Chip came out of the hangar looking concerned, and a feeling of despair coursed through Abigail. The plane wasn’t coming. It was too windy, or too rainy, he’d say. They were playing with her, and the plane would never come.
But then Chip was swinging open the passenger door next to Abigail and saying, “Your winged chariot is well on its way. In fact, I think I hear it.”
Abigail got out of the car and looked up toward the sky. She could hear something, too, a low thrum, and then she could see the plane, cresting the tree line, growing larger, coming to take her away from here.
CHAPTER 24
It was the same pilot who’d flown them to Heart Pond Island just four days earlier. She’d barely noticed him during that flight, but now she looked at him the way she’d look at someone selling ice-cold water in a desert. It was all she could do to stop herself from hugging him.
“This it?” he said, coming down the short steps from the plane to the landing strip and glancing from Bruce to her and back. He was young, with shoulder-length blond hair, and he wore a puka-shell necklace tight against his muscular neck.
Chip said, “This is it. Thanks for coming out here on short notice.”
“No problem. Let me just use your commode and then I’ll be ready to roll.” He hurried off toward the hangar, just as the walkie-talkie on Chip’s hip squawked. He plucked it off his belt, turned his back on Bruce and Abigail, and had a brief conversation that was obscured by a gust of wind, the second big gust that Abigail had felt since they’d walked out onto the landing strip. Abigail looked toward the horizon, where clouds were building.
“We got one more passenger coming,” Chip said to them, reattaching his walkie-talkie to his hip. “My guests are dropping like flies.” He smiled at them, Abigail noticing his weird flat eyes again, then turned toward Bruce. They shook hands, then embraced. “Take care, my brother,” Chip said, and Bruce patted him twice, hard, on the back.
Abigail stood and watched their goodbye, hoping Chip wouldn’t try to hug her, too. He didn’t, but he did extend a hand her way and she took it, surprised by the softness and warmth of his palm. Like uncooked dough, she thought.
“Who’s coming?” she asked, even though she already knew that it had to be Eric Newman. He was following them, or maybe he was simply taking the opportunity of the plane’s arrival to escape this island as well.
“Scott Baumgart,” Chip said.
“She knows his real name,” Bruce said. “I told her all about him.”
“I’m sorry if he came here and bothered you, Abigail,” Chip said. “That sort of thing doesn’t happen at Quoddy. At least it shouldn’t. And I hope you won’t mind flying back to the mainland with him. It’s a short flight, as you know.”
“It’s fine,” Abigail said, although she wasn’t sure if it was. Still, it was far preferable to not getting on the plane.
Bruce looked at her, an expression on his face that she couldn’t read. “I can tell him not to come,” he said after a moment.
“It doesn’t matter.”
The pilot was hustling back from the hangar just as a jeep pulled up alongside Chip’s Land Rover. Abigail watched as Eric got out of the passenger side, slung a backpack over his shoulder, and made his way toward them. Even at a distance his face looked grim and determined. Abigail wasn’t happy to see him, worried that somehow his presence was going to stop her from getting on the plane, from getting off the island. He strode up just as the pilot arrived, and just as the jeep was making a U-turn and heading back to the lodge. “There’s one more for you,” Chip said to the pilot.
“No problemo,” the pilot said, while at the same time Eric said, “It’s actually just going to be Abigail and me,” his voice unnaturally loud. Then Eric turned to Bruce, pointing an index finger at him, and said, “You’re staying here.”
“We can all go,” Abigail said quickly. “It’s fine.”
Bruce laughed and said to Eric, “Uh, I can decide if I’m going or not.”
“You’re not going,” Eric said. He turned to Abigail. “He was going to throw you out of the plane.”
Bruce said, “What the fuck?”
Then Chip took a step toward Eric and said, “Whoa, whoa, what’s going on here?”
“It’s what they did to Jill Greenly,” Eric said directly to Abigail, now lowering his voice as though it were the two of them having a private conversation. “They told her she could leave and then they threw her out of the plane.”
The pilot laughed nervously. “Are you talking about the couple I took back yesterday afternoon? No one threw anyone out of my plane, trust me.”
Eric looked directly at Abigail. “I talked to the woman who works at the lodge, right after you and I talked. Mellie. She told me that’s what happened to Jill, that she was thrown out of the plane as a punishment.”
“Mellie told me they’re still on the island,” Abigail said. Her stomach was starting to hurt so bad it felt almost like a cramp.
“Stop. Everyone stop,” Chip said. “No one is throwing anyone out of a plane. I don’t know what Mellie told you, but anything she says you should take with an enormous grain of salt. Let’s just say that she is less than trustworthy.”
“She told me that Alec and Jill are still here on the island,” Abigail said again, hoping to establish just one fact that they could all agree on.
“I hired Mellie as a personal favor for someone, but she is a bit of a fantasist, to put it mildly.” Chip turned to Abigail and said, “Alec and Jill Greenly are not on this island.” Then he turned to Eric and said, “And Jill Greenly was not thrown out of an airplane. No one has been thrown out of an airplane. I promise that I will have a conversation with her and find out what exactly is going on.”
“I don’t care whether you have a conversation with her or not,” Eric said. “I just know that I’m getting on this plane with Abigail, just the two of us.” He turned and looked at her and said, “I don’t care what you do when we land. I don’t care if you don’t talk to me again, but I need to see that you get safely off this island.”
Bruce smiled at Eric, creasing his forehead, and said, “There is no way I’m allowing you to leave with my wife. It’s not going to happen. So either shut the fuck up and we can all take this plane back together, or, if you say another word, then I’m not letting you on this plane. I think Chip will back me up on that.”
“You hired me to sleep with your fiancée. You piece of shit.”
“You murdered your wife,” Bruce said. Then he turned to Chip and said, “Chip, can you call Bob and have him come and deal with this guy before I have to do it myself?”
“Why don’t we let Abigail decide?” Eric said, then turned to Abigail and added, “Whatever you want, I’ll do. If you want me to back off, I will.”
All the men turned intently to Abigail. For a moment she felt dizzy and wondered if she was going to faint, but then it passed, and she just felt exhausted, and sad, her throat aching like she was about to cry. The rain had plastered her hair to her head, and she felt cold.
“I want to go alone,” she said. “Just me. I want off the island.” Once the words were out, she realized how badly she really wanted that. To be alone on the plane leaving this evil place, Bruce and Eric left behind. “That’s what I really want,” she said aloud. “I want to be alone, and I want to get away from here.”
She looked at the pilot, who seemed to be enjoying the drama. He shrugged as if to say he’d be happy to take her alone. She nodded toward him. “You ready?” she said.
First the pilot laughed, and then Chip joined in. Abigail, confused, looked around. It was only Eric now who wasn’t laughing, but it looked like he wanted to, his lips pressed together so tightly that they were the pale color of his skin, and then suddenly he laughed as well, an expulsion that came with a spray of spit. The terror that Abigail had been feeling all day ratcheted up a notch, even though she was also confused, wondering if she’d missed a joke somehow.
“Sorr
y,” Bruce said, now laughing so hard he barely got out the single word. Abigail thought he was addressing her, but he was looking at Eric instead, who’d stopped laughing even though a huge smile still creased his face.
A small voice inside Abigail was speaking, telling them that she was still here, but the voice wouldn’t come out. She was aware that her legs had begun to shake, and that there was a loosening in the lower part of her abdomen. Why were they all laughing?
“Look at her, poor thing,” Eric said. “She has no idea what’s going on.” He turned back to Bruce. “She found your ring, you know. And she recognized it. She’s already been to the sacred place.”
“I think she’s going to faint.” That was Chip, and Abigail felt all the men’s eyes on her at once. Another strong gust of wind blew in, everyone’s hair and clothes rustling, even though no one was moving. It all seemed strangely vivid, almost like slow motion, the faces sharply etched so that every detail seemed equal to every other detail. Bruce’s dark eyebrows, plucked in the middle. Eric’s pale blue eyes. Chip’s white skin, pelted with red hair. Specks of rain and mist in the air. And the pilot’s soft giggle, erupting in little spurts even though you could tell he wanted to stop. They all swam in front of her, and the small voice inside her head told her that her best chance was to turn and run.
It was about fifty yards to the line of trees at the edge of the landing strip. Her legs felt heavy, but she moved them as fast as she could, the men’s laughter still audible, even over the sound of her own frantic running.
She was almost to the woods when something large hit her back and she was dragged down onto the ground, her chin bouncing as she skidded painfully to a stop.
“Got her,” came a yell about a foot from her ear, and then she was flipped forcibly onto her back. It was the pilot, and Abigail reached up, got a handful of hair plus part of the necklace, and pulled as hard as she could, his head jerking down, puka shells scattering, and a hank of hair coming loose in her hand. He gritted his teeth and grunted.
“Bitch,” he said, and punched her in the chin. The world went briefly dark and unfocused and she squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again all of the men—Eric, Chip, Bruce, and the pilot—stood above her looking down. Bruce was grinning, his teeth clenched and his lips wide apart, and Chip was breathing hard, his beard now gleaming with sweat. Eric seemed blank, almost distracted. The pilot had both her arms pinioned to the hard, wet earth. She could feel the cold and damp seeping through her clothes.
“She wet herself,” Bruce said, the words almost casual, like a stray observation, and it took Abigail a moment to realize he was talking about her, and that her jeans were soaked in her own urine.
There was a tapping sound and she swiveled her head. Chip was holding a large syringe, flicking at it with a finger. “Wait,” she said, but the pilot held her tighter as Chip crouched, then pushed the needle deep into her neck.
CHAPTER 25
For some time, she was nothing.
And then she was in darkness. She knew that even before she opened her eyes.
Someone coughed, and she lifted her head. A tide of nausea rose through her, and she put her head back down. And closed her eyes.
And then she was nothing again.
Coughing.
Not her own but someone else’s. The sound of it wet and strangled.
This time when she lifted her head the world swam but her stomach felt okay. Wherever she was, it was complete darkness, the kind of black that has no form at all. There was the smell of damp in the air, and something else, a flowery smell she couldn’t identify. She sat up, discovering that one of her wrists was handcuffed to the metal frame of the bed she was on. Her other hand was free, and with that hand she reached up and touched her face. She could feel a tender sticky scab on her chin where she’d been punched by the pilot. Her mouth was dry and tasted sour.
“Hello?” she said into the room, her voice sounding cracked and slurred in her own head.
“Hello,” came a voice back, from maybe about ten feet away. A woman’s voice, anxious, a little hopeful.
“Who’s there?” Abigail asked.
“It’s Jill Greenly.” The words were whispered. “Is that Abigail?”
“Yes, it’s Abigail. Oh my God, what’s happening? How long have you been in here?”
“I don’t know. What day is today?” And then Abigail could hear stifled crying.
“It’s Wednesday, I think. Wednesday night or it might already be Thursday. It was Wednesday afternoon when they gave me a shot of something.”
“Who gave you a shot?”
Abigail thought back to the events that had happened after the plane had come for them. Eric had arrived, telling her that he wanted to take her off the island himself. Eric and Bruce arguing, and then suddenly they weren’t. They were laughing, all of them, and it was like she was in some movie, that moment when it’s clear that everyone is evil, that the pod people are everywhere and there’s nothing you can do about it.
“It was Chip,” she said to Jill in the dark. “Chip who owns this place gave me the shot that knocked me out. But they’re all in on it. My husband, and Eric, and everyone. They’re all part of it.”
“What do you mean?” Jill said. “Who’s Chip?”
“He runs this place, but he’s in on it.”
“In on what?”
“All of it. All of them. I think we’re here to be punished or something. We’re the only women here.”
Jill was quiet for a moment, and Abigail said, “You still there?”
“I’m here. That’s what they told me, actually. They told me I was being punished for my sins.”
“Who told you?” Abigail said.
“Alec told me the night I tried to run.”
“I saw you that night. Outside of my bunk.”
Jill started crying again. Abigail waited, even though she wanted to tell her to stop crying so they could talk to each other. She didn’t know how much time they had.
“That was you?” Jill said at last.
“Yes, you ran away from me.”
“I didn’t know what … I didn’t know what was happening.”
“Why were you bleeding?”
“Alec … and Porter …”
“Porter was the man you used to be engaged to, right? The man who showed up here, and you were upset about.”
“I don’t know if I should talk about this,” Jill said. “They’re probably listening.”
“So what? We need to know each other’s stories. It can only help us.”
“I don’t know,” came Jill’s voice, quiet. Abigail thought she could hear her crying a little.
“Talk,” she said. “Tell me everything that happened. Who cares if they’re listening?”
“Okay,” Jill said, after a period that felt close to a minute. “Okay.”
“Take your time,” Abigail said.
Jill started right away. She coughed, then said, “I didn’t tell you the whole story when we talked that night. I said that Porter was a nice guy, basically, but he isn’t. I mean, he was at first, but the more I got to know him, the more controlling he got, the more jealous. He told me that he didn’t want me to work anymore as an actress, and that after we got married he would forbid me from working. He said it would make him look bad, like he wasn’t able to provide enough money for the two of us, which was crazy because Porter’s incredibly rich. I said that it had nothing to do with money, that I really did love acting, and wanted to keep doing it. It just got worse and worse between us. We fought all the time, but I kept flying back to L.A. for acting auditions. Then I got a job in Vancouver, a web series that was only paying minimum daily rates, but I told Porter I wanted to do it and that we should break up. He agreed to let me take the job, but he wouldn’t agree to the breakup.
“I should have insisted, I know, but I just wanted to get away from him at that point, and the job in Vancouver was for three months. Anyway, in Vancouver I met this guy. He was
a bartender, really good-looking, and I knew that at this point Porter and I were finished, so we got together, me and the bartender, just for one night. It turned out—and I know this sounds completely crazy—but it turned out that the guy, the bartender, had been hired by Porter to seduce me, that it was a kind of trap, or a test, and that he was reporting back to Porter.”
“Uh-huh,” Abigail said, wanting to hear the whole story, to keep Jill talking. Not wanting to compare notes yet.
“It was a nightmare, the whole thing. Porter flew out to Vancouver. Honestly, I thought he was going to kill me. This guy had told him everything, every detail of what we did, everything I said.”
“Who was he? This guy? Do you know his name?”
“He gave me a name. I don’t know if it was real or not. I never saw him again.”
“What did he look like?” Abigail asked, wondering if it was Eric Newman, but thinking that that didn’t make sense, that if it had been, then Jill would have noticed him on the island.
“He was beautiful. Hispanic. He looked like this guy from Quantico, that TV show. Aarón Díaz, you know him? The thing is, Porter knew this was my type, ’cause I’d told him once. He’d kept asking me, again and again, what actor I’d sleep with if I could, and I kept telling him no one, which was what I knew he wanted to hear, but he insisted, so I said Aarón Díaz just to shut him up. So I think he found this guy, maybe he was some kind of actor, who looked just like him, and set this trap for me. And the very next day this guy I’d slept with disappeared and Porter was in Vancouver and he kept me in my rental apartment for twenty-four hours, just yelling at me. I thought I was going to die—what I really thought was that Porter was going to murder me—but then he just left, and I didn’t see him or hear from him again until I got here, to this stupid island, and he was here, too.”
“And you thought he was stalking you?”
“Of course I did.”
“You told me, that night we talked about it, that it was random chance.”
Every Vow You Break Page 18
