by Anni Taylor
Sister Rose shot a look of confusion at Brother Sage before turning to Richard. “I can’t answer that. Saul was meant to have left the island hours ago.”
“We need to find out why he didn’t,” replied Brother Sage grimly.
“More to the point,” said Ruth. “Can you explain why one of your monks turned into a killer?”
“He doesn’t belong to the monastery, Ruth. I’ve never seen him before.” Dropping to her knees, Sister Rose examined the man’s cloak. “What is this? This symbol?”
Brother Sage peered over her shoulder. “I don’t know. But I have an idea. I’ve heard of a group that have an unhealthy obsession with monasteries, going so far as to dress as monks and trying to infiltrate the silent orders.” Bending, he placed a supportive hand on Sister Rose’s shoulder then took her hand and helped her rise from the floor. “They’re quite mad,” he added in his haughty English accent. “But I’ve never heard of them carrying out a murder.”
Brother Vito and Sister Dawn walked back into the circle, their heads down.
“Yes, poor Saul is indeed dead. Five stab wounds to his back,” Brother Vito confirmed quietly.
Ruth stared at the hexagonal symbol on the killer’s clothing. “So, there could be more of these crazies here?”
“I’m not certain,” said Sister Rose. “But I have the terrible thought that one or more of them might have posed as our monks to take Saul on board the boat. That could explain why he never left the island.”
“What about the other ones of us that went with him?” cried Yolanda. “Does that mean they’re still here? Maybe they got murdered, too.”
“We need to find out if they returned to the mainland, post haste,” Brother Sage told her. “There is another possibility. Saul might have thought that he could stay here and persuade us to keep him on in the challenge. He might have left the boat, unseen, and tried to steal back into the monastery, where he unfortunately came across the person who killed him.”
Duncan folded his arms, tutting. “That does sound like the most likely theory.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ruth fixed an intense glare at Duncan.
“It’s just a question of morals,” said Duncan. “Saul was a sex addict, after all.”
It surprised me to hear what Saul’s addiction was. I hadn’t had a chance to get to know the quietly spoken puzzle box hobbyist.
Ruth’s expression grew fierce. “And that makes you think you’re better than him, Duncan? That you have better morals?”
“I think we’ll end the speculation there,” said Brother Sage. “We have other matters at hand. Until the monastery and grounds are thoroughly searched, I can’t declare this island safe. I’m afraid you’re all going to have to leave.”
The group fell into a thick, shocked silence.
Sister Rose shuddered, rubbing her arms as if she were cold. “I can’t believe any of this has happened. It’s time to call in the police.” She pushed her hand into her pocket. “My cell’s back in the dorm. I’ll use the library phone.”
Richard walked straight up to her. “If you call them—the police—they’ll have to interview us, won’t they? I mean, we”—he gestured around at us—“are all witnesses. Two people are dead here. There’s going to be an extensive investigation.”
“Yes, of course.” Sister Rose shook her head slightly as though she wasn’t following.
Suddenly, I wanted to vomit. Not just because of Saul but, shamefully, for myself. I understood exactly what Richard meant. This whole thing was going to be splashed across the news. Everywhere around the world. And the reasons why we were here would be exposed.
Gray would find out everything about me. And my mother, my friends and everyone I knew. Immediately, I hated myself for thinking that way while the blood of two men was fresh on the stonework.
“Forgive the solipsism,” said Richard, “but we were guaranteed privacy. My parents don’t have the barest clue about my gambling habits, and I want to keep it that way.”
“We’re deeply sorry,” said Brother Sage, looking across at him. “But this is nothing we could have anticipated. We’ll do our best to keep it low key.”
Richard just stared at Brother Sage before throwing back his head and bursting out laughing. “Low key? It’s murder in a damned monastery. And a group of addicts undergoing a series of weird challenges as treatment. The media are going to go apeshit over this. I’m leaving. Now. Give me my money, and I’ll get the hell out of here.”
“If you wish,” said Brother Sage. “You’ve completed half of your challenges, and we’ll stay true to our word. You’ll receive half of the payment.”
“That seems fair.” Duncan nodded around at the group. “Does everyone agree that seems fair?”
“I’m staying.” Ruth’s eyes were distant. “I want to stay to the end. I’m not letting this change things for me.”
Richard cast Ruth a look that was almost menacing. “To hell with that.” He turned back to Brother Sage. “This whole farce stops right here. We came here in good faith in the expectation that if we got to the end, we’d get our full amount of money. Well, you guys failed to keep us safe. One of us is dead. We’re in danger of another one of us getting killed. Therefore, the right thing to do is to end the program now and give us the full amount.”
Brother Sage pulled his thin lips in tight and small. “I’m afraid we’re not going to be able to do that. It’s not a reasonable thing to ask.”
“Why not?” Cormack pressed. “Richard’s right, as much as I hate to admit that. You know, the first morning that we were here, Richard told us that the reason everyone doesn’t get through to the end is because you’d have to pay out too much money. Sending people off the island is just an artificial bit of gobshite. Well, circumstances have changed, and we should be compensated.”
“Our budget is our budget, I’m afraid.” Sister Rose’s voice weakened under the glare of Richard and Cormack. “We’re involved in lots of charity work. We don’t have any additional funds allocated for this.”
“Then maybe we should go by need,” said Duncan. “Some of us require those funds more than others. If we all state our situation, maybe we’ll get somewhere with this. I’ll go first. My alcoholism cost me my job and my house. And then my wife told me she wants a divorce. My kids don’t even want to know me anymore. I deserve a new start.”
Cormack shot a questioning look at Richard. “You go next. C’mon, fat cat, ‘fess up, then. You don’t need the money.”
“We’re not going by need,” Richard retorted. “That wasn’t the deal we were offered. Who the hell here is going to start listening to Duncan? He’s background noise at best.”
Cormack grabbed Richard’s shoulder. “You claimed you were here for the treatment. Not the money. Well, the treatment’s done with. And you don’t need any of the money. Do the right thing and leave it for the people who need it. Tell them. Tell everyone how much money Richy Rich is making.”
Poppy moved in between Cormack and Richard, her eyes wet and reddened. “He doesn’t have to tell anyone anything.”
Richard’s shoulders slackened under Cormack’s grasp. “I’m not Richy Rich. The mentors know exactly what I am. When they—”
“You don’t have to tell anyone your background, Richard,” Sister Rose cautioned.
Richard’s features twisted. “No, it’s time I told the damned truth. When Sister Rose found me, I was living in the water channels under Las Vegas. Surviving on garbage scraps. In case you don’t know, there’s a system of rat-filled drains underneath Vegas that are taller than your head. A ton of people call them home.”
Poppy’s eyes filled with fresh tears. “You lived in a drain, baby chin?”
Nodding, Richard chewed on his lip. “Doesn’t rain much in Vegas, so you’re usually okay. But when it rains hard, you get flooded. All your stuff gets washed away. Sometimes people don’t wake up in time or they’re too drugged up to stand. They get washed away, too, and the
y drown. I saw quite a few dead bodies down there.”
Cormack dropped his hand from Richard’s shoulder but not without giving him a sceptical look. “So, what’s with the high-roller stories?”
“Force of habit.” Richard looked away. “I’ve been drip feeding my parents fake stories about myself for over two years.”
“Maybe it’s time to come clean with them?” suggested Poppy. “Maybe they’d give you some help?”
Richard snorted. “I might not be rich, but my parents are loaded. My father threatened to cut me out of my inheritance if I don’t follow the script. My older brothers are both hot-shot lawyers, and it was expected that I’d become the same. Me pretending to be some kind of wealthy entrepreneur isn’t making him happy, but at least it’s been holding him off. But once this whole monastery thing hits TV screens across America, it’s all over.”
Ruth crossed her arms tightly. “Okay, enough of these true-life confessions. No one cares. Brother Sage, nobody except for us and you mentors know about the program. Why don’t us challenge participants leave the island while the police are here and then return later? You could just say that Saul requested to come here on retreat or something. This way, we don’t tarnish a dead man’s name. He has a family who don’t know about his addictions.”
Sister Rose fumbled as she threaded her fingers together. “I do see your point, Ruth. We did guarantee you all your privacy. But I’m at a loss. We couldn’t foresee this terrible set of events. But we can’t make the situation worse by attempting to cover anything up. Also, you’ve forgotten that there are monks here. They certainly won’t agree to lie to the police.”
“I will sue the pants off every one of you if you go ahead with this,” said Richard to the mentors. “Because if this goes public, I’ll have nothing to lose.”
I knew it was wrong—because we were here, and that made us part of what happened to Saul—but I couldn’t make myself speak up. Maybe right and wrong wasn’t so black and white. It was right that Saul’s addiction didn’t get splashed across every news outlet just because he had the bad luck of getting murdered. I knew exactly what the reporters would do with a story about sex addiction. And his wife and kids would bear the brunt of it. Saul’s murderer had been caught and killed. Justice was already served.
Brother Sage’s expression grew taut. “I’ll meet you halfway. We will be informing the police of what happened here tonight. When the police arrive, we will tell them that you are here on retreat and that none of your names may be released to the media, nor may any photographs of you be released to the media. We will also inform the police that none of you witnessed any part of the discovery of the victim or the subsequent shooting of the murderer. We’ll be asking the police to search the monastery and grounds to ensure that it is safe and that there are no more of these monastery invaders. Our program will continue, as planned. We have an entire day until the next challenge round.”
Duncan clapped his hands together. “Sounds like a good plan. Is everyone happy with that?”
“Shut up, Duncan,” said Ruth. “And yes, I’m happy. We just need to make sure everyone sticks to the same story.” She shot a stern look at each of the challenge participants. “Anyone who doesn’t stick to the story has to leave immediately and doesn’t get their fat cheque. Capisce?” She turned to the mentors as if for affirmation.
Brother Sage gave a nod. “We’re sticking our necks out for all of you. We’ll expect you to play your part. The most important thing now is for everyone to remain safe. Everyone must return to the dormitories and remain securely locked inside.”
“Wait,” I said hesitantly. “I told Brother Vito about noises I’ve been hearing since the first morning. I thought it might be rats. But now I’m wondering if it was this man. We’ve seen someone at night in the halls. And that first morning, I even thought I saw eyes watching us . . . through the walls . . .”
People looked at me as if I was ever so slightly off my rocker.
“We’ll make sure the police do a thorough search tomorrow,” Brother Vito assured me, a placating tone in his voice. “The monks did a search for rat droppings but found nothing. It seems it was this person all along. He must have stayed out of sight when they were looking.”
“Off to get some rest now,” Sister Rose instructed us. “You’ll be safe in your beds.”
We were herded to the dormitories, Poppy reaching for my hand and gripping it tightly.
My throat felt dry and swollen, as if I’d been screaming ever since we’d found Saul. But I hadn’t screamed at all.
Ruth and Harrington walked the hall together, a little in front.
“At least we’re through the third challenge,” Ruth was saying to Harrington. “Done and dusted. When I understood what the challenge wanted of us, I gave it the performance of my life.”
Harrington snickered. “Yeah. Not hard to make people believe you’re really feeling that shit.”
Ruth swivelled her head around slightly, catching sight of me and then falling silent.
I felt burned. She and Harrington had just been acting in the challenge room? And now they were both crowing about it straight after we’d found Saul dead.
My skin prickled with cold beneath my monastery clothing.
Far away in the hills, a raucous chorus of peacocks started up.
35. GRAY
VERITY TOOK WILLOW AND LILLY OUT to a park for some fresh air. She was treating them to a special lunch at a restaurant after they left the park. She seemed to be relishing her time with them. For all the strange and annoying things about Verity, she actually did love Willow and Lilly. Shame she was so harsh with Evie, because that was bad for Evie and also meant she gave Verity a wide berth. The girls had largely missed out on bonding with their grandmother.
I grabbed my chance to go sit in my back shed and smoke a bag of Joe’s weed, cigarettes and cold beer on the workbench beside me. I hadn’t smoked a cigarette in months, but still, I’d picked up a packet.
I knew this was me running away from everything. I didn’t want to do this every time things turned to shit, but I did. My friends who used pot didn’t binge like I did. I’d been hiding the binges from Evie.
I’d been a heavy drug user before I met Evie. Not just pot but everything I could get my hands on. I’d hated myself at every step, following in my parents’ footsteps. Evie had given me a different direction.
I leaned on my knees, head down, blowing smoke onto the dirt-crusted concrete floor.
It seemed like there was something I was supposed to be doing right now, something about Evie. But I didn’t know what the hell it was. Maybe I’d beg Verity for money and go searching for Evie. But where would I start? Where would I go?
Evie, where the hell are you?
A hundred possibilities flashed through my head.
36. CONSTANCE
I NEEDED SOME NEW CLOTHES. I’D packed warm gear for the Sydney winter, but I hadn’t anticipated heading off to Europe. The London summer had produced a sticky, hot day. The grey rain of yesterday had been a ruse.
Leaving my apartment, I wandered down to the streets, looking to buy shorts and a couple of tank tops. I sweated horribly in the heat.
Young people moved in groups along Southwark Street, laughing, bumping each other, checking phones. High on life. The girls wearing tiny shorts and halter tops. The boys proudly shirtless. Backpackers, probably.
What was Kara doing right now?
If I could just see her, all this could end.
I found myself heading into a set of crowded food stalls. Scents of spicy Indian curries and Spanish paella. A sign proclaimed the area as Borough Markets. My first instinct was to about-face and flee.
But there was no point in doing that. Kara could be here.
I let myself thread into the crowd of people.
This was the London I’d loved on my previous trips. For minutes, I lost myself, buying earrings for Kara and myself, cute summery scarves and a couple of second-hand boo
ks to read back at the apartment.
Rosemary hadn’t set me any tasks to do. I was free to keep wandering. I trusted that she was hard at work doing whatever it was that she did. I decided the best way of spending my time was to walk the streets in case Kara was out there somewhere today. It was the tiniest of chances, but at least it was something. Waiting in the apartment wasn’t going to help anyone.
I peeled off a long-sleeved top and jeans in the changing room of a clothing store and stepped into a pair of khaki shorts and a black tank top. I didn’t understand the sizes, so I’d just picked up what I thought would fit me. I knotted a multi-coloured summer scarf around my neck and put on the earrings. Looking at myself in the mirror, I felt mentally lighter.
I paid for the new gear then headed back out onto the street, tossing the old clothes in the trash. A trendy health-food stall advertised thirty-six different types of juices. Wheatgrass and kale and beetroot and exotic fruits I hadn’t heard of. I ordered their Liver Zinger. I didn’t ask what was in it. I didn’t much care about the taste of things. It was the nutrient value that mattered.
I kept walking, through the markets and on to the music and song of several street buskers, muffled by the beeps and grinding brakes of the busy London traffic.
My phone buzzed inside my tote. Juggling the drink and the bag of things I’d bought for Kara, I fished out the phone. Rosemary’s number was displayed on the screen. “Yes, Rosemary?”
“Hello, how are you?”
“I’m just out getting a few things. Not sure where I am now. I was on Southwark Street. All so incredibly busy!”
“Yes, you’ve arrived in peak tourist season.” She paused for a moment. “Constance, I have a little bit of news.”
I steeled myself. News could mean anything. It could be something extremely bad. “I’m listening.”
“I’m not sure whether Kara’s in the UK at all.”
“What?” I stopped still, the light feeling I’d had earlier instantly vanishing. “Then . . . where?”
