by Alex Gilly
Finn tried to figure out what kind of sharks he had encountered. He knew that the family of sharks most often accused of being man-eaters had been designated “requiem sharks.” Not that they had tried to eat him. On the contrary, they had done nothing more than swim peacefully alongside. “I leave them alone,” the old man had said, when Finn had asked him how he dealt with them. Finn liked the restful sound of that word: requiem. He thought of the peaceful look on Lucy’s face, asleep in her hospital bed.
It was past midnight, the early hours of November 9. There wasn’t much left of the moon. A month had passed since he had intercepted La Catrina here in the Devil’s Triangle. The moon had been waning then, too. Out there in the darkness was the phantom with his wife aboard.
“Mona.”
Saying her name out loud reassured him. He said it again. And then he looked up to the stars and prayed to God she was alive.
When he was done, he realized that it was the second time he had prayed in a week. In fact, it was the second time he had prayed in his entire life. He wondered if it was habit-forming.
He set Mona’s Heckler & Koch P7 on the dash above the wheel, where it glinted in the starlight. It took some of the piety out of his prayer, he thought. The stars and sea and darkness didn’t seem so sacred anymore. He asked himself, if he got to Two Harbors and Mona was alive, would he still spare Linda? What about Serpil?
He didn’t need to ask himself what he would do if Mona was already dead. That wasn’t an unanswered question.
Conscious that he couldn’t make the Slip Aweigh go any faster, Finn set the helm on autopilot and went out on deck. Sunk deep in the part of his mind that made sense of the world taxonomically—that found its bearings by classifying the smells and sights and sounds surrounding him—the smell of the water along a shore was indexed as sharp and sulfurous. Ebbing tides exposed tiny creatures that lived in the muddy shallows to ever-hungry gulls and waders. Waves tossed seaweed ashore and left great clumps of it there to die. Plankton clung to rocks in layer upon layer and decomposed. Finn associated the shore with decay.
But out here on the open water, where the ocean’s shallows moved in endless motion over its ever-darkening depths and the air slipping over them eddied and curled in on itself in constant self-renewal, wind and water integrated in an uninterrupted cycle as old as the ocean itself, their dual rhythms broken by no inert, jagged shore. Finn knew he was in a place where, with nowhere for decay to cling to, life appeared and disappeared abruptly: a sea lion’s whiskered head popped up, peered about, then disappeared without a trace; a whale fluked and then was gone; a rustle appeared suddenly on the water’s surface when a school of fish rose, and then evaporated; a fin sliced through the water before submerging. The air moving across all this shoreless water was charged with a quality Finn classified as the opposite of decay; as buoyant, palliative, and vivifying, and he sucked it in now deep into his body, one big breath after another, remembering the pleasure of being alone on a boat in the middle of a gentle, night-veiled sea.
And that was when he knew what he would do in Two Harbors.
* * *
The island’s black mass blocked out the stars closest to the horizon.
Finn had blacked out the boat. The only illumination aboard was the small blue glow of the little light above the ignition, the only sound the low throb of the sound-insulated inboard engine and the occasional splash of water displaced by the bow.
None of the few boats moored in the harbor had its lights on. The only light he saw was on the pole atop the kiosk at the end of the jetty, where he’d bought his ferry ticket. He didn’t see too many lights in the village beyond the bay, either. It felt like a ghost town.
Finn motored in slowly, keeping the engine revs down. As soon as he saw the Pacific Belle—even at a distance, he immediately recognized her stern in the starlight—he steered for the nearest mooring and cut the motor, letting the boat drift onto the buoy. He scooped it up with the gaff and made fast the boat, working as quietly as possible.
Linda had anchored beyond the last row of moorings, in the deeper water, no more than a couple of hundred feet from the Slip Aweigh. Finn watched steadily for two minutes but didn’t see any movement on deck. Then he looked to shore and saw movement on the dark beach. He heard the whine of a small outboard.
Back on the Belle, someone switched on a light. The door to the wheelhouse opened, and silhouetted against the light spilling from it stood the figure of a woman. The whining got louder. A small Zodiac approached through the moorings, the starlight revealing its thin wake, hoary white against the oil-dark water. The boat arced around to the Belle’s stern. The figure at the tiller—Finn figured it had to be Serpil—put it into Neutral and the outboard’s whine faded to a coughing murmur; there was movement at the Pacific Belle’s stern; he saw the outlines of two women lowering a third down into the Zodiac. One of the figures got into the dinghy, and one went back into the Belle’s cabin, only to return a moment later leading a child by the hand. She shepherded the child into the Zodiac, then got in herself. The outboard kicked into gear again, working hard with the extra weight of the passengers, and the inflatable boat slowly headed back to shore.
Working quickly and quietly, Finn unfastened the kayak from the foredeck. He carried it to the stern, slipped it soundlessly into the water, then climbed down the stern ladder with the paddle in one hand. His jacket sagged with the weight of the P7 and the extra clips in its pocket.
He settled into the molded plastic seat, breathed deeply, pushed away from the boat, and made for shore.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Finn pulled hard through the moored boats. The Zodiac landed on the beach and killed her outboard, and suddenly Finn’s paddling was exposed and sounded incredibly loud. He held the paddle clear of the water and let himself glide ahead on the momentum he already had.
He saw silhouettes getting out of the boat. The sound of pebbles crunching beneath their feet carried across the bay. One figure hauled the Zodiac a little way up the beach. Linda’s voice drifted across the water, asking someone to help her with “the woman.” Finn saw two figures drag a third up the beach and disappear into a stand of palm trees. A fourth figure walked behind them, holding a child by the hand. He heard an automobile engine turn over and saw a set of headlights come on. Finn started paddling hard for the beach. He kept his eyes on the car’s red brake lights, tracking it as it headed north, up a hill through the darkness. It wasn’t difficult—it was the only car on what he knew was the only road. By the time Finn had reached the shore, the car had reached its destination—he saw the lights stop moving and then go out at a spot high on the hill overlooking the bay. He watched until he saw a rectangle of light appear, then disappear—a door opening and closing.
Finn beached the kayak, found the road, and started hiking fast toward the house on the hill.
The road was paved only through the village. Once he’d passed the last of the bungalows, the bitumen gave way to packed dirt. He hiked on. It was so quiet, every rustle from the surrounding brush made him turn his head. Once an animal, either a small fox or a large squirrel, scurried across the road ahead, making him reach for his gun. He took a deep breath and carried on.
After a steep, twenty-minute hike through the darkness, he came to a gate. He climbed over and followed two wheel ruts through a field. A loud and abrupt snort from his right startled him. This time he whipped out his gun, his heart in his throat. He squinted until he could make out a herd of bison standing on the side of the hill. He heard one swish its tail. He kept his gun in his hand and kept walking up the hill.
Five minutes later, he reached the house. His eyes, now well adjusted to the starlit night, made out a single-story, ranch-style structure standing on its own on the side of the hill facing southeast. He saw soft yellow light slipping through the cracks of the drawn curtains and shadows moving within. The ground beneath the house was sloped, and its front section was propped up on stilts. Three steps led
to a small stoop in front of the door. A Cherokee was parked off to one side. It was cold out, and Finn heard the Jeep’s exhaust manifold still ticking.
He walked past the Cherokee and around to the back of the house, holding the gun in both hands, a finger on the trigger. Behind the house, he saw a large plastic rainwater tank, the pipe that connected it to the roof bisecting the starry sky. Light spilled out a curtainless window set in the back door. Finn sidled up to it.
He held up the gun, took a deep breath, and glanced through the corner of the window into what turned out to be the kitchen. He saw Navidad sitting on a high-backed wooden chair at a wooden table in the center of the room, eating cookies off a plate. She had on the gray sweater that Linda had given her. A glass of milk stood by her hand. Her last meal, figured Finn, feeling sick in his stomach. There was a sink on one side of the room, a cooker with a kettle on it on the other, a thin plume of steam rising from the kettle’s spout. Through another door at the back of the kitchen, he saw what he figured was the living room, and in that room he saw another door next to a curtained window, which he figured was the front door, the one that opened onto the stoop he had seen out front. He didn’t see Mona, and he didn’t see Linda or Serpil or Rhonda Blake, assuming she was the other woman, but he saw shadows moving against the living-room curtains. He took his left hand off the gun and, with the fleshy part of his fingers rather than his nails, gently tapped on the glass. Navidad looked up and met his gaze. He put his index finger to his lips. She nodded. He lowered his hand and tried the handle—the door wasn’t locked. He turned it slowly.
The moment Finn stepped into the kitchen, the kettle on the cooker started to whistle. A fraction of a second later, Serpil walked in from the living room. He was wearing hospital scrubs with bloodstains on them. He stopped dead and looked directly at Finn, mouth open, eyes wide, astonished. They stood ten feet apart, staring at each other for a fraction of a second. Serpil started to raise his hands. One part of Finn’s brain noted that he was unarmed. But still he centered his weapon squarely at Serpil’s chest and fired.
Twice.
The sound of the shots in the confined space was shocking, the force of the impact at such short range more shocking still. The two shots lifted Serpil off his feet and sent him flying back into the front room, almost to the front door, before he crashed onto his back and a dark patch began to bloom from the center of his blue smock. In the living room, a woman screamed. Finn hustled past Navidad, who hadn’t made a sound, and into the main room. He saw a lamp on a sideboard, a couch next to it, a coffee table in front of the couch. He saw a woman he assumed was Rhonda Blake furiously trying to open the front door. He put a bead on her and was about to tell her to stop when he heard a sound at the far end of the room. He swung his gun in that direction in time to see Linda pointing a gun at him. They both fired at the same time. They both missed their targets. Linda stepped back into the room behind her and slammed the door. Finn emptied his clip into it, splintering the wood. Then he took cover in the kitchen and slid a fresh clip into the P7. He looked up into the living room and saw the front door swing open. He heard the fading steps of Rhonda Blake running away. The kettle behind him was whistling furiously, rattling in its fury. The sulfurous smell of burned powder stung his nostrils. He waited.
He didn’t have to wait long—a battery of shots exploded through the door behind which Linda had disappeared, splinters flying everywhere, and Finn watched the slugs blast the plaster off the living-room wall closest to him. One slug caught the lamp and the room went dark. His ears were ringing when the shooting stopped. He glanced back over his shoulder into the kitchen. Navidad had dived under the table. He pointed at the back door, waving vigorously for her to get out. She had her fingers in her ears and her eyes shut tight. He shouted at her in a hoarse whisper. She couldn’t hear him. Finn dashed over to the cooker and lifted the kettle off the hotplate. The whistling stopped. He rushed back to the doorframe.
He heard Linda shouting, “I have Mona here! I have your wife!”
Finn said nothing.
“I know you’re there, Finn,” said Linda through the splintered door, “I know you’re not dead. I heard you take the kettle off the stove.”
“Fuck,” said Finn under his breath.
He heard Navidad whimpering beneath the table. He turned to her, smiled, and put his fingers to his lips again. Then he pointed to the door. She stifled her sobs and shook her head. Stubborn kid.
“I’ll shoot her, Finn,” said Linda, shouting. “I swear to God I’ll put a bullet in her head right now. Why wouldn’t I? There’s nothing stopping me.”
“You touch her and I’ll kill you,” Finn shouted back.
“You’ll kill me anyway, Finn. We both know that,” said Linda.
“I swear to God, you let her go, I won’t hurt you. I know why you did what you did, Linda. I understand. Who wouldn’t do anything to save their child?”
A moment of silence made him think he might’ve convinced her.
But then Linda said, “We’re wasting time. Make up your mind.”
“How do I know she’s not dead already?”
A moment passed. Finn stuck his head around the corner. The far door started to open, bright white light spilling out. He put a bead on the spot where he expected Linda’s head to be.
Instead, he saw Mona. She was naked. Her head drooped to one side and her arms and legs hung limply. He couldn’t tell whether her eyes were open or closed. Linda had an arm under her breasts, holding her up. In her other hand, she held a gun to Mona’s temple.
He tried, but he couldn’t get a clear line on Linda, not at this distance with both women backlit like that, making it hard to distinguish one from the other.
“What’ve you done to her? Where the hell are her clothes?”
“The doctor was prepping her for surgery,” said Linda. “You got here just in time, Finn. He’d already found a buyer and was all set to operate. You’ve saved her life.”
Finn kept his gun pointed at Mona’s head. Linda’s was directly behind it. If only Mona would wake up, tilt her head a few inches to the right. He stepped carefully into the room, holding his gun up with both hands. The floorboard creaked beneath him.
“It’s over, Linda,” he said. “Serpil’s dead. So is Cutts. Rhonda’s gone. There’s no one left.”
“You know I don’t give a damn about them, Finn. Cutts got his kidney. Serpil was in it for the money. I don’t give a damn about money.”
“You don’t want to die, Linda. Think of your daughter. Think of Lucy.”
Linda gave a bitter laugh. “You think I think about anything else? Lucy’s all I think about, Finn. She’s all I have.”
“So put down your gun. For her.”
He inched forward. Linda and Mona were framed in the door, light spilling out from behind them.
“You think this is setting a good example for her?” he said.
“That’s funny. You’re hilarious, Finn. Why don’t you come over here, tell me some more jokes.”
Finn took one agonizing step closer. “It’s over, Linda. Can’t you see? What can you possibly get out of this?”
“Navidad.”
His throat constricted. “Not going to happen,” he said.
“Navidad for your wife. It’s up to you. You choose.”
Something cold and black snared Finn’s mind. The skin around his eye twitched and he had to make a willful effort to think straight and to keep his voice even. He kept inching slowly toward the two women.
“She’s no good to you now, Linda. The doctor’s dead. Who’ll operate?”
“Finding the doctor’s not the problem—the problem is finding the donor. It took me months to find that girl, Finn. And Lucy doesn’t have any more time. You can always find another doctor if you have enough money. But Navidad is rare. I found her. She’s mine. Give her back.”
“There’s no way that’s happening, Linda. Forget it.”
A beat. He moved a half a
foot closer.
“Then say good-bye to your wife.”
Another beat.
“I don’t believe you’d let Lucy die, Finn. I saw you with her from the very start. You risked everything for her, going to Escondido. You’re a good man.”
Her words hit a nerve. Finn wasn’t so sure he’d done it for Lucy. Maybe he’d done it for his own reasons; maybe he’d done it to get Diego his pipes and drums and goddamn honor guard; maybe he’d done it to prove to Mona that she could count on him to do the right thing. But right now he had only one objective. He thought he saw Mona’s head move slightly.
“You had good motives, Linda. I understand that. Anybody would. But you did a bad thing. And now it has to stop.”
Every second felt excruciatingly long. He took another step. Linda shuffled back into the room a little.
“Come any closer and I swear I’ll shoot her,” she said, her voice trembling. She sounded vulnerable and desperate, like she had that night aboard the Belle, when Lucy had been “kidnapped.” Except this time, Finn knew it was authentic.
He steeled himself. He’d closed the gap. He was now no more than fourteen feet away. But still he didn’t shoot. He had to be dead sure of his shot, and right now he wasn’t.
“I care about Lucy, too, Linda,” he said, “Of course I do. Why do you think I agreed to go to Escondido? I want to help her. But not like this. I want to help her the right way.”
“Don’t be naïve. It’s too late for the right way, Finn. You think I didn’t try? It’s not how the world works. Lucy will be dead in days without a new kidney.
