Mother doesn’t answer her. Wendelle brushes against something and reaches out to run her hand along bones. They’ve descended into the family crypt. “I’m sorry, Mother. It will never happen again. I swear. Please, can we go back upstairs?”
“You’re becoming one of them. Just like your father. I should have known. The whiskers, your voice, and now this. I’ll not have it, you hear? I’ll not have my daughter becoming one of them!”
“Who? One of what? Mother, please, I don’t understand.”
Mother unlocks a heavy stone door and then thrusts Wendelle into a chamber with corpses scattered about. Mother grabs Wendelle’s hair to force her on to her knees. “Stay here and pray for God to have mercy on your filthy soul,” Mother says. “I’ve done all I can for you. It’s up to Him now.”
With that, Mother leaves Wendelle alone in the chamber, sealing the door behind her. Wendelle pounds against the door until her fists are bloody and screams until her throat is raw. Then she sags to the ground, curling up into a fetal position.
What’s wrong with me? she wonders. Why does Mother hate me? She touches the hairs on her face and then the organ between her legs, recalling the barber’s words. I must be some kind of monster, she thinks.
She remains in this position for hours, hoping that Mother will come back or this will all turn out to be a dream. At one point a rat comes up to her, sniffing at her face. She screams and then flings herself against the wall. The creature skitters away. She collapses into a sobbing heap, crying so loud she doesn’t hear the door open.
A hand touches her shoulder. “Senorita Palmer, you must go from this place,” Isabelle says. “You must hurry.”
“But Mother—”
“Your mother is asleep. We do not have much time.” Isabelle thrusts a white dress into Wendelle’s hands. “You must dress quickly and go from here.”
Wendelle puts the dress on over her nightgown and then slips on a pair of shoes Isabelle hands to her. “Come, we must go,” Isabelle says. Wendelle follows her through the passageway, into the cellar. They creep up the stairs, listening at the doorway for Mother. “She is still asleep. We must go.”
Isabelle leads her out the front doors and along the driveway as Wendelle had seen her last night. At the gate, Isabelle stops her and gives her a purse of money. “This is all I can spare. It should be enough to get you away from here.”
“I can’t take your money—”
“Please, you must take it. You have been a friend to me these past two years.” She leans forward to kiss Wendelle on the lips. The organ between Wendelle’s legs hardens against her skirt. Her face flushes with shame as she remembers Mother’s words. She pulls away from Isabelle. “I am sorry.”
“No, it’s my fault,” Wendelle says. She looks into Isabelle’s watering brown eyes. She wants to kiss her again, but can’t bring herself to do it. “I have to go.”
She opens the gate and then rushes away into night.
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Pryde said. He patted Wendell on the cheek. “I’ll be back for you later.”
Once Pryde and his animal left, Wendell dropped to the ground, covering his face with the hem of his skirt. He wished now Pryde would come back to kill him so that Prudence couldn’t see him this way and be as ashamed of him as his mother.
Chapter 34: Escape
Joey lies on the bow of the boat, letting the sun wash over him. The air still has a chill of winter, but after months of gloom and cold, he doesn’t care. Mommy lies next to him, her brown skin turning even darker in the sun. Her black hair spreads out like a fan, the wind blowing strands into his face to tickle his nose.
She reaches across the space between them to take his hand. “This was a really good idea,” she says. “It’s so nice. I can’t usually do this, not with all the kids around.”
He doesn’t say anything, savoring her touch after so long of an absence. Three months with almost no word. A phone call on Valentine’s Day and another a few weeks later to announce her return were all Joey had to go on. At times he thought she would never come home. He wants to hold onto her hand forever so that she can never leave without him again.
She pulls her hand from his grasp to roll over. “Can you untie my strings?” she asks. “I don’t want a tan line.”
He unties the strings of her pink bikini and then brushes hair away to expose her entire back. He runs a hand along her soft flesh as if to verify she’s really here and not an illusion. “I love you,” he blurts out.
She turns to him, taking off her sunglasses so he can look into her brown eyes. Her mouth opens, but no words come out. “I—” The roar of a speedboat drowns out her next words. The yellow speedboat zooms past the fishing boat, kicking up waves in its wake.
The deck of the fishing boat heaves Joey from his feet. He falls backwards, scrambling to grab on to something, but catches nothing. Mommy’s eyes fill with horror as he plunges over the side of the boat, his head striking a railing on the way down.
Joey sinks in the water like a stone. Swim, he thinks. I should swim. But he can’t move and continues to sink. I’m going to die, he thinks.
An instant later, he hears a splash overhead. His brain is still in a daze when he sees Mommy above him. She flails about in the water, coming towards him in fits and spurts. At this sight he comes back to full awareness. He thrashes his legs and reaches out towards her with his arms. Her hand touches his and then slides down to his wrist. Her grip is like a handcuff as she pulls him up.
They pop out of the water at the same time. She throws an arm around his neck, almost cutting off his air as she drags him to the boat. She tosses him onto the deck as if he weighs nothing at all and then climbs up after him.
He lies on the deck a moment, staring up at the sun. Then her face fills his vision. “Are you all right?” she asks. He nods before turning to spit out a gallon of water. “I thought…I thought you were—” Instead of finishing the sentence, she kisses him on the lips. “I love you,” she says.
The passion in her kiss is not the kiss of a mother to a son, but something else. He looks upon her with new eyes, seeing not a mother, but a beautiful young woman. He knows her, but from where? All at once she shrinks into a toddler, her taut muscles turning to flab and her bikini blossoming into a frilly dress. “Samantha,” he whispers. She opens her mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a scream—
Joey awoke to hear someone banging on the cellar door. He wobbled to his feet, his body sore from head to toe from the “games” Helena and Phyllis played with him. He gathered up his ragged clothes and approached the door.
“Who’s there?” Helena called out.
“It’s Molly. I have to get Joey out of there. She’s coming and she’s awful mad at him. She says she’s going to cut him up into little pieces.”
“What? Why?” Joey asked.
“She said it didn’t work. I’m not sure what. Oh, I can’t get this door to open. I’m too little.” Through the door, Joey heard her crying.
“You can do it,” Joey said. “I know you can.”
She grunted loud enough for him to hear through the door. An instant later, the cellar door opened. Molly, her face red from the effort and crying, fell into Joey’s arms. “We have to go,” she said. “We have to get off the island.”
“We want to come too,” Helena said.
“We don’t want to stay here anymore,” Phyllis added.
“Fine. Help me carry Molly.” Phyllis took one of Molly’s arms and Joey the other. Helena trailed behind as they hurried out of the pantry.
Children were scattered all over town. Some lay sleeping in the street while others shouted and played. The trio of boys that had stolen Molly’s hair ribbon earlier approached her and the others. “What’s wrong with the baby? Does she need a nap?” one of the boys asked.
“Maybe she needs her diaper changed,” another said. All three laughed at this.
“She’s sick,” Joey said. “We’re taking her home to rest.”
O
ne of the boys reached out to pinch Molly’s cheek. “Aw, baby needs a nappy-pooh. She’s all tuckered out.”
“Leave her alone,” Joey said. “She’s a lot braver than you’ll ever be.”
“What’s this? The baby’s boyfriend?” The boy shoved Joey backwards. He lost his grip on Molly and they both fell to the ground along with Phyllis. The boys laughed at this. “Look, they haven’t even learned to walk yet.”
“Please, just let us go,” Joey said. “We don’t want any trouble. We only want to get Molly home.”
“Oh, maybe we should let them get the baby to her crib before she wets herself.”
“Fine, we’ll let you go, but only if you crawl out of here like the babies you are.”
“I’m not going to crawl on the dirty ground,” Helena said.
“Do you want to stay in the cellar?” Joey said.
Helena thought about this a moment and then got down on her knees. By now Molly had recovered enough to crawl on her own. Joey followed behind her, his face turning red as the boys howled with laughter. “Look at the babies crawl,” they said.
To add to the insult, one of the boys kicked Joey in the rear. His eyes watered up from the pain, but he refused to cry in front of them. Molly looked back at him with concern and then kept going.
They continued to crawl all the way to the bakery on the edge of town. By then the boys grew weary of tormenting them. “I hate them,” Helena said as she got to her feet.
“Let’s just get out of here,” Phyllis said. She and Joey ran alongside Molly towards the trees. As Joey neared the edge of the forest, he heard a scream. He looked back to see Aunt Veronica holding a struggling Helena with a knife at her throat.
Chapter 35: Decisions
Fog has descended over the docks. In the fog Samantha can only see Miss Brigham’s hair, guiding her along like Rudolph’s nose in the old Christmas song. “We’re almost there,” Miss Brigham whispers.
Samantha isn’t sure about this plan. She should call for backup. Let the local authorities handle this. They’ll never believe this, she thinks. I don’t believe it. She could make up a story to get them over there. Tell them drug smugglers or terrorists are using the island as a base. Flash her FBI badge around, assert her authority.
“It’s over here,” Miss Brigham says. Samantha can’t see where she’s pointing, but she follows the splotch of red ahead of her to a slip. A wooden boat, not much bigger than a rowboat, is tied to the dock. “This is it.”
“This? Did you row over here?” Samantha says.
“There’s a sail,” Miss Brigham says.
“Oh goody.” Samantha puts a hand to her stomach. Having spent most of her life in New Mexico and Texas she’s never had much exposure to boats. Especially not one so small. Beyond the fog she imagines a vast ocean with waves capable of swallowing their dinghy. “I should let you know I’m not much of a swimmer.”
“We should be fine,” Miss Brigham says.
Samantha hears a rustling from behind a stack of crates. She turns around in time to see a man in a black overcoat coming at her with a knife. She sidesteps her attacker’s lunge, grabbing hold of his wrist as he goes by. She twists the knife out of his hand. He snarls and tries to hit her with his other arm, but she grabs this arm too and kicks him in the side.
“Look out!” Miss Brigham screams. It’s too late. A vial of glowing liquid shatters in her face. She drops to her knees on the dock, trying to wipe the liquid from her eyes.
When her vision clears, she looks down at the sleeves of her jacket that have now outgrown her arms. Her T-shirt is now as loose as a nightshirt over her flat chest. Her boots feel like clown shoes as she gets up.
The man in the black overcoat is standing over her; she now must look up several inches to meet his eyes. “What did you do to me?” she says, her voice high and thin. The man in the overcoat smiles a hideous yellow grin and seizes her by the hair now streaming to the middle of her back.
“You’ll make a nice addition to my collection,” he growls.
“No, you can’t!” Miss Brigham says. “She hasn’t done anything. She doesn’t know anything. Let her go, please.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” another man’s voice says. A sandy-haired man in a black suit appears out of the fog. He smiles down at Samantha, lifting her chin with one finger. “It is time for you to meet your creator, my child,” he says.
With a flourish the man in the overcoat hits Samantha over the head with a board. As her world spins, they shovel her into a sack. Everything goes dark.
“Samantha, are you all right?” Miss Brigham asked.
Samantha leapt from the bed, shoving Miss Brigham away. “You stay away from me. You backstabbing bitch!” She pulled the gun from her jacket and aimed it at Miss Brigham’s terrified face. “You knew they were there. You wanted them to take me.”
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about. I think you should lie down. You’re not at all well, Samantha.”
“I see what’s going on now. You don’t fool me.”
Miss Brigham took a step towards her. “Please, Samantha, let me help you. I’ll call a doctor and—”
Samantha cocked the pistol. “I told you to stay away from me! I want you out of here, right now! Now!”
Miss Brigham raised her hands and drifted towards the door. “If that’s what you want, dear.” Samantha waited until the door clicked shut before she put the safety back on and tossed the pistol onto the bed. Then she dropped to her knees, pressing her head into the carpet.
Before her eyes ran a series of images like a movie playing in fast forward. Samantha waking up in a dark bedroom with Miss Brigham at her side. She sees herself in the stream, now ten years old. Chubby Prudence dives into the water to save her from drowning. The images start to move faster. Reverend Crane punishing her. Pryde’s dogs chasing her. The Fountain of Youth. Pryde disintegrates in the water. She tumbles in after the reverend. Prudence saves her. Now she’s six years old.
The images move even faster so that in an instant she springs up from a little girl to a young woman experiencing her first period in the cave along the beach. There’s a terrible storm. Pryde’s hut. All those bodies. Her parents are dead. She finds her Uncle Hector. Molly becomes a baby. Rebecca becomes a toddler while Prudence is a little girl again. Uncle Hector isn’t her uncle at all. He throws fountain water into her face, making her nine again. Then he tries to escape, but his boat isn’t ready. It sinks.
There’s a terrible blizzard. The island is a wasteland. She’s a pimple-faced teenager now. She, Prudence, and Wendell take a boat to Seabrooke. Mr. Pryde gives them a ride. The images slow down to a crawl. A light comes on. Joseph stands in the doorway of his bedroom. Little Joey grown into a handsome young man. Behind the glasses he has such sad eyes. The eyes of someone who’s witnessed a great tragedy. Later, he kisses her. He takes her into his arms and says, “I love you.”
And then she’s in a crib. She’s a toddler now. Becky looms over her, only it’s not Becky. Veronica! She’s here! There’s a party for Samantha. Prudence and Wendell are here, now four years old. And a little boy with messy brown hair and a runny nose. Joseph! Veronica has him. She’s going to kill him. He’s going to die. It’s my fault. “Please take care of Joey.” She didn’t. She failed him again.
Samantha opened her eyes. The curse had struck again, claiming yet another person she loved, this time one she had sworn to protect. She had failed Joseph twice. Not yet, she thought. She raised her head and stared up at the ceiling.
She had another chance to save him and everyone else. Those twelve years on Eternity hadn’t happened yet. She could keep them from happening. Tonight.
She reached for her pistol on the bed. Kill Reverend Crane and Pryde and none of it would happen. She wouldn’t end up on Eternity. Joseph would never see her again. He would never fall in love with her. She could find a way to make sure Veronica never found Eternity. Kill Reverend Crane, then Pryde, and then his gra
nddaughter.
She slipped the pistol into her jacket and then stomped out of the room. She found Miss Brigham sitting on the front step of the Seafarer, sobbing as she had last night. “I’m sorry about that,” Samantha said. “I’m going to need your help now to make sure Reverend Crane doesn’t hurt anyone else.”
“Oh, what difference is it going to make?” She looked up at Samantha, her face red not with sadness but anger. “I’m such a fool. Were I to free those children from him it can’t bring back the one most important to me.” She put a hand to her stomach. “It can’t return my baby to me.”
“Your baby?” She nodded. “And the reverend is the father?” She nodded again. “My God. You had an abortion?”
“In a manner of speaking. When he found out he was so furious. He said such terrible things to me. He called me a whore and a vile temptress. He said he’d kill me before he let me have our baby. He offered me a choice: my life for my child’s. What else could I do? I swallowed a teaspoon of the water and my baby disappeared. I’m such a coward.” She sniffled and shook her head again. “I realized then what a monster he is. And I thought if I stopped him then it would make things right, but it won’t. My baby will still be dead because of me.”
Samantha put a hand on her own stomach, the home to her and Andre’s child. Nothing she did could ever bring that child back. Nothing could ever heal that pain. “There are still people who need us, Molly. Those children need our help,” she said. Joseph needs my help, she added to herself. “Reverend Crane will be waiting for us on the docks tonight. We have to stop him and then we can bring your children back here and find good homes for all of them. We can make things right for them tonight, but I need you to help me.”
Miss Brigham nodded. “I’ll help you,” she said. She stood up and embraced Samantha. “Thank God for you, Samantha Young.” Then they got in the car and headed for the docks as fog began to roll in from the sea.
Chapter 36: Ghost Towns
Reverend Crane set Prudence on the ground to push aside a boulder guarding the entrance to her prison. She made sure he wasn’t watching before she unwrapped herself from the dress and ran towards the river. “Come back here!” he shouted.
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