Sacrifice Island

by Kristin Dearborn

  Old feelings flared: She wanted touch again, wanted a hug. At first she thought keeping herself dressed, always covered, would help—but there had been accidents. It was easier to avoid everyone and everything. No one would want to touch her anyway. It was better, easier, simpler this way.

  “Can you get up?” Alex asked.

  Terry seemed to have gone, and they were alone in the restaurant.

  “I don’t know.”

  “We’ll get you up, walk a little bit, and then you can sleep it off as long as you need to.”

  As if she were drunk, as if she’d done something bad.

  But she was tired.

  “Did you see anything?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I saw everything.” She couldn’t organize it, though. Couldn’t make sense of it yet. Needed to digest the images she’d seen—flashes of palm trees, starry skies, screams, hot winds, and a gaping loneliness that threatened to consume Terry, and now consume her. She needed sleep. Needed her body and mind to begin to sort what was Terry’s and what was hers.

  19

  Alex closed the door on Jemma’s cabin. Above his head, fluffy white clouds punctuated the blue sky. He’d helped her get into bed as best he could, tried to make her comfortable. Now he would leave her alone, would…what? What the hell could he do? He walked to his own cabin, kicking at small stones. He wished she’d told him something, something to go on, start researching, get some balls rolling. Instead he could only wait, with the knowledge he’d caused his best friend pain. He hoped it wasn’t as bad, considering she’d dumped all her bullshit on him the day before.

  No. That wasn’t fair. He’d done it to himself. And if he were really brave, once he had her back in her room, he would have touched her, and taken some of the pain himself. Doing what she asked seemed like a cop out.

  He slid in through the cabin door, closed it behind him. No power. He took a moment to listen. Motorbikes and cars passed on the street, happy voices shouted in a language he didn’t understand. Dogs barked outside. He couldn’t help but feel responsible. The sensation churned in his gut. He wanted to go to her, take her in his arms, tell her he loved her. Console her. Make love to her.

  An impossible dream. Always had been.

  Prowling, he went out and paced in front of her cabin again. He scribbled her a note, said he was going into town, to use her cell phone despite the roaming charges and to call him if she needed anything.

  Alex overpaid for a trike ride, got out at Louie’s Backyard, and headed up the stairs. Soon he’d miss the sunset near Vista Breeze. He didn’t care. He didn’t want a sunset. He wanted Jemma, but it would never, ever happen.

  Alex ordered a drink from a brassy American woman. She introduced herself as the owner of the place, and he made halfhearted small talk. The overpriced drink made him feel better about overpaying the driver.

  He took his drink out on the porch and gazed down at the crowded main street of El Nido. Tourists and locals swirled with trikes, scooters, and a rare pickup. Dogs, chickens, and cats threaded through them, weaving a tapestry of sound, motion, and color.

  He thought about Jemma. About her affliction. He’d been the one to introduce her, at a college party, to the man who would become her husband. The man who would spend years mentally and physically beating her down as he descended into madness. Until finally he snapped. Alex hadn’t seen the signs. Yeah, he knew his friends were withdrawing, but Jemma’d had a miscarriage. He didn’t want to be pushy and intrude. He wished he had. God, he wished he had.

  “Alex?” Karen stood in front of him. The setting sun kissed her tanned skin. Hunger for her swelled in him. No—not hunger for her. Hunger for a human. For anyone he could touch. Her short cropped hair, the neat bob, made him yearn to tangle his fingers in Jemma’s thick black hair. What would it be like?

  “Hey.” He gestured for her to sit down.

  “How’s it going?” she asked.

  “I’ve had a pretty god-awful day,” he said.

  “The island?”

  “I wish,” he said. “We still can’t get out there. On top of that, Jemma ate something that disagreed with her. She’s down for the count.”

  Should he not mention another woman? He told himself not to feel bad—Jemma had no interest in him (or in anyone, and probably never would ever again) and he was certainly free to have himself a grand old time. He checked his phone to be sure she hadn’t called or texted.

  “So I’m completely free for the night.”

  Alex watched her response, how she angled herself in the chair toward him, pointed her feet at him, touched her face. All good signs. “Care to show me a good time? Show me around?”

  “I can show you a good time.” She smiled and showed off those fantastic white teeth.

  Perfect.

  She showed him a deserted beach on the far side of town, and he kissed her there as the sun went down. He brought her back to his room (she offered her place, but he wanted to be close to Jemma in case she needed anything). She told him she never did things like this, and he believed her. He told her the same thing, and didn’t care if she believed him. He fucked her under the drone of the air conditioner, with the sound of a beetle hitting the overhead light, tink, tink, tink. She smelled like sunscreen, baby powder deodorant, and sweat. Alex imagined the smell of Jemma’s shampoo. Imagined Jemma’s breasts under his hands, imagined her calling him an amazing lover.

  He silently thanked his lucky stars when Karen said she should go, she had to work early.

  “I’ll call you,” he said. “Tomorrow, day after? We can grab a drink, dinner.”

  “I’d like that.” Her good-bye kiss tasted like the mango they’d eaten, and made him smile as she left. He’d call her. He liked her.

  Alex went to take a shower. He needed to cool off in the hot night. He soaped himself up and heard a knock on the door.

  Jemma?

  He barely rinsed, wrapped himself in a towel, ran to the door. Was she okay?

  Terry stood before him when he threw open the wooden door. Dammit.

  “I’ll give you a moment to collect yourself.”

  Back in the shower, Alex finished rinsing, shrugged on a blue polo and a pair of khaki shorts. He opened the door and stepped out with Terry on the front porch. They each took a molave chair.

  “What did she do to me?”

  Alex knew better than to play dumb.

  “She took your pain. It’ll come back, your memories are all intact, but she’s given you a breather.”

  “Can she…see things?”

  “She can see your pain. She’ll know everything.”

  “Then I need both of you to come to the island with me tonight. I have to show you.”

  “Show me what?”

  “She hasn’t told you?”

  Terry’s sweat made a sour contrast to the perspiration Karen worked up earlier. He kept glancing around, unable to meet Alex’s eyes.

  “She’s been under the weather all afternoon.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, but I think she would find what I have to show you most interesting.”

  “I’m sure she would—I’m sure we both would. And tomorrow, when she’s feeling up to it, we’ll go.”

  “We have to go at night.”

  “Okay, tomorrow night.”

  “It must be tonight.”

  “No. Jemma can’t be disturbed, and I won’t go without her.”

  Terry stood to go.

  “Wait up,” Alex said. “What’s this all about? What does it all have to do with the island?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  Alex didn’t want to admit Terry had freaked him out but he slept poorly, getting up over and over in the night and leaving his cabin. He went and stood in front of Jemma’s cabin each time. And each time was the same. No lights on, not even the AC on. He wondered if he should knock. If he should try to get inside.

  What if she needed help? What if she lay on her bed, unable to call for help?


  Or he could be patient and respect her space.

  Each time, he trudged back to his cabin, he cast glances over his shoulder. He wanted her to be all right.

  And he wanted to know what she’d found out from Terry. Maybe he could be doing something instead of tossing, turning, and swatting at mosquitoes.

  He eased into bed, drew the sheet to his chin, and stared at the ceiling.

  20

  Jemma slept. And as she slept, she dreamed. She tossed and turned in her sleep. Sweat-soaked sheets tangled around her waist and legs. When she closed her eyes, she saw sharpened bamboo rods and black baby chicks.

  She woke before the power went out and cast off the moist, stinking sheets. Her sensitive skin felt stretched, shiny, and new. Later today it would feel better enough to rub on some aloe lotion to soothe the pain.

  It took hours to organize her thoughts. To weed out Terry’s from her own, untangling them and tugging them apart.

  There were no ghosts on Sacrifice Island. The lurking woman in white was much worse than any ghost. She’d experienced the moment when Terry met Virginia, when she lived in one of the rooms on the island and he was living in a room above a bar in El Nido. Jemma saw it all—each failed pregnancy, then Virginia’s stomachaches, which were a symptom of a particularly aggressive cancer. Then she saw a much younger Mr. Lucky, a creature… She hadn’t muddled through the rest yet.

  And Terry wanted her to take Virginia’s place. Wanted her to become this creature, this Aswang. In her mind she could picture an inquisitive baby chick, coal black, peering at her, cocking its head inquisitively.

  What would it matter? She lived an empty, lonely life anyway.

  Jemma stepped out into the early morning. Dogs barked and roosters crowed. The air smelled cool and clean, free of the heat and humidity that would come after the sun rose. The world was still cast in gray under a lavender cloudless sky. She wished for coffee. She knew she could go to the restaurant, or if she didn’t want to, she could ask Alex to bring her some. But the idea she wasn’t even in control of her life enough to get herself a coffee made her drop onto a bench overlooking the sea. She watched waves lapping at the shore. A fisherman landed his boat and carried in a net full of fish.

  “Witch.”

  Jemma’s heart pounded, blood rushed in her ears, but she simply turned her head to the newcomer.

  There stood Anna. Her dark brown—almost black—eyes glittered with malice. “You should leave, witch. No one likes your kind here.”

  “You don’t understand—”

  “I understand you’re a witch and you snoop in holy places you’re better off not going to.”

  The first trappings of rage trickled in Jemma. She could hurt Anna. The mere thought made her set her jaw.

  “Get away from me,” she said.

  “You’ll leave today. Might come a time when you can’t leave.”

  Jemma stood, facing her. Neither Jemma nor Anna were particularly tall, but Jemma had maybe an inch on the other girl. She took in the girl’s tank top, her shorts. Anna didn’t have to wear gloves. Didn’t have to keep herself covered.

  “I tell you this for your own good. We don’t let witches live around here.”

  “Are you threatening me?” Jemma asked. She started to peel off her glove. Anna glanced at it, trying to keep the curiosity out of her gaze. This was a situation she did have power over. Finally, something she could control. If she became the Aswang, then everyone would fear her. She would have power over every situation.

  “Not threatening. Telling. Leave El Nido. Leave this country. You’re a witch.”

  Jemma almost faltered. If she was wrong about Anna, she would only hurt herself. But she wasn’t wrong.

  Jemma slapped the other woman. Not a hard slap. It didn’t have to be. Relief, cool as the early morning breeze, washed into Jemma. She forgot about the man she’d been married to, forgot what he’d done to her as the sun pushed up over the mountains to the east. It changed the water from a mysterious gray to cheerful sparkling blue.

  Anna clutched at her face and dropped to her hands and knees. She made a sound she’d maybe intended to be a scream, but it came out as a guttural, barking noise.

  One of the nearby stray dogs trotted over, perhaps to investigate, but caught wind of something he didn’t like and ran away with his tail between his legs.

  Jemma embraced her sensation. Remembered the first time she’d felt this way, after she thrust a week of torture and three days of starvation into Alex. Watched him scream and writhe on the floor. The memory remained but it still wasn’t connected. Didn’t tug at her inside and make her hurt. She couldn’t process what she’d done yet. She wondered what it would do to her when she could.

  It didn’t matter. It was worth it.

  Anna seemed older. Lines stood out on her face where they hadn’t before.

  “Don’t say a word to anyone about this,” Jemma said.

  Anna shook her head. Silent tears coursed down her cheeks.

  Reluctant, Jemma pulled the glove back on. She made her way back to her cabin, and let herself in.

  She didn’t want victims. She never wanted to hurt anyone. It had seemed so easy. She could be a good Aswang. Could only eat cattle, or pigs. Look at the self-control she’d carried for years. She could think of it as insurance she would never be pushed around again.

  Something moved outside her curtains. Alex slowly walked past, to see if she were awake yet. She opened the door and waved him in. She didn’t want to tell him about Anna, but she had to. The other she would keep to herself.

  “I hurt Anna,” she said.

  “Anna?”

  “The kitchen girl. Who tends bar for Terry.”

  “Jesus, Jem. Where is she?”

  “The beach. I didn’t touch her for long, I slapped her.”

  Alex’s eyebrows asked what the hell had happened on the beach. “She called me a witch. She told me we had to leave or someone would kill us. That they didn’t tolerate witches here.”

  “So you did the thing that made her call you a witch again, only this time you dumped all your shit onto her?”

  Jemma nodded. He would never understand. What it was like to be trapped in herself, all day every day.

  “What did you find out from Terry?” he asked.

  “There are no ghosts on the island. What’s on the island is Terry’s wife Virginia. She got cancer, and he made her a…the closest thing I can call it is vampire. He calls it an Aswang.” Alex sat on the bed. The springs squeaked under his bulk. “It’s behind the missing people. And why there are no ghosts. It eats them, sort of.”

  “We’re leaving. Today.”

  “No!”

  “You’ve been threatened once already and it’s not even 6:45. We know how to talk to ghosts. I don’t even know what the fuck a vampire is…alive? Dead? I don’t want to know. I bet the poltergeist is still haunting Yonkers.”

  “We’re not going.”

  For the second time this morning, Jemma swum with power. Most of it siphoned from others. But she had to get it where she could. She couldn’t be powerless all the time.

  “I’m calling the airline and getting us on the first fight we can manage. We can get the eleven a.m. van to Puerto, maybe stay there a night if we need to. We can’t fight a vampire.”

  “She isn’t a vampire, exactly.”

  “I don’t care. Ghosts can’t touch us. Can’t hurt us. Can only mind-fuck us. I’m not dealing with a vampire.”

  “You’re not curious?”

  “No. And neither are you. Get packed, get your shit together, I want to be ready to go in an hour.”

  “It could be an all-new book.”

  “I don’t care about books. He turned his wife into a monster.”

  “She was dying. She asked him to. She wanted to be with him. They had such a short time together, and she wanted more.”

  “And he did it?”

  “It’s a romantic notion.”

&nbs
p; “How did it work out?” Alex stood.

  “Terrible.”

  “So why on earth do you want to get involved with something like this? We know ghosts.”

  I know ghosts, Jemma thought. Alex knew machines that measured the energy in the air, measured radiation. He could record sounds, photograph orbs. Jemma still didn’t think orbs were anything more than dust on a lens.

  “It’s my book, right?” Jemma asked.

  “Don’t pull this bullshit.”

  “It’s my book, if I want a vampire in it, we’re doing the vampire.”

  “Don’t be a spoiled brat.”

  This caught Jemma. The wave of euphoria started to subside. What else could she be beyond a brat? She resisted the urge to withdraw, to curl into a ball and weep.

  “Please. It’s important.”

  Alex ground his teeth, she could hear it.

  “You saw the Chinese kid, Jem. The monster you want to go and look at did that.”

  I don’t want to study it. I want to be it.

  Alex sighed. “Why don’t you take a rest?”

  “I rested all day yesterday.”

  “You’re exhausted.”

  “I feel fine. After Anna, I feel fantastic. I want to go to the island. What if we could find her in the daytime?”

  “I won’t let that happen.” A new voice joined the conversation. Terry stood in the open doorway to the cabin. “After what you took from me, surely you understand.”

  Jemma knew this to be true. He would never hurt her. He dreamed of slipping away, back to England, and leaving her on the island. But a monster like Virginia needed a keeper to ensure she stayed in line. The townspeople held him to that duty.

  “You both will stay right here until the evening. Then you want to meet my wife? I’ll take you to her.”

  “I look forward to it,” Jemma said.

  Terry laughed, and closed the door behind him. A lock clunked into place. Alex tried the door, but of course it didn’t open. He could be so foolish sometimes.

  Pain crept back into Jemma like water creeping through the bottom of a leaky boat. It rose steadily, reliably. Pain was her only constant. Pain and Alex. He tried the windows, but Mr. Lucky appeared outside, a machete tucked into his belt.