by Hester Young
Not now. Not again.
Shades of night. Warm, dense forest. A teenage girl, alone in the woods.
I become someone else. Wear his eyes like a pair of sunglasses. Hear his thoughts, louder and more insistent than my own.
Crouched behind a shrub, I watch the girl. Rocking in her hammock. Signaling with her flashlight to someone who never comes. I watch her, like I have so many times before, and I want her. But this time is different. This time I don’t fight my urges. This time I give in.
It’s just us now, I say. What are you going to do about it?
You’ll regret this, she tells me, and that’s probably true. There will be consequences, but they don’t matter in this moment. Only my need. Only the satisfaction of my desire.
When it all begins to fade, when I’m safe at Koa House again, there is nothing but relief. My eyes are no longer his, thank God. My thoughts are mine alone. I don’t want to see what he saw, don’t want to know what happens next. I can still feel the buttons of her shirt against my fingertips, still smell her baby-powder skin and the fragrance of her hair.
This was not supposed to happen. My time on this island was supposed to be a reprieve, not a disturbing reminder of my abilities. I hurry into the Bamboo Room, shaken. Who was that girl in the woods? What exactly have I seen, and why? Most importantly, whose gaze was I inhabiting? Someone who lurks in bushes, secretly watching young women in the dark. Someone who doesn’t care who he hurts.
I remember the boy Rae and I saw prowling around earlier and draw my arms across my chest, suddenly cold.
I’m not an idiot. That tropical jungle-scape of my dream was not in Arizona. It waits for me here on the Big Island, a dark and ugly secret. I don’t know what it means, not yet, but I know that it portends trouble.
Something happened to that girl, I think. Something terrible.
Rape? Kidnapping? Murder? She could’ve met any number of bad fates. I thought I’d faced the full power of human cruelty in my dreams, but what I saw tonight was different. It was his eyes, the way he forced me to look at her.
Maybe I can ignore it. The vision was so vague, after all—an Asian girl in a hammock, a tense encounter in the woods. No names, no words, no landmarks. I could let it go, tuck the dream into some forgotten corner of my mind, and just kick back. Hang with Rae, write my article on Dr. Nakagawa, and studiously ignore any mention of dead or missing girls, any hint of sexual assault. I could enjoy Hawaiʻi.
There’s just one problem. My dreams are not always of things past. Sometimes they warn of what’s coming. I spent an entire day wandering through Sabino Canyon because I knew there was a chance that Alex Rocío was alive, that he could still be saved. What about this girl? What if she’s out there, too?
You’re going to hurt a lot of people, she told the guy in the woods, and I’m afraid she’s right. Can I let him do that? Can I really sit this one out, cause another family pain through my own inaction?
Not after losing a child. Not when I have two daughters of my own.
I sit on the edge of the bed and groan. This is not the “dream” vacation I had in mind when I came to Hawaiʻi, but what choice do I have? I know what I’ve got to do.
I need to find that girl.
monday
five
The smell seeps into my bedroom, smoky and alluring, but I don’t want to get up, not even for bacon. Facing the day means confronting a host of issues I desperately prefer to avoid: a predatory guy, a girl in danger, and let’s not even mention the whole psychic exposé that blew up my life last week. I did not sleep well.
When I finally haul my sorry ass downstairs, Rae’s sipping coffee on the front porch. If I’m hollow eyed and disheveled, she’s ready for her close-up, skin glowing and makeup expertly applied. A breeze catches the scent of a nearby tree in bloom and scatters a few white petals. I pour myself some coffee and plop into a chair as a green gecko skitters across the edge of the table.
“What’s with you?” Rae asks, amused by the state of my hair.
Thom emerges from the house with a plate of muffins before I can answer. Today his T-shirt says, Never trust an atom. They make up everything. “Lemon poppy seed,” he says, presenting the muffins with a flourish. “Fresh from the oven.”
Rae grabs a muffin and taps the seat next to her, indicating Thom should join us. “Did you make these?” she asks before inhaling a mouthful.
He nods. “I bake, and David cooks. Helps me stay kosher.”
“Oh yeah?” Rae washes down her muffin with a swig of coffee. “My husband’s Jewish,” she says, “but not kosher-level Jewish. He eats cheeseburgers. Did David convert for you?”
“Convert? No.” Thom balks at the idea. “He’s very committed to the culture he grew up with. Which I respect. I wouldn’t be on this island if I didn’t.”
Rae licks a muffin crumb from her finger. “What did you guys do before opening Koa House?”
“I was a history teacher,” David announces from the doorway, a tray of breakfast balanced in one hand. “Over at the Kamehameha school in Keaʻau.”
I detect a glimmer of pride when he speaks of his former job. “Is that a private school?”
David nods. “The Kamehameha schools are specifically for students with native Hawaiian ancestry. They were founded in the nineteenth century by Hawaiian royalty.” He sets down his tray, which includes bacon and thick orange slices of papaya. “Part of their mission is to pass down Hawaiian cultural values to another generation.”
“David’s half Hawaiian himself,” Thom says. “And a bit of a radical, too, sometimes, aren’t you?” He gives his husband an affectionate pat.
“A radical?” David chuckles. “I wish I had the energy. In college, maybe; I was into the whole Hawaiian sovereignty movement. But it’s been a while.”
“It must be strange, operating a B & B here.” Suddenly I’m aware of how ignorant Rae and I must appear. “All these outsiders parading through your house, your island, and we don’t have a clue. I mean, I don’t remember learning anything about Hawaiian history when I was in school.”
“No, I’m sure you didn’t,” David says as he distributes plates. “The tourism industry sells you quite the happy picture of colonization, but these islands weren’t all hula and surfing and lūʻaus. In the nineteenth century, the Hawaiian kingdom had one of the world’s highest literacy rates. Today? Native Hawaiians are undereducated, overincarcerated, and—” He stops himself. “Sorry. Once a teacher, always a teacher.”
“Don’t apologize,” I say. “I want to learn. It sounds like you were really passionate about your work.”
“David’s still in denial about his early retirement,” Thom says. “I guess that’s the difference between a job and a calling. Me, I’ve never looked back. A few decades of teaching trigonometry, and I couldn’t wait to leave the classroom.”
“You were a teacher, too?” Rae asks, charmed.
Thom pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Fifteen years in Oregon and another twelve over at the School for Free Thought.”
I remember the sign last night over by Kanoa Drive. “The School for Free Thought—what is that, exactly?”
Thom laughs. “I know, I know. The name’s a bit heavy-handed. Free Thought is a boarding school here in Kalo Valley. An ecological bent and cripplingly expensive tuition. The whole town pretty much built up around it. Honestly, half the guests we get at Koa House are Free Thought parents visiting their kids.” He turns to Rae. “And what do you ladies do for a living?”
“I’m a sales rep for a chemical company.” Rae makes a gagging noise. “Kill me now. Charlie, here, though, is a journalist. An author, too. She wrote a book about the kidnapping of Gabriel Deveau.”
Thom’s eyes light up. “I remember that case! I saw a TV special about it once. The little kid in Louisiana, right? Still unsolved? Wow, so you w
rite true crime?”
“I write lots of things.”
“Charlie’s working on a big magazine piece right now,” Rae says, as if letting the guys in on a scoop. “She’s got an interview this morning.”
Thom leans forward on his elbows, intrigued. “With who? Someone on the island?”
“Victor Nakagawa,” I say. “Do you know him?”
“Victor! The Ironman himself!” David smiles as he arranges our silverware and napkins.
“Dr. Nakagawa is the one who recommended Koa House to me,” I say, making moves on the papaya.
“Nice of him to support a local business,” David says.
“Well . . .” Thom smirks. “He certainly seems to like this area. Victor makes it out here quite a bit.”
“Really?” Rae asks. “Does he train out here?”
When Thom’s smirk broadens, David gives him a warning look. “No, no,” he says. “He’s friends with our neighbor, that’s all. He comes by to visit Naomi and her boys sometimes.”
I have a million questions as to how Victor ended up friends with a cult woman, but David glosses over the subject. “So what are you writing, exactly, Charlotte?” He hits me with a bright smile. “Something about Victor?”
Thom scratches his bald head, his face now sober. “Must be Victor’s daughter, right?”
I look up from my hunk of papaya. The juice runs down my hand, drips from my wrist onto the table in watery orange drops. “Why do you say that?”
“Oh. I just thought, you know, true crime . . .” Thom trails off uncomfortably and I see David shooting him daggers.
My mind races through all the articles and web pages I’ve seen about Victor Nakagawa in the past few days. Geology sites, triathlon finishing times and interviews, a talk about volcanic eruption preparedness. Was there something else buried in all those results, something I missed?
“What happened to Nakagawa’s daughter?” The tips of my fingers have begun to buzz. I curl them into fists. It’s her, I know it’s her. The girl in the woods.
Across the table, Rae has stopped chewing. I can see her antennae going up now, too.
“Nothing happened,” says David. “She ran away.”
“Oh, come on,” Thom protests. “You really buy that? Lise Nakagawa has been missing six weeks, David. Something happened to her.”
“Nobody knows what happened,” David returns. “A sixteen-year-old girl—she could be anywhere. Let’s not get carried away with crazy theories that have no factual evidence, okay?” He gives Thom a strained smile. “You’ll scare our guests.”
Thom takes the not-so-subtle hint. “So what’s your interest in Victor, then?” he asks me with forced cheer. “The whole Ironman thing?”
“Yeah, the Ironman thing.” I clear my throat. “And his work with volcanoes. I write for Outdoor Adventures magazine. Our readers love physical challenges and exotic locales, so this story checks all the boxes.” It takes every bit of self-control that I have to refrain from asking further questions about Nakagawa’s daughter. David obviously wants to avoid the topic, but I make a mental note to catch Thom alone later.
I can’t help but wonder about David’s choice of words. You’ll scare our guests. What exactly are these crazy theories about the Nakagawa girl that Thom harbors?
There’s a story here, a much darker one than I bargained for. A missing girl, an obsessed guy—I didn’t come to this island looking for trouble, yet that’s precisely what I’ve found. One good thing, at any rate: tracking down the girl from my dream will be easier than I anticipated. I serve myself some bacon and munch slowly on the crispy tip.
Now I know her name. Now I know where to begin.
* * *
• • •
AFTER BREAKFAST, Rae follows me back to my room and corners me. “A missing teenager, huh?” she asks, one eyebrow raised to convey her skepticism. “And Dr. Nakagawa’s daughter, no less. What are the chances?”
I know how this must look to her. Like I’ve dragged her out here in pursuit of some hot new case while lying to her about my motives. “Rae, I swear I had no idea.”
“Right.” She folds her arms against her chest. “You just happened to pick this Nakagawa guy for the subject of your article, and the fact that his daughter mysteriously vanished six weeks ago is a total coincidence.”
“Yes! It is!” Even I can see how implausible that sounds.
“Don’t insult my intelligence. If you wanted to hunt down this Lise Nakagawa girl, you should’ve just said.” Her tone is acid. “I don’t know why you brought me along at all if you’re going to leave me in the dark about everything. What am I, some prop to justify the trip to Noah?”
“No!” I’m crushed that Rae could think so little of me. “I told you, I had to write this article, and I was coming up empty. I happened to mentioned to my editor that I was looking for a story in Hawaiʻi, and he suggested . . .” My face clouds over as I realize what’s going on. “Isaac. This is Isaac’s doing.”
Ever since the story of Alex Rocío broke, the man has been trying to capitalize off my newfound celebrity, pushing me to do another book for Meyers Rowe.
“That son of a bitch.” I grab my phone and furiously pull up his number. “He has some explaining to do.”
Sensing this will turn into a fight, Rae plunks herself in a chair and kicks up her feet. Her anger has evaporated; now she wears an expression normally reserved for watching Real Housewives.
Isaac answers his phone on the second ring and does not seem the least bit surprised to hear from me. “Charlie! How’s it going?” His barely repressed excitement confirms all my suspicions. “Did you meet Victor Nakagawa yet? Anything interesting happening?”
I don’t mince words. “That was low, Isaac. Really low.”
“You aren’t getting on with Dr. Nakagawa, I take it?”
“You might’ve mentioned his missing daughter! That would’ve been really useful information to have. And here I thought you were actually trying to help me.”
Isaac lets out a giggle, not at all dismayed to be caught out. “I was helping you,” he says. “I was helping us both. What do you think? Can you dig up some new info on this girl? Will her father cooperate?”
“I haven’t even met him yet! It’s eight a.m.!”
“Oh right, time zones. Sorry, I’m in London now. My math’s not good.”
“I’m not writing you a book, Isaac,” I growl. “There is no way. What were you thinking? Even if I wanted this, I’m only here for a week! What kind of sources could I possibly come up with in that amount of time?”
“Who said anything about sources?” Isaac scoffs. “As far I’m concerned, anything you learn about this girl is psychic insight sent to you from the great beyond.” His flippant tone is infuriating. Isaac doesn’t for a moment believe in my abilities—he just goes where the money is.
In spite of my irritation, I can’t help but be impressed by his knack for sniffing out a story. “How did you even find this Nakagawa guy? Did you call up every major police station in the state of Hawaiʻi and ask them about their unsolved missing-children cases or what?”
“My assistant is looking to move up in the world,” Isaac says, as if the raw ambition of his subordinates explains everything. “I gave her the parameters. Missing child, Hawaiʻi, an outdoorsy angle. At first, she gave me a missing six-year-old on Oʻahu, but ten to one the pervy uncle was responsible; not much of a story. And then this turned up. I mean, a volcano guy? That’s on the mark, am I right?”
“Yeah,” I concede. “Except I came here to get away from missing children. I’m trying to have a vacation.” I glance at Rae to make sure she’s getting this, that she understands my innocence, but she’s already engrossed in her phone. Evidently my tantrums are not over-the-top enough to maintain her interest.
“You are definitely still on vacation,
” Isaac says, taking a more conciliatory tone. “And I hope you have a wonderful time. Maybe you find this girl, and maybe you don’t. If it doesn’t work out, I get it. But I figured, can’t hurt to get you in the right place at the right time, can it?”
Wrong, I think. On every level.
“No book,” I tell him. “I’m going to write a stirring article about volcanoes and triathlons, and that’s it.” I have no intention of telling him just how effective his plan was, that whether I like it or not—and I don’t—I’ve already seen this missing girl. Something else occurs to me. “Does Dr. Nakagawa know about your little scheme? You didn’t promise him anything, did you?” The last thing I want is to disappoint a desperate parent.
“I haven’t said a word,” Isaac promises. “You know me, I’m very low pressure. I like to let things unfold naturally.”
I snort. This isn’t the first time Isaac’s played a dirty game.
Four years ago, he sent me to Louisiana to write a true crime book about a tragic kidnapping in a wealthy Southern dynasty; when I showed up at the family’s sprawling estate, I was instructed to lie about the subject of my book to the family matriarch. I don’t normally approve of subterfuge in journalism, but I’m glad Isaac didn’t mention my abilities to Dr. Nakagawa.
“You are far too devious for me to keep up with.” I sigh. “I need a new publisher.”
“Now, that isn’t fair,” Isaac complains. “Who else would go to such lengths for you?”
He’s right about that much. I may disapprove of Isaac’s machinations, but they require an uncommon level of commitment. In the end, this one’s on me. I should’ve known better than to accept his advice at face value. I should’ve exercised due diligence before galloping out here with Rae.
“Charlotte.” Rae holds out her phone. “You’re going to want to see this.” She’s pulled up an old article from the Hawaii Tribune-Herald, and though I can’t make out the words, the headline is unmistakable: KALO VALLEY TEEN MISSING SINCE THURSDAY.
