by Kim Pritekel
Conrad sniffled as quietly as he could, but the principal didn't miss it. Her gaze met that of the boy's grandmother to see if she'd heard it, too. The look of profound sadness in Meredith's eyes told her all she needed to know.
"I'm going to suspend you for one day, Conrad, so you can think about what you did, okay?" The administrator felt horrible for having to dole out such punishment, but just because of the contentious circumstances, she couldn't treat the beating of another student nothing. Even so, she'd given the Dupree boy a much lighter punishment than the Stavros boy would get. "You're dismissed, Conrad."
Denise watched the two leave, sighing heavily as she sat behind her desk once more. She studied her hands for a moment, questioning herself, but then nodded. She had no choice. The boy had to be punished.
Meredith turned to her grandson, who sat slouched in his seat, arms crossed defiantly over his chest.
"Jenny and I are going to go visit your mom and dad. Want to go?" the grandmother asked, eyes flicking back to the road before turning back to Conrad.
"No."
* * *
"Damn little fairy," Pam muttered, almost falling head-first into the bush she was dragging the food masher from. Holding it by the base between thumb and forefinger, the veterinarian studied it, shaking it slightly to rid the flesh colored devise of the leaves that stuck to it.
"No luck, Pam," Mia panted, running up the beach toward the older woman, who turned to face the teen, the food masher held up. "Oh." Mia stifled a giggle at the look of utter disgust on Pam's face.
"Little bastard better have cleaned it." She marched toward the fire ring, Mia in tow. Denny and Rachel, who were twisting vine into rope, glanced up, both snickering. "You think this is funny?" the vet asked, one dark brow raised. Both women tried to sober. "Fine. You two get to do the mashin'." Pam threw the masher down and marched back into the dense foliage. Mia stood uncertain, chewing on her lower lip, then hastily followed the older woman.
"Me thinks someone's going off in search of the big leaves," Denny whispered, a sable brow raised. Rachel chuckled, nodding.
"Me thinks you're right." They finished the rest of the vine in companionable silence before moving over to the fire ring and berries Pam and Mia had gathered. Denny glanced over at her friend, having shaken off the morning's uneasy feelings, deciding it wasn't worth upsetting herself over. It was a natural reaction.
"So what were you muttering about the other day?" she asked, trying not to grimace as she picked up the food masher, surreptitiously smelling it to make sure it didn't need to be washed.
"Muttering about?" Rachel's brows drew in confusion, her fingers removing stems from the berries, throwing them in the cold ash in the center of the rocks.
"Yeah. The other day, you were roaming around, muttering about something. I could only catch a word or two now and then, carried on the breeze. At first I thought you were singing, but I don't think so."
"Oh," the blonde said, blushing slightly. Sometimes she hated how small the island could be sometimes, never seeming to get true privacy. Much of the island's three mile radius was too dense for habitation. "I was working on a story, talking it out." She glanced shyly at the brunette, then turned back to her task.
"Talking it out?"
Rachel nodded. "You should see when I'm at home." She grinned. "I used to love doing the dishes, cause it's mindless work, you know? You stand there at the sink, nice, soothing hot water, and nothing to do but think. I'd talk out dialogue, story plots, figure out my character's psychological profiles. Good times."
Denny laughed, taking the berries from Rachel and mashing the hell out of them, scraping off the remnants onto the leaves Pam would use to wrap the fish with.
"You're always asking about me, and trust me, my writing rituals aren't that interesting. What about you?" Rachel glanced over at the brunette, who's attention was fully on mashing a stubborn berry that insisted on rolling instead of becoming purple mush. "Why a coffee shop?"
"Why not?" Denny raised a challenging brow. The glare she got made her chuckle. The brunette wasn't fond of talking about herself, always far more curious about other people, but knew she had a captive audience, and wasn't getting away with her typical pat answers. She cleared her throat as she got serious. "My folks and I didn't get along that well. They're devout Catholics, and I'm… not. Even before they knew I was gay, I was a disgrace to them."
Rachel listened, noting the usually upbeat woman refused to meet her gaze. She felt the uncharacteristic need to reach out and touch the coffee shop owner, a comforting hand on her arm or hand, but decided against it. It was almost as though Denny had closed herself and her personal space off with yellow tape: Do Not Cross.
"I used to love to dance. Me and my friends used to go out all the time, fake I.D.s and all." She chuckled at the memories. "Needless to say, dancing led to drinking, which led to smoking, which led to me breaking a whole laundry list of sins. Bad daughter, sinner, must exercise the demons." Denny sighed, staring out into the darkening day. Absently she eyed the pregnant clouds above. "Anyway, so I was out and had to get my own life. I got a job at a local hang out called Mile, and my boss, Joni saw potential, I guess. Either that or I was the only one who showed up for my shifts on time." Denny grinned at the blonde. "Anyway, I found that I was good at it, enjoyed it, so decided to get a place of my own."
"Do you see your parents now?"
Denny shook her head. "Nope," she slammed the food masher down until it suctioned itself to the rock, the body doinging back and forth, making both women snicker. "Sometimes when your own family fucks you over, you go out and make your own."
"Hannah?"
"Hannah." The brunette couldn't keep the smile from her face, so soft and gentle. "And what about you? Do you miss your husband, Rachel?"
The blonde was about to open her mouth, coming up with some sort of lame, surface explanation when they heard a loud whoop. Relieved, the blonde turned toward the shore, getting to her feet to meet the boys coming in, holding up a bag full of fish.
"Victory at sea!" Michael yelled, pumping his fish-laden fist in the air. Dean was grinning from ear to ear next to him, the men grunting as they pulled the raft ashore.
"We're eating good tonight, ladies!" Dean said, nearly falling back on his butt as the raft got stuck on a small chasm in the sand. Gaining his footing again, he regained his grin.
"Oh, that was charming," Mia laughed at the robust belch Michael just released. The group chuckled, sitting around the healthy fire, the only light in the deep, dark night. Distant rumbling could be heard, everyone surprised the sky hadn't split open yet to drench them. It had been threatening to all day, the sky heavy and foreboding.
"You know, if we ever make it home, I will never touch fish again," Pam joked, licking her fingers of the juices of the wonderful dinner the boys had caught.
"Amen!" Denny echoed, grabbing her second helping. They hadn't eaten this well in weeks. They all chuckled, knowing full well they would be eating fish the following day, and the day after that, and the day after that.
"Look at me, though," Dean said, rising to his feet and striking a pose. He gave them all a profile, showing off his newly flattened stomach and shapely legs. "Now I look like some twink in New York."
Denny burst into laughter, though everyone else looked on with confusion. "I know. Check this out." She jumped to her own feet, showing everyone her own lack of body fat. She'd never been in such great shape in her life. It was just sad that it took being stranded with barely anything to eat for her to lose the fifteen or twenty pounds she'd been wanting to drop. She raised her arms, flexing and growling as she changed poses. Someone threw up a high-pitched whistle, Dean cheered.
"You go, you big ol' dyke!"
Rachel sat back, licking her chops, and grinning like a fool as she watched Dean and Denny. Her gaze scanned over the brunette's body, having already noticed that the coffee shop owner's belly had disappeared. Her skin was smooth and painted gold and
shadow in the firelight.
"Hey, now," Pam said, smacking her own belly, the skin jiggling slightly. "I'm finally finding the six pack under my two liter." This set everyone off again.
"Well, us Texans are just born gorgeous," Michael said with a wink, heading off into the darkness to relieve his bladder.
Denny sat back down, catching green eyes as she did. She grinned at Rachel, getting a raised half a cocoanut shell cup in salute.
* * *
The wind was howling, shaking the very fibers of the structure that housed the women. The whistling that managed to seep between the woven leaves was unnerving, and cold.
Denny pulled her legs up closer into her chest, almost into the fetal position. Even the woven grass mats they each had to sleep on, but were now using as coverings, weren't doing the trick. She felt a shiver rush through her, listening as the rain began to finally fall, the drops not yet falling through the trees above to their sanctuary, but she could hear the sand being pelted. She shivered again, about to pull her face down toward her chest, under the mat, but stopped when she noticed Rachel was awake, an arm raised to hold her own mat up in invitation. The blonde was also curled in on herself. Denny looked at her, a slight feeling of panic settling over her as she thought back to how she'd reacted after their tug-of-war game. She remembered how her body had reacted, and the sense of loneliness that had been her constant companion since leaving Buffalo.
The brunette's thoughts halted when she saw Rachel's arm falter, her eyes confused hurt. Realizing she was being ridiculous, Denny scooted to couple feet over to the author, turning her back toward her.
"It's getting colder at night," Rachel whispered against her ear, causing Denny to have to fight a shiver. She nodded mutely, feeling the blonde curl up against her back. Soon, with body heat combined, the two women drifted off into contented sleep.
Rachel felt warmth, completely enveloped in it, causing her to smile and wiggle back into it. She felt protected. Safe. Warm. Held. Held!? Green eyes popped open, the author disoriented and suddenly struck with fear as the roar of the world around her entered her reality. She was lying on her left side, Denny nearly wrapped around her from behind, a long arm across the blonde's stomach, holding her close against the warm body behind her. She only had a moment to soak that in when cries outside rent the air, as well as the deafening roar that had first woken her.
"Fuck! Help me, Michael!" Dean screamed at the top of his lungs, trying desperately to gather as much gear into his arms as the driving force of the wind and rain would allow. The Texan barely heard him over the sound of the storm, the waves swelling and breaking on the beach, almost knocking him off his feet. Sputtering, he tried to shake the rain out of his eyes, only able to see the struggling man when another crack of lightning split the sky in two.
"What's happening?" Pam yelled as she shot out of the girl's hut, looking desperately around.
"We got washed out!" Michael explained, grabbing for Dean, who had slipped, losing half of the things he'd managed to hang on to. Their nail clippers, knife and three shirts were instantly washed away as another set of waves crashed ashore, nearly pulling all three of them with it as it receded back to the angry ocean.
"Jesus Christ!" Pam yelled, holding on for dear life to a tree. She felt a hand on her back and turned to see a wind and rain-swept Denny, spitting water out of her mouth.
"We've got to get to higher ground!" the brunette yelled, her words swallowed by the loudest crack of thunder any of them had ever heard. When the noise had returned to just ridiculous, she repeated herself. The veterinarian nodded, then turned back to Michael, who no longer stood next to her. She was barley able to make out the outline of the two men who were screaming into the wind, down by the shore.
"Grab it! Fucking grab it!" the mechanic yelled, teeth bared as he tried to get a hold of the edge of the raft, which was quickly being pulled out to sea. "We can't lose this!"
"Michael, I can't hold on!" Dean yelled, quickly losing his grip. He grasped desperately for some sort of purchase, but the rain-slicked rubber and forceful winds and waves were making it near impossible. "I can't-"
"No! Hold on, goddamn it! We can't lose this, God damn you!" Michael felt frantic, as though their only hope of ever leaving the island was literally slipping through his fingers. He felt like crying as he knew he was losing his grip. "No!"
"Michael!" Dean felt his heart sink when a strong wave crashed over them, taking the raft and Michael back out to sea with it. Without a second thought, the attorney threw himself at the larger man, managing to grab his legs, and not dare letting go. "Hold on, Michael! I've got you!"
Michael spit out a mouthful of salt water, feeling it burn his eyes and the insides of his nose and throat. Another wave crashed down over him, making him panic as the feeling of not being able to breathe or move washed through him. He felt something tight around his legs, almost painfully so. Over the roar of the surf he could make out a word now and then- got you… swim… help m!
Dean pulled with all his might, finally able to gain his feet during a very short reprieve, though he could see the waves building once more.
"We've got to help him!" Pam cried, about to run out to the beach, but she was stopped by a hand to her shoulder, then another grabbing a handful of her pant leg.
"No!" Mia said, staring the older woman down as the vet turned to see who had dared to stop her. She was face to face with fierce, dark eyes. "We need to save ourselves! What good is it if we all die? We have to survive!"
The older woman was so stunned, all she could do was nod dumbly. Snapping back into action, she could just barely see Denny and Rachel disappear into the jungle, a wet, slimy trail of mud and leaves turned to mush in their wake. One last glance over her shoulder, she could see that Dean had managed to pull Michael into waist-deep water.
"I'm not going to let you die, damn it!" the attorney screamed into the wind, using every ounce of muscle and energy he had to pull the Texan to shore before the next wave got to them first. Using near super-human strength, he threw the larger man back to shallow depths, quickly splashing after him, grabbing a kneeling Michael around the waist, and lifting him to his shoulders, like a fireman, running out onto shore, ignoring the fire in his back and legs, and the whipping of rain and wind at his face.
Finally making it out of the surf, and into the jungle, the attorney set the mechanic onto his butt under an under hang, then collapsed down next to him.
PART 7
DENNY CRAWLED FORWARD from the small nook the other three were still huddled in. The water cascaded down over the rocks in a torrent, the usual calm, almost soothing, waterfall seeming to be angry and violent. She tried to peek around it, searching desperately for any sign of Michael and Dean. She knew yelling out their names would be useless; the roar of the storm and the waterfall were deafening. Nothing. Nothing but roaring blackness.
“Shit.” She headed back behind the water, unable to make out the expectant gazes aimed at her. She figured the girls would want to know, so shook her head, but then realized chances were good they couldn’t see it. “Nothing.”
Mia sighed, clutching tighter to Pam, who rested her cheek on the girl’s head. Rachel met the brunette halfway across the nook, reaching out blindly to make sure that black spot on slightly less black backdrop, was Denny. “You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’m just hoping with everything I’ve got that they made it. I should have stayed. Helped.” Denny’s head fell, the long, wet strands of her hair falling to form a black curtain.
“Hey,” the blonde said softly, feeling her way up to Denny’s shoulder and squeezing lightly. “There’s nothing any of us could have done, Denny. Nothing.” The brunette said nothing, but Rachel could feel the shoulder she grasped shaking. Confused, it took her a moment to realize Denny was crying. “Come here.”
Denny went willingly into the blonde’s arms, resting her head on her shoulder, feeling the chilled skin against her cheek. Deceptively strong ar
ms wrapped around her, holding her close. The brunette had no idea why she was crying, except that all her emotions seemed to fire at her all at once; grief, fear, anger and loneliness.
“It’s okay,” Rachel whispered in her ear, reaching a hand up to hold Denny’s head steady against her shoulder. After a few moments, the coffee shop owner calmed and took a deep breath. Stepping away from the blonde, she felt ridiculous, laughing at herself to ease her nerves.
“Sorry,” she murmured, wiping at her eyes and taking a shaky breath.
“Don’t apologize. I think we’ve all lost it at least once here.” Rachel smiled, her eyes adjusting to the near complete darkness just enough to be able to make out the pale shape that was Denny’s face. “Come on. Let’s go sit down.” She took the brunette’s hand and led her back toward Pam and Mia, tugging until Denny sat down with her.
“We’re going to need to rebuild. No doubt everything’s been washed away,” Pam said, her voice void of emotion as she stared out into the night. It sounded as if the rain might be lightening up a bit. No one said anything, not much use. It wasn’t like it could be easily heard, anyway.
Rachel watch the vicious beauty of Mother Nature as her mind wandered back to their rude awakening, which seemed like hours ago, but in reality was no more than half an hour ago. Voices, then the rain, itself, as it finally broke through the thick foliage above their shelter, and eventually was too much for the weaved leaves, and they were all drenched. Then her mind wandered further to how she’d woken up, Denny wrapped around her, and the blonde relishing the protective warmth. She could remember times when Matt had tried to get her to let him hold her, and she would refuse. More often than not, they’d end up with his head on her shoulder, or the detective rolling over, angry and hurt.
It was silly, she knew, and completely psychological, but Rachel felt vulnerable and weak when she allowed herself to be held. Her life had always been about ensuring she had complete control over herself, her mind, her emotions and her craft. Growing up with an amazingly controlling father, and a mother that was too weak to stand up to him, the Holt girls had taken any amount of control they could, which meant mainly in their own minds. This lack of control had sent Rachel into her own head at a young age, creating an entire world inside that she, alone could create, build or destroy.
