by JA Huss
First I pull up the internet and fall down my old familiar rabbit hole of conspiracy theories, shadow governments, and psychos searching for the current state of the zeitgeist. Because I’ve learned a few things about Megan today that have my mind working overtime. She let a few clues slip. A few secrets she didn’t mean to tell and now I can’t stop wondering if maybe, this is it. This is when I finally figure out why my life is the way it is.
Everything I find on the internet, well I’ve seen it all before. There’s nothing new here since yesterday and I practically know it all by heart.
But I read it all again. Watch all the videos. Listen to all the crazy theories. But this time I do it with a set of fresh eyes, a new light, and an updated perspective.
It’s all the same stuff. No new information. But somehow, in this new light, with this new perspective, I get it. Things click into place, start making more sense, and that question I’ve been asking myself for as long as I can remember suddenly has an answer.
Because I see the question through the lens of Megan Machette.
I press Logan’s contact with a sick feeling in my stomach. He accepts on the first ring. “Hey. What’s up? Everything cool?”
“No. It’s not cool. I think we need to change the plan.”
Explaining that is what takes all the time. For more than an hour he argues with me as I walk along the beach. He calls me paranoid. He calls me a freak. He calls me insane.
And I admit, I am all those things. But I’m also very much right.
I might not be Einstein-level smart. Hell, I might not even be Mr. Rogers-level smart. I barely finished high school, I never went to college… but I have seen things. I have been told things. I know things.
And I am right.
In the end he agrees because this is my job and it’s my call. But he’s still not convinced.
That’s OK. By this time tomorrow we’ll know one way or the other.
And like I said, some people feel like strangers no matter how long you know them and some seem like long-lost friends the moment you meet. I’m still not sure which category Megan falls in to, but there’s no more time to figure it out.
I know that whatever she’s a part of, it’s not her fault the same way all the things I’m a part of aren’t really my fault.
Still, we all make choices, don’t we? We all weigh the good, and the bad, and the ugly and come to some kind of decision on how to proceed.
That’s all I’m doing now.
It’s got nothing to do with how I feel about her.
So when I get back to the cabaña almost two hours later I take off my clothes and climb in to her bed.
She turns over, sleepily rubbing her eyes as she tries to open them. Her blonde hair shines in the light of the moon coming through the gauzy white curtains over the window and I smile.
It’s a real smile.
“Ten minutes,” she mumbles.
“Got caught up,” I say, slipping my arm underneath her so I can hold her next to my chest.
She sighs in the darkness, then settles her chin against my shoulder. And soon her breathing evens out. Her conscience clear enough for sleep.
Unlike mine, which is totally unsettled.
But it’s nice anyway. And I enjoy it.
I think about things as I listen to her soft, rhythmic breathing and feel the slow thumping of her heart up against my ribs.
I think about my father and my uncle. My grandfather. Still wondering how all this shit happened. Were they born into the Way like I was? Or did they join?
I’ll never know that answer, I guess. They’re all gone now so there’s no one to ask. Maybe, once this is all over, I could ask Michael Conner and his ilk if they have any answers for me, but I’m not sure I could trust them. Not even if we win this war and walk away free.
They’re even more in the dark than I am. What they know would just be rumors.
So I let that go and think about Jesse and Joey. About how their lives have suddenly changed. How maybe that’s not just a coincidence. How maybe nothing is just a coincidence.
And then I think about Megan again. Her little speech tonight at dinner. I play it back in my head for a few moments, trying to get the wording right.
She said, “There is a plan inside you. Maybe it’s not a spreadsheet with ticked-off boxes, maybe it’s something else? Something pre-planned or predetermined. Maybe… it’s just destiny?”
I guess I could deal with the destiny part. That implies a grand scheme beyond our world. Something divine. Something maybe even sacred.
Because the other two—pre-planned or predetermined—those imply another kind of master plan.
Something engineered on this plane of existence by flesh-and-blood people.
And that? No. That I will not be a part of. Not anymore. I’m done.
I lie awake for hours just staring up at the ceiling, my thumb caressing small circles on the muscle of Megan’s upper arm.
I like her. I do. I wish I could know her better. I wish we’d met under different circumstances. I wish we were different people.
But we’re not.
Maybe I doze a little during the night, but if so, it’s a fitful kind of sleep filled with bad, half-real dreams that feel a little too much like premonitions to allow for any actual rest. My eyes are tired the minute I open them and I squint at the hint of sun trying to steal its way through the cabaña window.
“Good morning,” Megan says.
I turn my head and look at her in the hazy dawn light. Blonde hair messily falling across one eye. Crooked lips slightly upturned into an almost smile. White sheet pulled up to her breasts and bare shoulders, reminding me she’s naked under that cover.
Her eyes are bright, like she’s ready for a new day, and mine feel like someone rubbed sandpaper over them when I wasn’t looking.
“Did you sleep well?” she asks.
“Sure,” I lie. “What time is it?” Then look around for a clock I know isn’t here.
“Not sure, exactly. Maybe five-thirty?”
“Shit,” I say, swinging my legs out of bed. “We gotta go.” I stand up and walk out of the room. It would’ve been nice to spend more time in bed with her, but… business. It always comes first.
I fish my phone out of yesterday’s jeans on the floor and bring up Logan’s contact. Press call.
He picks up on the first ring. “I was just about to call you. We’re ready when you are.”
“On my way. See you in about thirty minutes.”
“Perfect,” he says, then ends the call.
I turn around to find Megan standing on the other side of the living room, naked. She’s looking at me. All of me. Because I’m naked too.
She smiles and something suddenly hurts inside my chest. “I had a nice time last night,” she says, holding up her wrist where the gold ribbon is still tied. It’s a little worse for wear now. Not as pretty and sleek after our trip into the ocean. And she’s still wearing the jewelry too.
I picture her last night in the ocean. The long pig tails I made from her hair swaying in the water.
She looked very innocent. Very normal. And maybe, now that I think about it, I made her hair into pig tails for that reason.
I want her to be innocent. I really do.
But I’m not sure I have anything left for Megan Machette. I think I gave it all away last night.
I suck in a deep breath and say, “Me too. Take off the jewelry and get dressed. Wear something comfortable. And don’t wear those sandals. Either pair. Wear the water shoes.”
“OK,” she says, eyes still lingering on my body. “Are you nervous?”
“No,” I lie again. Then walk back to my own room to put on clothes.
I rip the tags off a pair of faded jeans, pull on a white tank-top t-shirt, and then spend two whole minutes adjusting the laces on the rugged water shoes made for hikers.
Megan appears smelling like toothpaste. “I’m ready. Technically. But I’m nervous. What exactly will we do when w
e get there?”
“I’ll explain on the yacht,” I say, pushing past her. I go into the bathroom, close the door, then unwrap the complimentary toothbrush, brush my teeth, splash water on my face, and stare at myself in the mirror. Both hands braced on either side of the sink.
It’s gonna be a long day. I can already feel it.
There’s a car waiting for us outside the main lobby of the hotel and we get in. Neither Megan nor I have said a word since we left the cabaña and during the short ride over to the dock the silence continues.
I don’t want to think about last night on the beach. Or dinner. All those things I said to her. Or the conversation with Logan afterward. But I can’t help it. All of it runs through my head.
It felt nice to be with a woman again. One who wasn’t trying to pump me for information about my life or sneak pictures of me to send to her friends. I haven’t had a girlfriend since I was in high school. Everyone between then and now has been a casual thing. A sex thing. Strings of emotionless experiences stacked one upon the other.
But last night started to feel different. Megan was trying to help me out. Not trying to figure me out so much as help me understand myself.
No one has ever done that before. Not even my brothers. Not even my father.
And the funny thing is, that girl on stage last night? Those feelings about her, they were real. I wasn’t pretending.
I don’t understand how some people get the rules of this game so quickly. How they understand them so completely at such a young age. Did someone give her a rule book? And if so, who? Also, why didn’t I get one?
I understand that all this waxing poetic is pointless.
No one gets a rule book. But someone helped that little girl on stage get to where she was last night. Someone took her aside once and told her the rules. And then she decided to play by them.
No one ever did that for me and it really pissed me off.
I’m not really a naive guy. I get it. I understand how the world works, but there’s still this little boy inside me who wants to believe that people are good and nothing’s as pre-planned as it seems.
I hate that kid. I really fucking hate him. Because he’s the reason I trusted people in the past. He’s the reason I had hope once upon a time.
And it’s just better to assume everyone is a dick, the whole world’s out to get you, and there are no spare bundles of hope lying around.
This reminds me of Brooke when she came up to my office just a couple weeks ago. She wanted Joey to get his daughter back because that little girl gave him hope.
Do you really think I have a little bundle of spare hope lying around here?
That’s what I asked her.
And then my thoughts are aimlessly wandering down another twisted path as I try to imagine Maisy Kane and the life she’s about to live.
What will that look like?
Will she end up like Brooke? Like Megan?
Or will she end up like Emma? No notion of the evil that lurks behind the curtain of this world?
Maybe I don’t have any spare hope for myself or this life I’m living, but I have a little bit when it comes to my niece. I want her life to be normal. I want Jesse and Emma to get married and start a family. I want Joey, and Huck, and Wald, and Brooke to have whatever happiness looks like to them. And I want Maisy to have a real father. Two, I guess, since Michael Conner counts.
But how do I get there from here?
That’s the part that doesn’t make sense yet.
Brooke’s plan is fine. Maybe it will work. But we can’t even get to the starting line until I figure out what the fuck is going on with the Way and what the hell happened to Charlotte.
She has to be my key. She has to.
Because what do I have without Charlotte?
I’ve hung this whole thing on her shoulders. I’m counting on her to help me. And that’s stupid. We don’t even know each other anymore.
But it’s not really specifically Charlotte. She’s not some magic answer to some unsolvable problem. She’s just the only missing woman I have to work with at the moment. She’s the only lead I have to answer the question, Why do all the mothers disappear?
Because I just know this is the question I need to answer. What are they doing with the women?
“OK,” Megan says. “I guess I’m ready.”
I pull myself out of the introspection and realize we’re pulling into the parking lot of the docks. I check my phone and realize we’re running behind. Twenty-five minutes have passed and it will take at least another ten to get to Logan.
As soon as the car stops I’ve got the door open and I’m getting out. “Let’s go,” I say, reaching back to offer Megan my hand.
She smiles, thinking I’m being chivalrous, accepts my offer, and allows me to pull her out of the backseat.
“Thanks,” I call to the driver, then slam the door and tug Megan towards the boat.
She has to jog to keep up with my long, determined strides. “Slow down,” she says.
“Can’t. We’re late. I don’t want to fuck this up and we’re on a tight timeline if we want to make it out to that island in time.”
“What do you mean? We have plenty of time. It’s just a little after six. That island is only about two hours away, max.”
I don’t answer her. Just tug her along until we’re at the yacht, then point to the cabin and say, “Start the engine for me, will ya?”
Megan stares at me for a moment. I’m scaring her, I can tell. She’s not panicking. Yet. But she’s breathing faster and her eyes are wide, and she’s looking at me like every opinion she ever formed about me is now being reevaluated.
“Please,” I say. “We’re meeting Logan on his yacht just offshore. It’s fine. It’s all fine.”
Then I untie the dock line from the cleat, jump on board, and catch the backside of Megan as she disappears into the cabin.
I tuck the dock line neatly away in a compartment, then look out to sea. Just barely able to make out the long, sleek hull of a massive superyacht.
One more deep breath for courage, and then I follow her inside.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN - MEGAN
I wouldn’t call that thing a boat. The superyacht we’re approaching has to be at least two hundred feet long and has been designed to look like some sort of mutant hybrid of a submarine and a warship.
“What the hell is that?” I mumble.
Johnny, who didn’t let me captain the boat after I started it up and who has been silent the whole ten minutes we’ve been making our way out to meet Logan, just says, “Nice, right?” in response.
“That’s Logan’s boat?”
“Yup.”
We’re about a hundred yards off the port side when an equally sleek tender boat motors out the back and starts heading towards us.
“Should we anchor?” I ask, trying to make sense of things.
“No. We’re not anchoring.”
I’m just about to ask another question about the new plan I haven’t been told when I notice there are two occupants in the boat approaching us.
One woman wearing a red bikini—long blonde hair flying behind her in a ponytail—and one man, shirtless and wearing tan board shorts.
Johnny cuts the engine, jumps up from his chair at the helm, and then pushes past me to make his way to the swim platform.
And because I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t know what to do, I follow him. By the time I make my way to the stern, the approaching boat is sliding alongside.
The woman takes the hand Johnny’s offering her and jumps on board our ship.
The man, a big guy with tattoos that look suspiciously like Johnny’s, tosses a large duffel bag onto the webbing and the woman picks it up, heaving the strap over her shoulder like it weighs a ton, and then pushes past Johnny saying, “I’m gonna stow this down below.”
She has a soft feminine voice, but her eyes, when they meet mine as she squeezes past me, are hard, and dark, and not at all fe
minine.
“Hello,” I say. “I’m—”
But she’s already gone. Her backside disappearing into the cabin. No time for pleasantries.
“OK,” I mumble, turning back to Johnny and the new guy. It’s only then I realize that the tattoos they’re both sporting are exactly the same.
What?
How is that possible? I mean, it’s not like the Epic of Gilgamesh written in the original blah-blah-blah ancient language is the go-to full-sleeve tattoo option for tall, handsome outlaws on the high seas.
“How…” I wave a finger back and forth at the two men. “Is this your brother?” I ask. Because that’s the only way this makes sense.
“No,” Johnny says, not even looking at me. “OK. Good luck, man. And thanks. I owe you.”
“I’m getting paid, bru,” the man says in a weird accent. “You don’t owe me shit.”
“Yeah, but this?” Johnny laughs, pointing to the man’s tattoos. “Damn. That must’ve taken all night.”
The other man looks down at his arm and studies it the way one might study their newly tanned skin after a day in the sun. “But it’s nice, yeah? I wish it were real.”
“Thanks,” Johnny says, clapping him on the back. “See you on the other side.”
“Right then, I’m off.” And then the big guy slips past and does one of those slick, one-finger salutes and winks at me as he passes.
I turn to watch him disappear into the cabin with the woman.
Who, I now realize… looks a little bit like me.
I whirl back to Johnny. “What’s going on?”
“Come on,” he says, offering me his hand. “We gotta go. They need to leave now if they’re going to make it in time.”
“Wait? Where are we going?”
“To Logan’s yacht.”
“We can’t take that thing to the island.”
“Don’t worry, it’s handled. Now come on.” He wiggles his fingers in a ‘come here’ gesture. “We need to get off this boat.”
“Johnny—”
“Megan,” he says sharply. And suddenly there’s a hard, dark look in his eyes. The same look that woman who looks suspiciously like me had when she passed by. “Get in the fucking boat. We do not have time for this.”
