by C. W. Trisef
“I don’t know,” another replied, “but he sure does have a nice voice.”
“Should we eliminate him?”
“He may have seen too much.”
“I’ll go and get the commander. We can ask him.”
Little did they know, however, that such was exactly what Mr. Coy desired. He was purposely trying to be as conspicuous as possible. He wanted to draw attention to himself. He wanted to get caught. So he kept on singing at the top of his lungs, splashing among the hot springs like puddles and waving tree limbs high above his head. When he reached the end of his song, he started calling out for Jaret.
“Yoo-hoo? Oh, Jaret?” he yelled into a hollowed tree trunk, trying to find places where cameras were likely placed. “Come out, come out, wherever you are. I want to speak with you, face to face.”
Just then, Mr. Coy’s face filled the screen of one of the remote computers. Though he didn’t know it, he was doing a good job of finding the secret cameras, and it was quite the entertaining spectacle for the surveillance crew.
When the officer returned with his commander, one of the men at the computer said, “Commander Jaret, you should take a look at this.”
Jaret hurried to the officer’s side and watched what was playing out on the screen. Their intruder was now performing a series of poorly-executed cartwheels, still demanding to meet with Jaret.
After a few moments of watching the screen with total bewilderment, Jaret asked, almost with sympathy, “What is wrong with this man?”
“We’re not sure,” an officer answered. “He came alone. He may have found the Deep by mistake. Should we eliminate him?”
“No,” Jaret said promptly. “You know how our lord feels about that. Only he can approve of executions.”
Suddenly, they heard Mr. Coy say, “Give me a J,” followed by, “Give me an a.” He had given up doing cartwheels and was now bending his body to form each letter in Jaret’s name. Like an out-of-shape cheerleader, he spelled the whole name and then shouted, “What does that spell? Jaret!”
One of the officers shook his head in disgust and then wondered, “Shall we consult with Lord Lye then?”
“No, he’s not here,” Jaret informed them. With curious concern, the commander continued to study the character on the screen, who was now performing jumping jacks. Before getting rid of him, Jaret wanted to know how the man not only knew his name but also where to find him. “I’ll deal with this.”
“What are you going to do?”
“The man is requesting to speak with me, isn’t he?” Jaret returned matter-of-factly on his way out. “I’d like to find out what he has to tell me.”
It took Jaret a while to locate Mr. Coy, who had apparently ceased gallivanting through the woods and vocalizing his desires, seeing as Jaret could neither see nor hear him. Eventually, however, Jaret found the foreigner taking a break from his tiresome tour and now relaxing in one of the island’s many hot springs. Still unnoticed by the wading Coy, Jaret approached the bank of the hot spring, where he found a shirt and trousers neatly folded on top of a pair of shoes.
“You wanted to speak with me?” Jaret called out from the edge.
“Ah!” a startled Coy shrieked, slipping beneath the warm water. When he came up, he wiped his face and said, “Do mine eyes deceive me? Can it really be the famous Jaret Cooper?”
“In the flesh,” Jaret replied, not the least bit humored.
“Well, flip my flapjacks!” Coy cheered, slapping the surface of the water with his hands. “What an honor it is to finally meet you! You know, according to the rest of the world, you’ve been dead for years.”
“What are you talking about?” Jaret questioned, still unsure of the mental state of this stranger.
“Don’t you remember?” Coy put forth, practicing his backstroke across the spring. “A few years ago, you and your Coast Guard crew went out to help a ship in distress. It was burning and sinking, right in the path of an approaching hurricane, yet you went to its aid by yourself and were never heard from again.”
“Who are you?” Jaret asked, suspicious of the man who had finished his swim and was now walking towards him.
“The name’s Benjamin Coy,” he said, stopping in front of Jaret. The two men stared at each other for a few moments, Jaret suspicious and Coy dripping wet. “You wouldn’t happen to have a towel, would you?”
“What are you doing here?” Jaret interrogated, totally unamused.
“Why, I came to see you, of course!” Coy cried. “Ever since my first-mate Ishmael told me he found you here during his visit to this island to rescue one of your prisoners, I’ve been wanting to make such a visit myself just to see you with my own two eyes.”
“Wait,” said Jaret. “You had something to do with that rescue mission?”
“Well, actually, I had nothing to do with it,” Coy admitted, using his socks to dry himself, “but they did fly here in my hot-air balloon.”
“Hold on—that was your balloon?” Jaret asked, dumbfounded at what was going on.
Mr. Coy decided the moment had arrived to stop taunting Jaret with the bait and finally get him to bite: “But, I must say, J, it was pretty cruel of you not to recognize your own wife. I mean, she came all that way, and—”
“What did you say?” Jaret pressed, having heard a word that was of great interest to him.
Coy smirked to see Jaret had taken the bait. “Does the name Pauline ring any bells?”
“You know her?” Jaret asked earnestly. “You know my…my wife?”
“Oh, I know her,” Coy said, rolling his eyes, “a lot better than I’d like, too.”
“I knew it!” Jaret rejoiced. “I knew I had a wife.” Then, with a puzzled look, he asked, “Do I still have a wife?”
“And a daughter, last time I checked,” Coy brought him up to speed.
“Yes, my daughter—my little girl!” Jaret celebrated. “Her name—it’s Hannah, isn’t it? Or something like that?”
“Minus the h’s,” Coy instructed.
“That’s it—Ana!” Jaret was overjoyed. “How do you know all of this?”
“It’s a long story,” Coy sighed.
“Ever since that night when I saw my wife,” Jaret explained, “you know, when she and your friend came to rescue my prisoner, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. I didn’t remember her when I first saw her, of course, but it wasn’t very long after that when bits and pieces started coming back to me. Seeing her face and hearing her name have released a flood of memories that won’t stop coming into my mind. Nearly everything I see reminds me of her in some way. So much of what I hear and touch and taste takes me back to a word she spoke to me or an embrace we shared or a meal we ate together. They’re all details from some sort of former life I once lived—a life that feels so good and looks so happy and has nothing to do with my current life. I dream of them, Pauline and—” he hesitated, then added “Ana,” glancing at Coy to make sure he had the name correct. “All through the night, these scenes play out subconsciously in my mind. Until now, I didn’t know if all of these remembrances were real or not. I thought they might just be a product of my imagination, not actual memories from a past I once lived. But now you’re here, confirming they are real.”
“They’re real alright,” said Coy.
“Did you bring them with you?” Jaret asked with excitement. “Are they here somewhere?”
“No, but I know where they live,” Coy said, thinking of the house he had built for them on the grounds of the Manor.
“Can you take me to them?” Jaret pled.
Grinning, Coy answered, “I thought you’d never ask.”
CHAPTER 7
A CHANGED MAN
Ret stared in disbelief at the man who was standing over him.
“Principal Stone?” Ret wondered, squinting amid the sunshine of a new day. Stone’s face clouded over in recognition.
“Ret?” he replied, equally shocked. With nervousness, Stone immediately scann
ed the area, as if to see if anyone else might be around.
Suddenly finding himself in the presence of one of his known enemies, Ret’s first inclination was to defend himself. However, he quickly discovered he barely had the strength to move. With uncharacteristic compassion, Stone knelt down to help his former student get up, but Ret recoiled in alarm.
“Don’t worry,” Stone reassured him, lifting Ret to his feet, “you’re among friends.” Stone’s two dogs gave their welcoming sniffs of approval as they swarmed around Ret’s legs. “I didn’t recognize you,” Stone said as if reuniting with an old pal. “You don’t look quite like you used to.” He brushed some of the dirt from Ret’s shirt and hair.
“You would know,” Ret jeered, still distrustful. He moved away from Stone’s support, but his weak legs gave out.
“Whoa,” Stone cried, catching him. “I’d better get you to the house. I’m sure Virginia’s got just the right thing to fix you up.” Glancing around again, Stone seemed anxious to leave.
There was something different about Stone that was causing Ret to feel especially skeptical. He didn’t like the idea of falling under Stone’s care, but he didn’t have much choice. Leaning on his former principal like a crutch, the two of them set off for a small vehicle parked a little ways off, the dogs trotting in front of them.
“So what brings you to these parts?” Stone started.
“I should ask the same of you,” Ret put forth.
“Well, last night Virginia and I were sitting in the living room, watching through the window as the storm rolled in, when, all of a sudden, we saw that mountaintop over there break off and fly away.” He pointed up at the decapitated mountain, whose peak Ret had dropped in the nearby lake the previous night. “We thought that was a little strange, so we both agreed I ought to go out in the morning and investigate, and,” he chuckled, “who would’ve guessed I’d find you? Actually, it was Blackie who found you first.” He motioned to the dog on his right, whose hair, true to its name, was black. “And that one there,” he nodded at the other dog, whose coat was white with a few brown patches, “she’s Whitey.”
“Come up with those names all by yourself, did you?” Ret jabbed.
“Virginia helped,” Stone laughed. “They’re just two ugly mutts, but they can spot trouble a mile away.”
Stone’s new set of wheels was much different from the flashy sports car he used to drive. This one was an old pick-up truck, plain and simple, with chipping paint and a rusted bumper. He helped Ret into the cabin while the dogs leapt into the bed. Then, with one more concerned look around, Stone got in and drove off.
Stone’s house wasn’t exactly just up the street; in fact, they never even got on an actual road, and, as far as Ret could see, there weren’t any. With little speed but plenty of bumps, Stone blazed his own, untraceable trail through the sparse brush. There were no signs of human life anywhere, not even in the air (to Ret’s delight). The only energy he could see was coming from gusts of the cool wind and rays of the warm sun. Ret really had traveled to the middle of nowhere.
Hidden behind a dense thicket of trees was the Stone residence. It was a small, single-wide trailer, supported underneath by a few stacks of cinder blocks. There was no driveway, no mailbox, not even a front yard—nothing that would give anyone the slightest idea that there was a home in the vicinity.
Stone helped Ret climb the four steps of the ramshackle staircase that led to the front door, then rang the doorbell, which Ret thought was strange until he heard someone inside undoing multiple locks. The door opened just a crack, and Virginia’s face peeked out.
“It’s me, dear,” Stone told her quietly. The crack opened wider. He hurried Ret inside, then scanned the perimeter one last time before shutting the flimsy door behind him and reengaging its many locks.
“Do you remember me telling you about a young man named Ret Cooper?” Stone explained to his wife. “Well, here he is.” With a face full of fright, Virginia stared at Ret, then back at her husband.
“Lester, what—” she began.
“Don’t worry,” he calmed her, “he’s alone.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Stone reaffirmed. “Isn’t that right, Ret?” They both turned toward their visitor. Using his melancholy expression instead of words, Ret confirmed his sad situation of being totally alone. “Besides,” Stone added, “the dogs would’ve sensed the presence of anyone else.” Then, as if Ret couldn’t hear, Stone requested, “Please, Virginia, I don’t know what Ret’s doing all the way out here, but he could do with a hot meal and a soft bed.”
“Very well,” she cautiously obliged, setting off for the kitchen, which was not more than a few steps away in such a small home.
Stone escorted Ret to the only table and eased him into one of its two chairs, behavior which Ret found unusually kind for such a callous principal. Virginia appeared, setting before Ret a steaming bowl of soup and a plate of warm cornbread.
“Ret, I’m baffled that our paths have crossed again,” Stone said, sitting down in the other chair, across the table from Ret, “but I’m glad they have. I want to apologize to you—to your family and friends, too, but especially to you—for all the harm I’ve caused.”
“That’s nice,” Ret told him, stirring his soup and wondering if it had been poisoned, “but I’m sure you can understand why I don’t believe you.”
“Yes, yes, that’s to be expected,” said Stone, unoffended, “but you should know I’m not the same man I used to be. I’ve repented of my past. I’m a changed man.”
Virginia returned with two glasses of milk, setting one in front of each man at the table. As hungry as he was, Ret stared at the food suspiciously, remembering a story that Ana once told him about two children named Hansel and Gretel.
“It all started a few months ago when I met with you and your friends at that fried chicken restaurant,” Stone began. “We were foes then, of course, but we met on friendly terms to ask each other questions—I’m sure you remember.” Ret did, but the cornbread was making his mouth water. “While Mr. Coy was explaining to you the story of how his wife died, I was standing just outside the restaurant’s double doors with that massive man, whose name escapes me at the moment…”
“Conrad,” Ret said proudly in honor of the martyr.
“That’s right: Conrad. I was standing outside with Conrad, who was dutifully awaiting Coy’s word to usher me in. Well, thanks to the two-way communications device in Conrad’s ear, I could hear everything that Mr. Coy was telling you inside. I heard the entire tale of Helen’s death—well, as Mr. Coy understands it, at least.” Ret glared at Stone with intrigue and then with complete astonishment when he added, “That’s not exactly how it happened, Ret.”
Ret kept his eyes fixed on Stone.
“First, you need to understand something about that island, Waters Deep,” said Stone. “Lye shares very few of his secrets, and to no one does he tell all of them, so I know very little about the place. But I do know this: the Deep serves as Lye’s headquarters—his base of operations—and he goes to exceptionally great lengths to keep it hidden. In fact, he will stop at nothing to ensure no one but his closest allies knows anything about it. It is not on any maps or in any books—he has had all of them checked and revised if necessary. He usually keeps the island situated right on the International Date Line, making it irrelevant to time and calendar, but he also has a way of moving the island around. These are just the security measures that I know of (I’m sure there are many others), but it’s enough to illustrate the point that he doesn’t want anyone snooping around.”
“Naturally, man has stumbled upon the island at various times over the centuries, but you can be sure the Deep sees them coming long before they see the Deep coming. Now, most tyrants would exterminate anything that might come within a certain radius of the Deep—right then and there, no questions asked. But Lye, being the mastermind that he is, understands that such an approach would most certainly give himself aw
ay. If a ship were to disappear, would someone not go looking for it? If a plane were to blow up, would a search and rescue team not be sent out? And if a visitor were to die or vanish as soon as he set foot on the island, would his family and friends not call for an investigation? Surely, his secret hideout would be discovered, besieged, stormed, and ruined.”
“So he lets them come. He lets them fly by or sail past. And if anyone is curious enough to come ashore, he lets them come, all the while watching them like a hawk. You must understand, Lye has servants everywhere—eyes and ears all over this world. There is hardly a government or corporation or organization that he hasn’t infected with at least one of his henchmen—like Tybee High, for example. The key is that it is all done in secret. In fact, there are so many levels in the bureaucracy of his secret society that many of his subordinates have no idea they ultimately work for someone as menacing as Lye. This is one way he is able to accomplish so much evil because while most of us would never murder, many of us find it okay to lie or steal or accept a bribe, even though doing so might be one step in a murderous plot.”
“So if, for example, a barge passes by and takes notice of the Deep, Lye will call for one of his aides to stalk it—if, in fact, he doesn’t already have a contact working on that barge or at the port of its arrival. That contact will track, spy, eavesdrop, foster friendship and then betray confidences—whatever it takes to assess the situation. And, depending on the severity, Lye will act accordingly and without mercy.”
“Such was the tragic case of Ben and Helen Coy. Lye saw them coming and let them come. He observed their every move: did they snap pictures? did they take samples? did they write anything down? Lye had his work cut out for him with the Coys. They had seen far too much and would surely leave him exposed. But he had to be careful. If they both suddenly died, then someone might suspect foul play. But if he only killed one of them, then the other would likely never rest until the island was demystified. So which one would he kill, and how would he ruin the other? The destruction of the Coys became his top priority. He enlisted the help of his top aides. Time was of the essence.”
