The Island of the Skull

by Matthew John Costello

  But by now she knew how to time her act.

  Bring Belle to the edge, wait until the announcer finished his spiel, then hesitate—

  Ann herself felt the exciting tension, though after a bunch of dives it was starting to feel strangely normal.

  She laughed at that. Normal. Diving from a platform into the ocean on a horse. If it wasn’t true, people wouldn’t believe it.

  She leaned down and whispered close to Belle. “All set girl…let’s fly.”

  She only had to give Belle the slightest kicks now—the horse knew to respond without a painful jolt.

  And Ann guessed that if she treated Belle well…then the horse would treat her well too.

  The kick, and Belle reared back.

  In a second, Ann went flying through the air, holding on for dear life. The giant splash, a few breathless moments underwater, then surfacing to…applause.

  It might not be Broadway. It might not even be burlesque. But with the people clapping, the kids wide-eyed, and Belle paddling for dear life to get out of the chilly sea, Ann had to admit that she loved this.

  Ann opened the door to the apartment.

  Her roommate popped out of the tiny bathroom. “Ann, that you?”

  “No, it’s some crazy killer.”

  “We gave already,” Susan said.

  Ann walked into the small living room and fell into the couch.

  Then Susan walked out wearing a stylish short dress, and—Ann thought—too much makeup. Cute and sexy—but maybe too sexy.

  “You’re not sitting, are you?”

  Ann looked left and right. If she couldn’t perform on a stage, then she’d just have to do her comedy material for them. She looked left and right.

  “Why, it does appear that I am sitting. How very observant.”

  Susan gave Ann’s shoes a playful kick.

  “Well, unsit. And get dolled up, kiddo. And change these shoes.”

  “Why? I’m bushed. I still feel like I’m underwater. Can’t get my ears cleared. Thank God Belle doesn’t seem to like being under water eith—”

  Ellie, the other roommate, came out, also dressed to the nines.

  “You going to a wedding too?”

  “To Johnny’s club. They have a band and a singer tonight. Maybe even someone funny. He said…you said you’d go.”

  Ann remembered her deal. He would put a word in with Nadler (and she could imagine how that was done) and she’d show up at the club, keeping their stock of young women full.

  “Oh, not tonight. I really am—”

  Susan sat on the frayed arm of the easy chair.

  “He didn’t say it like it was an option, toots. Said you agreed to come, and he’d like you there tonight.” She looked up at Ellie, as if she might be speaking a language to Ann that she didn’t understand.

  “Think you gotta go, Ann,” Ellie said.

  “I gotta, hm?”

  A deal’s a deal, Ann thought. Especially when it might not be too healthy to try to weasel out of it.

  “Okay.” She stood up. “Give me ten to throw something on, get some makeup on my waterlogged face, and then we’ll hit the club.”

  Susan gave her a big hug and laughed.

  “You’re going to love it!”

  They sat at the same table, but there was no sign of Johnny. The big band played something that sounded like Glenn Miller, something new. Some people slow-danced, couples flirting…and Ann knew that this was another part of her life not exactly in great shape.

  Was she ever going to meet a guy?

  Would she ever fall in love? She was funny, but she could also act. She wanted it all. And how did romance fit into any of that?

  “How’s your Manhattan?” Susan said, already a drink ahead of Ann.

  “Great.” Ann nursed the potent drink. She didn’t imbibe regularly and something this strong could have her on the floor in no time.

  She took a tiny sip.

  Still, it would be nice to laugh. To flirt.

  Some guy built with the dimensions of a door—boxy, with no neck—came over and asked Ellie to dance. Though Sally looked gorgeous, no one approached her.

  Guess everyone knew better.

  Then a short guy, with a bald dome of a head came over and asked Ann to dance.

  She started to make an excuse.” No, I’m just resting. Been a rough—”

  “Why not enjoy yourself.”

  She turned around, and there was Johnny, standing behind Susan, his hands on her bare shoulders, near her neck. He smiled, but there was nothing friendly about his suggestion.

  “You kids like this music. Go on. Mike here—he’s a good guy, you know? A really good guy.”

  The only way out of this awkward moment seemed to be to accept the offer of a dance.

  She turned to bald Mike, smiled, and stood up. “I’d be delighted,” she said. He didn’t seem to get the joke.

  Out on the floor, it became a game of dodging Mike’s feet. His shoes seemed to be happy only when stepping on Ann. Fortunately, she got into a rhythm of avoiding them.

  He did try to talk to her, and there was nothing he could do about that, even though she stood a good six inches taller.

  “So, you know Johnny a long time?” he said.

  “I don’t know him at all. My roommate does.”

  “Oh, it just seemed like you were, you know, one of his people.”

  “Well—‘you know’—I’m not.”

  The troll looked back at the table, where Johnny now sat with Susan, his arm around her, whispering, leaning into her, stealing kisses.

  “He’s a bit stressed tonight. Had a little problem with a run from Nova Scotia. Some other mug thought it was his booze. Happens all the time. But—I dunno—this might be something bigger.”

  Great, thought Ann. Now I have to listen to the business dealings of Susan’s gangster, as told by a dwarf.

  “Yeah, he seems a bit tense tonight.”

  Ann looked at Johnny and Susan, now openly kissing.

  “He doesn’t look that tense to me.”

  And then mercifully the song ended.

  Ellie came back about the same time as Ann. Johnny surfaced. “I ordered you two dolls more drinks.”

  “I wasn’t done with my first,” Ann said.

  Johnny laughed. “So now you got two drinks.”

  Ann let Ellie sit down next to Susan, keeping herself as far from the gangster as possible. He looked her in the eyes as if he had spotted her maneuver.

  “You should loosen up. Have some fun. Susan always has fun here.”

  “I had a busy day.”

  Another laugh, “Oh yeah, jumping on those horses.”

  “With. We jump together.”

  “Still pretty wacky if you ask me, hm Susan? Diving horses. Sheesh, what people won’t pay to see.”

  Ann was about to answer—something she could do in a heartbeat. She had dealt with enough Manhattan guys with their wisecracks and smirks.

  But this was different. She turned to Ellie.

  “I need the powder room, Ellie. Care to join me?”

  Ellie nodded.

  And Johnny said, “Don’t be long. Might start to miss you.” He quickly turned to Susan, “Just kidding, doll. Just a joke.”

  Ann and Ellie sailed to the powder room, past an opaque glass door to the side of the stage.

  They were about to leave the restroom, when Ann grabbed Ellie’s wrist.

  “Look, I don’t want to stay here much longer. That mug of Susan’s keeps looking at me. Makes me want to throw my drink in his face.”

  Ellie’s face instantly registered horror.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “No, I won’t. But I need to leave. Maybe you can say you’re not well. I could go with you. He wouldn’t believe me.”

  “No, he wouldn’t.”

  “So, deal?”

  Ellie nodded. “Deal.”

  Ann opened the door.

  The music had turned more up-tempo, and
the dance floor filled, the horns so loud, the bandleader singing.

  But then Ann heard something else.

  Something outside…the screech of tires. Just audible over the sound of the band.

  Ellie started for the table.

  “Wait,” Ann said.

  She always had good instincts; that’s what her mother said. Used to tell her that they could be real useful if she ever got to work in the theater.

  Good instincts…

  Screeching tires.

  “What is it?” Ellie said.

  Ann started to answer.

  “Don’t you—”

  But then from the side, and the rear, all the doors of the club opened.

  Not just opened, flew open, as if kicked, rammed open.

  Through the open doors, a small army of men in black suits, hats pulled low—just like the movies.

  And just like the movies, they all carried guns.

  39

  The Indian Ocean

  THE MIA SUSANA CHUGGED STRAIGHT at the fog bank. One crewman—younger than Tommy—sat at the bow, checking the water depth, looking out for any sign of coral outcrops clawing to the surface.

  Younger than Tommy…A kid. With his goofy smile, his life ahead of him. And I probably owe my life to him, Sam thought.

  Probably?

  No, I do owe my life to Tommy.

  Then killed so brutally. Was Tommy the canary?

  Sam’s dad used to talk about working the mines when he first came to the States, something newcomers drifted into. A trap, if they didn’t do something to escape the deadly work belowground.

  And he told Sam about the canary. How they went down with a sweet yellow bird in a cage. Sometimes it sang in the caverns below, filling the gloomy shafts with a strange, beautiful sound.

  But if the canary keeled over, if the canary died, all the miners began a mad scramble out of the shaft, away from the invisible killer that claimed the canary first, away from the poisonous gas.

  Now, with Tommy gone, Sam thought of the kid like that, like a canary. Only instead of scrambling away, now they headed deeper into the unknown.

  He looked down the side. The water seemed to darken the closer they got to the fog bank, losing the lustrous blue-green clarity it had only a hundred meters or so back.

  Now the sky it turned gray—still clear enough to see, but losing color, like puffy white clouds turning into the dark thunderheads, ready to unleash thunder, lightning, and sheets of rain.

  Someone emerged from the cramped belowdecks and yelled at Rosa.

  Probably a report on the pumps. The ship was taking on water after being rammed, and the pumps worked to keep the water out.

  When Sam questioned this move—looking for land-fall—Rosa made it clear why he was worried.

  “The pumps, they are old. They work, maybe twenty…twenty-four hours. If we are lucky. But then, they will stop. Need gears fixed, parts oiled. And when that happens, this ship will sink.”

  He looked Sam right in the eye.

  He didn’t need to say what that would mean. Even if there wasn’t some kind of monster creature in the water, there were plenty of other more familiar things that would be interested in the floating, bobbing bodies.

  Plenty.

  Tommy’s death could only…be a beginning.

  Sam looked up. The fog bank ahead now reached to the zenith.

  This is crazy, Sam thought. Steaming here. Rosa’s instincts told him that the low-lying fog meant land, plants, animals—

  In a few minutes they’d know.

  Sam gripped the railing of the ship. He wished he still believed in God the way he was brought up to in St. Vinnie’s. But those days were long gone. Hands tight on the rail, Sam took a breath as the ship sailed into the fog.

  The fog engulfed the boat. Suddenly even the deck itself, with the massive compressors, the wheelhouse, turned blurry, even vanishing for a moment. The crewman looking at the sea could no longer tell anything about the depth. He ran for a line to drop to check the depth.

  We could easily wreck the goddamn ship here, Sam thought.

  The engine slowed, so now it barely glided through the dense smoky cloud.

  Living in San Francisco, Sam had experienced plenty of fog. But this was different—it immediately made his skin wet, and when he rubbed his bare arms, they felt slick, almost slimy.

  And the smell—full of strong odors that he couldn’t place at all. The closest…one day when he went to the botanical gardens on a chilly rainy day, and in one warm hothouse, he sniffed the odors given off by the plants, the vines, the dirt, the sod. Such a primal stench.

  It was like that, but incredibly stronger.

  Another shout from below, monitoring the pumps. Rosa called out to the crewman sitting on the bow. Sam saw him shrug, and then shout something back.

  “No, Captain…”

  He couldn’t see anything. They were steaming blind save for the line.

  And the fact that the ship moved so slowly made the suspense that much more prolonged, that much more unbearable, until finally, amazingly…the fog began to thin.

  It thinned, like layers of a plant being peeled back, and the wetness went away, the darkness of the fog lightened to something filmy, and then finally they were through it.

  They had passed the fog bank.

  Sam took a sniff. The smell was still there; if anything, it was stronger.

  And ahead—land.

  Rosa worked the boat back and forth, nudging closer to a rocky coast that led up to what seemed like a difficult climb and a ledge.

  “Why not look for a beach?” Sam said. It seemed to him this wasn’t the ideal spot to try to go ashore.

  Rosa shook his head.

  “How long have you sailed these waters?”

  “I’ve never sailed these waters. It just seems to me—”

  Rosa spit out the side window of the wheelhouse. The old salt was scared. That’s one thing Sam could tell.

  “Then you don’t know about these islands. This place, this island is on no chart. Who knows who has come here before, and never come back. Who knows who is living here!” He fixed Sam with his watery, rheumy eyes, crisscrossed with red veins.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We go to a beach, we find people here maybe. They find us. Anything could happen.”

  “You’re talking cannibals?” Sam laughed.

  But Rosa didn’t.

  “There’s a reason this island is on no chart—no chart! A reason. I don’t want to find out what it is.”

  Sam looked at the coast; a massive jumble of rocks led to a rocky slope filled with more oversized boulders…as though a giant angry kid had tossed them down from the ledge above.

  And the ledge—Sam had never seen such a sight before, as though someone had hacked away a piece of a mountain, leaving a sheer cliff.

  For a minute, staring at it, nobody said anything.

  Had anyone ever seen anything like this…?

  “Going to be damn hard to get wood down from there.”

  “We will just toss it—into the sea.” Rosa stuck his head out and yelled to Ernesto. “Drop anchors!”

  They sat twenty meters off the shore, in a protected curve of land, surrounded by massive boulders as the churning sea sent up spits of foamy water on all sides. After they found wood on the island, they’d cut it to make repairs, at least enough to get the boat to Sumatra.

  That was the plan.

  The anchors fell from the bow and stern. Rosa cut the engines, and now Sam only heard the rumble of the pump engine below, the ticking bomb.

  The captain put a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

  “You—you will go ashore with us?”

  “You’re going?” Sam said.

  Rosa nodded. Sam thought a moment, each step in this journey feeling ever more like a trap, more like the giant shell that closed on his leg.

  “Sure.”

  Rosa managed a small smile.

  “Good, then.
Let’s go.”

  They left the wheelhouse for the small dinghy that would take them ashore.

  40

  On an uncharted island,

  somewhere in the Indian Ocean

  ONE CREWMAN STAYED WITH THE rowboat, whose narrow planks would be of no use repairing the gash in the hull.

  Another stayed with the ship and the pump. The others, including Jorge, Ernesto, and three other crewmen followed Rosa up the rocky slope to the cliff edge.

  There were three guns on board.

  Ernesto had one—“This is my own,” he announced with pride.

  Rosa had one, a small .45 caliber that he stuck in his pocket. The other, a matching .45, he handed to Sam. Then Rosa handed each a handful of shells.

  Not much of a match if they did run into cannibals.

  Cannibals…the idea seemed ridiculous.

  But he kept coming back to Rosa’s point. This island was, admittedly, off the shipping lanes. Still—to be undiscovered, to have a big blank spot on the charts, did raise the question: Had people come here? Had something happened?

  The three crewmen, looking not at all happy, carried saws and rope. The plan was to find a tree that could provide enough hardwood to repair the hull. Sam imagined he might have to go under again to do some work from beneath the boat.

  Not something he looked forward to.

  He kept replaying what happened, the images of Tommy before the attack, then the helmet, his head gushing, legs pumping blood into the water. And as bad—almost sick—as Sam felt about the kid, he could remember even more vivdly his own fear, his own prayer to God that he didn’t believe it…

  Let me get out of this alive…

  He grabbed a sharp-edged slab of rock, and pulled himself on top of it, less climbing than crawling onto the slab that sat at an odd angle.

  That’s what he wanted. To get out of this alive. And he didn’t let himself think of what the chances of that occurring could really be.

  Sam reached down and gave Rosa a hand getting up to the cliff edge. The other crew stood there, unsure where to go and what to do.

  And he didn’t blame them. He had expected a jungle of some kind up here, but the towering plants and the twisting vines that curled around the massive trees were unlike anything Sam had ever seen, even larger than the redwoods.