” The corner of his mouth turns up. “You’re a fighter. Don’t ever let go of that fight.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, eyeing the marks on his forearm.
“Don’t be. You were scared. It’s okay if you still are,” he says, gazing at me. “Just know that you don’t have to be afraid of me.”
I shake my head and say honestly, “I’m not.”
* * *
“I want to show you something,” Kellan says, waving me over to the window.
Mindful of the sore spot on my stomach, I get up and walk over to him.
He points to the distance, but all I see is green. “If you look through the trees there, you’ll see it.”
I look through the knotted branches of the trees that surround the clinic and see a crystal blue ocean that’s glistening under the afternoon sun, and palm trees that follow the curved line of a sandy white beach which wraps around the base of the mountain below.
“Wow,” I breathe.
“I think maybe it’s time we discharge you and show you to your room.”
“I have a room?”
“Yes,” he says with an amused look in his eyes. “The house is much bigger than the clinic. We stay there with Mia, Jason, and Dr. Hernandez.”
“They were afraid of me, weren’t they? That’s why they put me here.”
“We put you at the clinic, because it’s where all the medical supplies are. But yes, they were unsettled by your arrival,” he says honestly. “They weren’t expecting you, especially not in the condition you arrived in.” He gives me a sincere look. “They’re not afraid of you, Makayla. They know you were a victim.”
I bob my head, wanting to change the subject. “There isn’t air conditioning at this house, by chance, is there?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “No. But you’ll get used to it.”
I inhale a deep breath of the warm air in the room, hoping he’s right. “All right.” I peek out of the window once more. “Let’s go see where I’m going to be hiding out for the indefinite future.”
He smiles softly. “It’s a pretty big island. It’ll take some time to see it all. And you have to get better first, so the only thing you’ll be seeing for a while is the view from your window.”
&nb
sp; “Well, that sounds...lonely.”
“I’ll keep you company. And I’m sure the rest of your new housemates will want to get to know you too.”
I nod and follow him through the makeshift clinic to a small covered porch outside, where I’m greeted by a symphony of birds that call loudly from nearby trees, creating exotic melodies that I only heard glimpses of inside. I smile as he helps me down a short set of weathered steps into the warm sunshine that falls upon my face and wraps around me. A soft breeze blows against my warm skin and I breathe in the floral scent that’s mixed with the salty smell of the ocean. I hear waves crashing on the shore in the distance and look out at the blue-green water sparkling under the bright sun.
“It’s beautiful,” I say to Kellan, who is watching me take it all in.
“Yes...it is.” His gaze makes my heart beat faster.
He leads me to a Jeep that’s parked on a gravel road in front of the clinic and helps me up into the passenger seat. I silently cringe at the way the motion tugs at my stitches, but he notices. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
He studies me for a moment, then pulls the seatbelt over my shoulder, but I take it from him. “Really, Kellan, I’m fine. I can buckle myself.” I smile reassuringly.
“Okay.” He circles the Jeep and climbs in, and starts the engine. “It’s not far, just a couple of miles.”
I watch him as he drives, stealing glances at the muscles flexing in his arms as he shifts the gears and grips the steering wheel. “It’s just up ahead,” he says, pointing in the distance. I peer through the windshield and see a ranch style house with a wide front porch that’s surrounded by lush green trees and tropical plants. He pulls up in front of it and when he shuts off the engine, I’m once again greeted by the high-pitched calls of the island birds.
“I think everyone’s at the village today,” he says, leading me up the steps to the porch. “There’s usually somebody coming or going, but we try to stay in pairs. Okay?”
“Okay.”
He pushes the weathered front door open and I follow him inside the house and across the terracotta tiles that span the floor, until he stops outside a door and says, “This is your room.”
