“Why me?”
“Why not?” There was a sadness in her tone. She reached out and grabbed my arm, not forcefully, but with enough grip that I knew to start walking beside her again. “You’re the purest thing that’s stepped foot here in a long time. An uncorrupt soul is a rare find.”
“What will happen to you?” I wobbled, nearly tripping on a rock. She held me tighter so that I wouldn’t fall. “Will you be free?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what freedom looks like. I never have.” She let go of my arm when it felt like we reached steady, flat ground. She took out another cigarette and lit it. “How was it, life far away from the island?”
“It was nice.” I eyed her warily. “Maybe your freedom will buy you time away from here.”
“Maybe.” She seemed to smile at that.
Panic rose deep inside me when the terrain switched from damp grass and rocks to wet sand. Wet sand meant the water was much closer than I originally thought, and with the week coming to an end it also meant it would rise soon. Maybe Mayra’s plan was to kill me herself. Maybe all of this was a ploy to take revenge on my grandmother for what she’d done. Finally, she stopped walking and reached down to pick something up. A torch, which she lit in one swift motion before handing it to me. I took it and carried it in front of my face to make out my surroundings.
We were standing in front of a massive black rock. A cave, I realized, upon seeing an opening. Mayra walked closer. I followed, walking slowly behind her. She reached up and untied her hair from its usual bun. It unraveled swiftly as it came down, covering her already black attire with more black. Unlike my grandmother’s tight curls, Mayra had long, straight, black hair. La Ciguapa’s hair. The thought made me shiver. She walked inside the cave. I idled for a moment, taking another look over my shoulder, toward the Manor, which was at such a distance I could barely make it out. And then, taking a deep breath and saying a short prayer to God, the God my grandmother always hoped I’d believe in, I walked inside.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
River
He’d slept. A deep slumber that seemed to never end, but something woke him. Penelope. Penelope walking into the Mouth of the Devil. River sat up in bed with a gasp, his chest heaving. Mayra. He scrambled out of bed, fighting sheets that tied up his feet, begging him to stay. He shoved his legs into the first pair of pants he found and grabbed a T-shirt and pulled it over his head. He was already sprinting out the door when his eyes caught a pair of sneakers and he grabbed those too, taking the stairs two at a time.
“What’s wrong?” The voice came from his father.
“Penelope’s at the Mouth of the Devil.” He yanked his sneakers on and headed to the back of the house.
“If she’s already there, there’s nothing you can do,” his father called out.
“Let him be, Will.” That was Sarah’s soothing voice.
“I have to try,” River shouted as he exited the house.
He had to try.
It was all he could say. All he could do. His father wasn’t wrong. If Penelope was already there, River stood no chance. He had nothing else left to bargain. His soul wasn’t his. It hadn’t been since he was ten and even though he’d longed to be free of the invisible chains that kept him tied to this house, to him, he also knew what it would take. A pure heart. A wholesome soul. Her. River couldn’t stomach it. He’d complied with everything that was asked of him most of the time, but this, he couldn’t bear this. She wasn’t meant to be tethered. It was that thought that made him run faster through the grass at the back of his house. The grass didn’t grow much here, though no one really knew why. River had always been told the island didn’t allow for new life, and that extended to the grass itself. The land used up all of its resources to replenish the Tree of Life each year and once the life faded from it and the leaves dried up, all of its energy went right back to the ocean and its angry waves. When he reached the sand, he was surprised to feel it wet beneath his feet. That wasn’t supposed to happen until tomorrow evening. The realization made him run harder.
He was almost to the cave when he hit a wall. His body shot into the air and was thrown back against the sand. It took River a moment to recover from the impact. A figure was walking toward him when he came to, blinking slowly as white and black dots blurred his vision. He stood up shakily, trying to find equilibrium to keep going. Even through the blurred vision, River knew it was him, the Devil himself. Though he didn’t like the name Devil, he’d never given himself a name, and River’s lack of interest for the occult left him with only that word to call him.
“You’re too late.”
“No.” River stepped forward once more, chest filled with dread, with pain. “Please.”
“You’ve pled your bargain once, boy. You were brought back. Wasn’t that enough?”
“No.” He shook his head, looking beyond the figure, toward the caves. He couldn’t make anything out. “Please,” he said again. “I’ll give you anything.”
“You don’t have anything left to give.” He chuckled deeply, wickedly, a sound that had always made River want to run for the hills.
“I’ll make a trade. I’ll do your bidding, no matter what you ask of me. Just set her free.”
“Again, that is not something that interests me. I have others doing my bidding. You think you’re the only one?” The figure swayed, like smoke, like air, like fire.
“There must be something.” River held his breath. There had to be something.
“Maybe there is,” he said after a long moment. “Maybe there is.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Penelope
It was always leading to this, wasn’t it? The island giveth and taketh away. Not the island. I’d always thought it was the island that decided that, as if it were some sort of god. We’d built lives and worshiped it like pagans, and for what? To die anyway, in the end. We used happiness as a bargaining chip, but we never won. How could one win against the Devil? It seemed impossible. I thought of River and my lip began to tremble. I hadn’t even gotten a chance to say goodbye. I hadn’t gotten a chance to kiss him again, to be held by him.
My chest felt like it might explode in its cavity, like I might bleed out from within. The shards of broken seashells underneath my bare feet were a welcome distraction from that pain. Mayra grabbed my hand and pulled me to walk faster. I wasn’t surprised that she wasn’t complaining about it. She was used to being barefoot, used to taking pain in a way that I wasn’t. After all, I had been shielded from it for years. Shielded from the pain and anguish that my memories would have provided me. Shielded from the pain falling in love brought with it, because there was no falling in love without letting go. There was no use in denying or hiding it now. I’d fallen in love with River Caliban. Maybe I was as stupid as my father once said I was. Maybe I was as crazy as they called my grandmother. It didn’t matter though. No amount of warnings would have kept me away from him and no amount of walls could have stayed put between us. It was an impossibility in a series of them from the beginning. We’d both known that. Mayra stopped walking. I stopped with her, doubling over to cry over the pain—in my chest, on the pads of my feet—and glanced up at her, wiping wet hair from my equally wet face. It was so dark, the fog so heavy, the wind had gotten stronger and the rain was coming down hard now. I could barely see her.
“He knows.” She looked up at the dark sky above us.
“Who knows what?”
She started walking again and stopped again just a few feet away, where a boat swayed in the ocean water, tied to a piece of wood buried in the sand.
“We’re going by boat?” I took a step back, biting down on my lip to keep from crying out in pain.
“How else would you suggest we get from one island to another with the tide rising this quickly and the rain not stopping?”
“I wouldn’t suggest it at all.” I looked around. “There has to be another way.”
“There is no other way.” Mayra was u
ntying the rope now and holding it in her hand to make sure it wouldn’t go anywhere, the way someone holds a horse in place. I looked back toward the Manor, saw lights flickering. My heart grew heavier. River was awake. I felt that truth in my bones. He was awake and looking for me. Would he come over here and search? Did he know what I’d done?
“You need to leave,” Mayra said, breaking into my thoughts. “We need to leave now.”
I bit my lip and nodded even though I didn’t agree. I knew I had to. I knew there was no other way. As I walked to the boat, I swore I felt hands helping me step into it. Mayra handed me a paddle. I held it tightly in my fists. A wave came and rocked us. I let go of the paddle and held the sides of the boat. We were going to die out here, but if we didn’t, if we managed to get to the other side, I could save my mother. I could save her and break the curse and even though I didn’t believe in curses I believed in River and if my leaving meant he’d be safe, so be it.
“I’ll paddle. Save your strength. You’ll need it.”
I nodded, holding on to the paddle on my lap again. As she paddled, Mayra prayed. I’d never heard a witch pray before, so I leaned in and shut my eyes to listen. Our Father, who art in heaven . . . my eyes popped open, only to find hers closed as she paddled, her arms moving at a steady pace against the strong current. She said the prayer again, on a never-ending loop, the way my grandmother did when she was praying the rosary. Another wave hit us and my instant panic turned to sobs. What if I didn’t make it to the other side? I’d never been afraid of death, but I didn’t want to drown. I squeezed my eyes shut, breathing through another wave that made the boat unsteady, and as my eyes were closed, I joined Mayra in prayer. We said two more Our Fathers before she stopped. I opened my eyes and looked at her.
“We’re almost there,” she shouted over the water. “You’ll need to start paddling now. Promise me that you won’t stop.”
“Why would I stop?” I shouted back.
“Just . . . promise.” She held my eyes in a serious stare, one I couldn’t tear my gaze from.
I nodded. “I won’t stop paddling.”
The wave that came next careened the boat into the air. I gripped onto the sides of it and squeezed my eyes shut with a scream as my stomach dipped, as if I was in a freefall, a roller coaster with no end point. When the boat crashed down, I opened my eyes and grabbed my paddle quickly to make sure it didn’t go overboard. When I looked up at Mayra, she was no longer there. Her paddle was, but there was no sign of her.
“Mayra?” I turned and looked behind me. “Mayra!”
She was gone. Gone. I looked around anxiously, calling out her name, screaming it as loud as I could. Had the wave taken her? Had the curse?
“Fuck you, Satan,” I yelled as I started to shake. “Fuck you.”
I began to cry loudly as I paddled. The water felt so heavy beneath me, too strong to move, but I had to. I’d promised Mayra I would keep paddling and I would. I thought of River, and my mother, and everyone who was depending on me getting back to Pan, and paddled harder. My arms started burning, my shoulders aching, but I kept going. The waves lessened. The fog lifted ever so slightly. The boat hit something that made me rear forward and fall onto the seat Mayra was supposed to be in. When I looked up, I realized I’d hit sand. Palm trees lined the perimeter behind me and I knew I was back at Pan. Either that or I’d made it all the way to the Dominican Republic, but it didn’t matter. I was somewhere. I climbed out of the boat, my arms aching, my feet throbbing. The gown I wore was soaked and weighed me down, but I swept up the bottom and wrung it out with the little energy I had left. I walked one, two, maybe three whole steps on the hot sand before my knees gave out on me and I passed out.
When I came to, I was sitting on the Devil’s Chair. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the light that the sun provided from behind the clouds.
“Will you make your wish now?” the voice asked. “Who will you choose? Your boyfriend or your mother? Or does you being back on Pan mean you’ve made that choice?” There was a dark amusement in his voice and I hated that I’d ever associated it with River’s.
My shoulders began to shake as I sat there, not saying any words, careful not to think anything. I kept my mind blank, lest not to make him run with any ideas and grant anything I didn’t wish to be granted.
“What do you want?” I asked, a wail. “What do you want?”
“Make a wish.”
I closed my eyes and then I did.
I had no recollection of walking home or getting there. I just knew that with each step, my heart grew heavier. I thought of River when I stopped in front of my door. If I went inside, would I forget him? Isn’t that what I should have wanted? He’d tormented me, practically conned me into staying with him, and just when I didn’t think I had one more thing left to give, he took my heart. That sounded like someone worth forgetting. I felt a poke inside my ribs, a jab, a reminder. I laughed loudly, shoulders shaking. I crashed down on my knees and started crying again. Fucking River.
The door of the house opened. Through wet eyes, I could see my grandmother standing by the door in a flower muumuu and hair rollers covering her head.
“You did it.” She rushed over to me, taking the leaves from my hands and picking me up from the ground.
Inside, she got to work, making her tea for Mami. I watched numbly. She hadn’t even taken another glance at me. Hadn’t even cared what I had given to get these damn leaves. I realized she’d always been like that. She cared about herself and sure she’d cared about her family, but at what cost?
“It’s your fault the curse exists.” I swallowed.
She stopped mashing leaves and glanced at me. “You met Mayra.”
“How could you do that to your own sister?”
“Did she tell you what she did? She wished for my death.”
“And then the Devil turned around and told you about it so you wished for something worse,” I said. “You always told me to stay away from there. To stay away from them, from the Chair, and all the while you were the cause of all of this pain.”
She glanced away, looking down at the leaves, and continued mashing. She was quiet as she picked them up and set them in the boiling pan. Quiet as she prepared it in a mug. Quiet as she walked it out of the kitchen and over to my mother’s room. I cried again as I sat there. I felt like a different person in this house. It’s funny what knowledge does to someone. What forgiveness brings. I’d come here looking for both of those things from my grandmother, my mother. I didn’t know I wouldn’t find it here at all. I didn’t know I’d find it in the one place I should’ve never gone looking, but I did. I found especially that the forgiveness I so desperately was seeking had to come from myself, not anyone else.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
River
“If she’d stayed long enough she could have lifted this curse. She could have cured this house. I felt it, felt her presence lighting the way,” Sarah said.
“She chose to save her mother. We can’t fault her for that.”
“A mother who did her no good?” Sarah shook her head. “A mother who shunned and turned her back on her?”
River glanced over at Sarah. “A mother, nonetheless.”
“Your father won’t survive the night,” she responded. “You don’t look so well yourself.”
“I know.” He did.
He knew he’d be gone soon. He knew how this worked. His father would die, Penelope’s mother would live. River would die and Penelope would live. It was the bargain he’d made, after all. Two souls for the price of one. He would have bargained that of Gia Guzman’s, but the Devil didn’t want wretched souls, only pure ones, and even though River had done his share of bad shit in his day, he’d done half of those in the Devil’s name, and asked for penance on the other half.
Technically, he was a fucking saint.
He laughed at that.
Chapter Thirty
River
The house shook vigorously. He hadn’t
slept in two nights, but even he knew he wasn’t fabricating what he felt. He clicked the mouse and shut down the computer. Even as he clicked the button, the irony wasn’t lost on him. More likely than not, he wasn’t going to survive whatever came next. He knew that because he asked for it and he felt the Devil smile at the request. Sick bastard. River knew he didn’t need him. His back was covered in welts and scars. He was running out of space and the Devil liked blank canvases. So yeah, he was pretty sure he’d die. The house shook again, harder this time. He ran out of the study and found his father standing in the foyer.
“I sent Sarah away. You should go.”
“Why didn’t you go with her?” River shot him a bewildered look. “Why are you still here?”
“I’ll die here.” His father smiled. It wasn’t happy or sad. It was the smile of a man who’d made peace with his destiny. “You should go.”
“I’m not just going to leave you.”
The house shook again, and this time, the chandelier hooked into the thirty-foot ceiling in the center of the foyer came crashing down, the crystals spattering everywhere. River put an arm around his father to shield him from the crystals that bounced in their direction. Wilfred had never been one of those fathers who showed much emotion, rarely hugging River or kissing him. He often just squeezed his shoulder and smiled, and most of the time that was enough. Sarah had been the opposite. Though she wasn’t his mother, she’d been very motherly toward him, always there to kiss him and hug him when he got home, always there to encourage him and smile when he needed her to. He smiled now, thinking of her safety, of her freedom, finally.
River took hold of his father’s hand and walked him to the back of the house, toward the Tree of Life. It was a longshot, but maybe. Anything was possible. His father was walking slower than usual, but River pushed on, gripping his hand tighter, walking harder against the gusts of wind. This wasn’t normal. The day leading up to the water rising again was always nice, the final nice day they had until the gloom settled again. It was never this. It had never been this. River wondered if his mood had anything to do with that. If the fact that he was mourning his loss was causing all of this, the loss of the woman he loved. The loss of what might have been, had he not been tethered to such a despicable being. He glanced at the garage door. If they could make it there and race to the helipad, he could get them out of here. But he still needed the leaves. The ground beneath them shook again, this time forming clear fault lines around them.
Fables & Other Lies Page 17
