CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Just get in the car,” Harry said. “He’s gone.”
“I’m afraid he is.” Amelia slowly walked ahead. “I don’t like relying on you, Harry.”
“You used to like it okay.”
She slammed the car door, stared through the windshield at the beating rain. What happened to those happier times….
The high school prom—her first formal. Harry had given her a wild orchid corsage and had pinned it above her breast. His touch sent shivers through her. After that, the rides and picnics, lots of little gifts, the kinds she never expected. Odd-shaped shells he found on the beach, a bamboo whistle he carved, a funny-faced coconut, a hara-kiri knife his father gave him. His father, such a mysterious man, always doing business, flying on and off the island. The many women he had. She never saw Harry’s mother. His father frightened her the first time he approached her. She’d only seen him with Japanese women—why was he interested in her? Why did he have that knife? Harry had changed after high school. No longer that handsome, caring person. He’d turned into his father’s son....
The car shook. It smacked against a tree stump at the side of the narrow road above the ocean. Amelia bumped her head hard on the dash and snapped back. The motor roared. Harry pressed hard on the brake pedal. The rear wheels spun toward the edge of the cliff.
He turned the wheel with the spin and the car came around, stopped. “That was close.” He cut the engine, relaxed.
Amelia groaned.
“You okay?”
She rubbed the bump on her head. “Owww, it’s swelling. Where are we?”
“By Bird Island. Road’s really bad. You better get out while I back up. You need to guide me.”
Amelia sat still. “My head hurts, but maybe I should take over. You had a lot to drink.”
“I can handle it.”
She shrugged her shoulders, opened the door. Rain hit her face, revived her. “You’re pretty close to the edge.”
Harry opened his window. “Stay back by the hill, so I can see you.” He put the car in reverse, inched backward.
Amelia signaled with her hands until he was back on the road. She hopped inside, wiped the water off her face, and brushed back her wet hair. When she eased back in the seat, her breasts jutted against her thin blouse.
Harry saw their rigid tips in the glow of the dash lights and licked his lips.
“Guess I was a little out of it.” She watched his eyes caress her body.
“I thought you were just ignoring me.”
“Not a bad idea.”
The lines on his face tightened. “We might get farther if we cooperate.”
“You can start by telling me the truth.”
“The truth is, I’ve never forgotten you. I know you’re still burned about Brisbane, but I was under orders. I did what I could to lessen your pain.” His face softened.
“If you really feel that way, then tell me what’s going on here.”
“Here?”
“On this island. Why are people getting killed? Vincent says it all stems from Amelia Earhart.”
“Forget Vincent. We know who he is. He’s always been a burr in our hair.”
“How do you know all about Vincent? When you sent me to Brisbane, you said he was mixed up in my dad’s murder.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “My dear Amelia, you are delving into forbidden waters, but it won’t do you any good.”
“Is that a threat?”
He ignored her. “Before the war, my father worked closely with Admiral Yamamoto. They orchestrated the most daring attack since Hannibal crossed the Alps.”
“You mean Pearl Harbor?”
“Yes, but Vincent and his partner, a Japanese traitor, almost squashed their plans. My father was detained in Honolulu until consuls were exchanged.”
“Was he a spy?”
“The best.” His tone expressed pride.
Amelia grinned. “Harry, I think you’ve had too much to drink.”
“I’m not like that old fool Antonio.”
“Poor Antonio.”
“He served his purpose just like Vincent’s partner. Ironically the Americans arrested him, but Toshio escaped and sailed to Tokyo with my father.”
“He must’ve been an American traitor, too.”
Harry smiled. “So he wanted us to believe. He was Father’s right arm, trusted like a family member. No one knew he smuggled out photos that became military targets.”
“How could he get away with that?”
“I told you, he was trusted. He was Japanese.”
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“It might help you understand. You should know what it means to be Japanese . . .” He cracked his window enough to let in some air and wiped the windshield clear.
The car moved along with Harry hunched over the wheel; his eyes riveted on the road. Muck oozed from the hills, made the going slippery. He let up on the throttle but the car still swerved. He straightened it out just before the curve.
Amelia peered out her side. “Harry! The road’s gone!”
A mudslide swooped in front of them. Harry stomped on the brake pedal. The car skidded forward into the deep mud. He put the car in reverse. The wheels spun. Back and forth between first gear and reverse, he tried to rock the car free.
Amelia opened her window. “It’s no use.” A burst of wind and rain hit her. ‘Oh, great, just what I need—another bath.” She rolled up the window, wiped her face.
Harry shut off the motor, sat back against his seat. “We’ll just have to wait it out.”
“You better turn off the lights—save the battery.”
“Yeah.” He pushed in the switch, then reached into the glove compartment, and pulled out a bottle of vodka. “Want some?”
“No, thanks.”
He took a swallow, stared at Amelia’s breasts pushing against her wet blouse. “Rain’s not letting up.” He leaned across the seat. “Better let me check your head.”
“No, the bump still hurts.”
“What about these sweet little bumps?” Harry brushed his hands across her bosom then nudged her chin upward. “Let me see.” His heavy breath spewed alcohol.
She shoved his hands away. “I told you, no.”
“Can’t be too careful.” He moved closer, slobbered on her neck.
“Stop it!” She brushed his spit off. “I can take care of myself.”
He slid his hands inside her blouse, squeezed her breasts. “Yeah... still nice.” His tongue flicked at her ear.
“That’s enough!” Amelia backed against her door.
“You liked this once.” He pulled her forward and twisted her arm behind her back. “That old man can’t take care of you.” His mouth locked on hers and he forced his tongue down her throat.
“Aaaaah! Get...” She thrust against his tight grip.
Harry tore buttons off her blouse. She beat his back with both fists, scratched her nails into him. Pressing a hand between her legs, he forced them apart. She kicked but he clamped on her knees, held them open. Dropping her right arm to the floorboard, she groped for a weapon, anything. She touched a flashlight but could not grasp it.
“Let go of me, Harry, you bastard!” Her whole body shook.
Harry eased his hold, fumbled with his zipper. She stretched her fingers, grabbed the flashlight, and hit him on the left temple. He shook his head. She hit him again. He slumped in her lap; blood from his head dripped on her skirt. Kicking him away, she threw her body at the car door.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Damn door’s stuck—shit! Amelia pounded on the door and squeezed the handle until her fingers numbed. How was she going to escape? Harry wouldn’t be out long. She jammed her shoulder against the door.
Harry’s eyes opened. He groped for her. His voice lashed out like a bullwhip. “Come here, you Japanese bitch!”
She dodged, scrambled into the rear seat. He lunged after her, twisted her arm, and struck her face.
“You son of a bitch!” She kicked at him.
His dark eyes blazed. “You’re mine.”
She sprang free, slammed against the back door. It unlatched. She flew out, tumbled into the mud. Her heart hammered against her chest; her breaths came in sporadic gasps. She swiveled, rammed her legs against the open door. It blasted into Harry’s chest, knocking him backward.
He climbed over the front seat, snatching a pistol from the glove box. Amelia crawled to the front of the car, peeked over the fender. Harry hung out the window, shot off a round.
She ducked, knocked out the dark headlights with a rock. He wouldn’t miss again. She crept into the jungle’s dense undergrowth, hid behind a tree. Harry’s weapon blasted into the blackness. She cringed, sank to her knees on the slimy ground. The car door slammed. Run, just run!
Amelia tore through the wet underbrush. Vines grabbed her body; tangan-tangan clawed her legs. Harry ran after her. Shots cut chunks from trees, splattered them on the ground. Amelia flinched at each blast but kept running.
His voice closed in. She dove into a cluster of banana trees. Her breath burned her throat; she cowered low to the ground. The angry cries grew louder. His footsteps squished on the soaked earth. Shivers rippled up her spine; her chest heaved. She forced her mouth shut, held her breath. Couldn’t let him take her against her will.
The footsteps stopped. Rain drummed on the banana plants’ large flat leaves. Was he gone? Why would he give up? Was he hiding? She lay frozen in the thicket. Determination was her strongest suit—somehow she inherited that.
Menacing time passed. She couldn’t tell how long. The rain lessened to a drizzle. Insects hummed around her. Swatting them away, she listened for movements in the jungle.
Some tropical birds squawked, scared her. She leaped to her feet, scanned the brush and trees. No sign of Harry. She left her cover. One foot bare, she looked for her shoe. Forget it—just get out, blend with the jungle.
Her torn, white blouse hung by threads on her shoulders. She clutched it around her body and tucked it inside the waistband of her blue skirt.
This island was her home; she’d outlast Harry. She found a tall tree, slid her hand along the trunk, felt green moss. Tanapag’s south, the other way.
Amelia’s stomach ached; she felt dizzy but plodded on using her arms like machetes against the bush. Mud sucked her feet, claimed the remaining shoe. Her rain-soaked hair lay flat against her head. The shrill cry of a cockatoo startled her. She stopped, panting. Just a little rest, all she needed. She slumped at the base of a tree. Get her strength back. Close her eyes... she’d make it.
Her head jerked up. Harry! Another shot cut through the jungle. Get out! Get out! She leaped up, ran. Where was Marpi Road? Amelia trudged on for hours. Tanapag had to be close.
The rain stopped. Night stillness was the deep dark of a bottomless coal mine. Mosquitoes sucked Amelia’s skin, made her bleed. Scratches crisscrossed her legs; the bump on her forehead throbbed. Thorns stuck in her bare feet, dug deeper with each step. Slowed to a limp, she found a pool and splashed water on her face and shoulders, dipped her bloody feet and legs in the soothing pool. She rubbed her arms, breasts, tried to wash Harry’s pawings off her body. After she gathered her strength, she pressed on.
Endless night grayed into dawn. Morning’s pink tint filtered through a few remaining clouds. Soon, the sun peeked between them. Amelia climbed a hilltop, spotted tackle shops and fishing shacks around the harbor. The Philippine Sea’s turquoise waters glittered in the distance.
She blinked several times, made sure Tanapag didn’t disappear. The wind blew her hair, stiffened with dried blood, away from her face. Her head still hurt and her eyes darkened with the pain. She dropped in the tall grass, soothed her bruises, felt her chest. Somehow her blouse was torn away. She crossed her arms over her bare breasts, sensed Harry’s clawing hands, and shuddered. You bastard, Harry! Corkscrew dizziness seized her; she tottered, passed out.
Two arms wrapped around Amelia. She tensed. Her eyelids weighed too much to flick apart. Soft voices reeled within her mind, words that didn’t register. She choked back a cry.
A rough hand caressed her cheeks. “Amelia... it’s me.”
Her eyes fluttered open after she rubbed them. “Vincent?”
“Thank God.” He wrapped his shirt around her shoulders. “What happened?”
“Harry . . .” She phased out again.
Vincent’s blue eyes darkened like angry thunderclouds; his jaw tightened. He picked up Amelia, carried her to the jeep and placed her on the seat. He listened to her moan as he walked around to the driver’s side and looked down at the harbor. “This is war, Harry. You’re dealing with the wrong guy.” He clenched his fists.
The jeep plowed through a deep mud puddle, jostling Amelia awake. She groaned, looked at Vincent. His face was scalding fury. She’d never seen him like that. His hands clutched the steering wheel like it was Harry’s throat. He tore over bumps, bouncing her up and down.
She leaned against his shoulder, held onto his right arm. Her mind burned. Harry’s hands squeezed her breasts; his harsh mouth forced hers open. “No, don’t... get away.”
Vincent jammed on the brakes; the jeep skidded to a rough stop. He hugged her, stroked her hair. His heart pounded against her. The sob lodged in her throat let loose.
“It’s all right.” He kissed her dirty hair. “We’ll be home soon.”
* * * *
When Joaquina saw the jeep pull into her yard, she bolted down the front steps. Her flowered muumuu flared behind her. “Oh, dear Lord!” She dug her fingers into her cheeks. “What did they do to my baby?”
“She’ll be all right.” Vincent helped Amelia out of the jeep.
Joaquina wrapped her arms around her daughter, examined the cuts and bruises. “They’re killers. You’ve got to let Amelia Earhart stay dead and buried.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Vincent looked at Joaquina. He felt Amelia’s hurt, massaged her shoulders.
Amelia raised her head. “Don’t say that. We can’t give up now. Harry’s just a little cog. We’ve got to—” She collapsed between Vincent and Joaquina.
“Call a doctor!” He picked her up.
After the doctor left, Joaquina made soup in the kitchen for Amelia. Vincent lowered the shades in the bedroom, blocked out the mid-morning sun from Amelia’s eyes. She gave him a slow grin.
His large hands cradled her face. “I love you.”
She relaxed against him, savoring his closeness. “I know you do.” His breath was warm, moist against her face. She put her arms around his neck brushed her lips on his. She loved him too, but the words wouldn’t come out. She felt more pressure on her lips—smothered. She pulled back. “Stop! I can’t—Harry—he . . .”
“Did he rape you?” Vincent didn’t know if he should be so direct. He backed away.
Her voice was low, tormented. “He—he tried.” She closed her eyes.
“That son of a bitch!” Vincent’s eyes blazed.
She rose on her pillow. “I can still feel him. He tried to make me remember how it was when we were young. I don’t know how I ever let him touch me. He had me cornered, called me a Japanese bitch.”
“That’s crazy. He knows what you are.”
“Mother’s full-blooded Chamorro. Dad was American. What’s he saying?”
Vincent shook his head. “He’s nuts.”
“It’s all too much, now.” She pulled her knees close to her body. Her hair was still blood-and-mud-streaked. Each body movement made her bruises ache. She wrapped her arms around her knees, tried to keep her eyes open.
“You’d better get some sleep,” he said. “I’ll be back later.”
“No, Vincent—don’t go.” She watched his eyes. Pleading wouldn’t help this time. He wanted blood, Japanese blood.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The ringing telephone jarred Amelia from a deep sleep.
“Oh, Lord, no! Was he in it?”
/> Amelia heard her mother’s shrill cry from the kitchen. She bounced upright.
“Mother! Mother, what’s wrong?” She imagined Vincent covered with blood, lying by the roadside. Springing from bed, she knocked over the unfinished soup, still on the nightstand.
“Why aren’t you in bed?” Joaquina, gun in hand, met Amelia in the hallway. “You know Doctor Hernandez said you must sleep after so much medication.”
“I’m okay. Where’s Vincent? I heard the phone.” She saw the weapon. “Where did you get that?”
“Vincent left it. The phone was nothing.” Her face said otherwise. “Now, back to bed.”
Amelia pulled back. “Mother... tell me, what is it?”
Joaquina bit her lower lip. “All right, you’ll find out soon enough.”
Amelia shook. Her stomach clenched. Her balance unsteady, she reached for Joaquina’s hand. “Vincent... what did they do to him?”
“It’s not Vincent.”
Amelia’s face relaxed. “Then what was the phone call about?”
“Antonio’s house is on fire. I wanted to spare you more grief.”
“I don’t understand. Why Antonio’s house? I thought he was—”
“I’ll go see what happened,” Joaquina said. “You stay here and rest.”
“No, I’m coming with you. Something’s not right. I saw Antonio’s jeep towed out of the Grotto.” She limped into the bedroom, pulled on a short muumuu, and put sandals on her swollen feet.
Joaquina was already outside when Amelia opened the screen door. “Vincent must’ve taken the jeep yesterday.”
Amelia looked down the road toward the coast. A large plume of smoke climbed above the jungle. “I’m going to walk.”
“It’s too far and you’re hurt.” Joaquina held her arm. “We’ll borrow Juan’s jeep.”
Amelia bounced around in the passenger seat. Was Vincent okay? Did he go to Antonio’s? He just took off—ready to kill Harry. Was Harry waiting?
“Don’t worry.” Joaquina patted her daughter’s knee. “Your man’ll be safe.”
Amelia Page 19
