Dead Asleep

by Jamie Freveletti

  “Is that true?” Warner asked Randiger, who nodded.

  “To the untrained eye,” he glanced at Rory, “it looks like voodoo, but it’s actually an offshoot of Roman Catholicism that originated in Cuba. They worship the saints.”

  “Like I told you, Johnny is god-fearing,” Leroy said. He gave Sumner another look filled with challenge.

  “But what they were doing wasn’t Santeria,” Porter said. Sumner focused on Porter. He seemed sure of himself.

  “What makes you say that?” he asked.

  “They also had a doll in their hands and the second man was busy twisting the head from its neck. I told Richard that it seemed off to me. He agreed, but said he didn’t know enough about the two practices to be sure. He told me to stay the hell out of there and he wrapped up the swim and got everyone back up to the villa.”

  Johnny stopped jerking and lay still. His breathing settled down and he seemed to sleep.

  “You should look into diseases that induce coma,” Sumner said. “I’m no doctor, but this looks viral or bacterial, doesn’t it?”

  “I’ll call the hospital where they took Martin,” Randiger said. “Perhaps they have some insights.”

  “You’re just wasting time,” Rory said.

  “Perhaps you have another idea, Ms. Rory? Because if you do, I’d like to hear it,” Randiger’s voice was filled with annoyance.

  She put her hands on her hips. “As a matter of fact I do. I think we need to conduct a white séance. It’s a ritual that will call on the forces of good to begin to do battle with those of evil. I’m sure you think that it would be a waste of time.”

  Randiger put his hands up. “Listen, you’re free to do whatever you wish. I’m not going to stop you unless what you do violates the law or the rights of someone else.”

  “We need at least four people to manifest the forces. Will you join?” she said to Warner. Sumner thought that Warner seemed less than thrilled by the idea, but she nodded. “And you?” Rory pinned Porter with a glare. He shrugged.

  “If Mr. Sumner will, then I will.”

  “I imagine Mr. Sumner won’t be joining us. Am I correct?”

  Sumner shook his head. “Not at all. In fact, I’d be quite interested to observe the ritual.”

  “Then please meet me at the villa at eleven forty-five.” Rory stalked off toward the house.

  “Leroy,” Randiger said, “can you get Johnny to his room without my help? I’m going to head back to the office and make a few calls.”

  “Sure enough. His brother’s on the way over. I’ll wait here for him.”

  Randiger looked at Sumner. “I’ll give you a ride to the hotel.”

  “I’ll do that for you,” Warner said. She gave Sumner a small smile. “If you don’t mind?” Sumner couldn’t imagine that any man would mind being around Warner. He nodded.

  “Thank you.”

  They headed back the way they’d come. Warner and Randiger moved ahead, and Sumner walked alongside Porter.

  “Are you with Rex Rain?” Sumner asked.

  “No. Studio musician. I try to stay independent. Being in a rock band can twist your head up, that’s for sure.”

  “Are they all crazy, then?” Sumner asked.

  “Not all, no. Some are quite talented businessmen. These days you almost have to be to stay alive in the industry. But when they’re crazy, they’re really over the top.”

  “Like Rex Rain?”

  “Like some members of Rex Rain, yeah.”

  “Tonight should be interesting.”

  Porter grimaced. “Musicians may be crazy, but no one in Rex Rain is as crazy as that medium.”

  Chapter 32

  Sumner, Porter, Warner, and Rory sat on chairs in a circle in the center of the living room of Carrow’s villa. Rory had lit a candle and put it on a small end table placed in the center. The lights were low and all Sumner could hear was the sound of the waves pounding onto the shore far below. It was five minutes to midnight, and he would have much preferred sleeping, but he wanted to see just what role Rory might be playing in the illness sweeping the island. Sumner wasn’t ruling out poison or deliberate sabotage. What he couldn’t figure out was the motive.

  Rory started rocking from side to side and making a humming sound. Warner sat to Sumner’s right. She wore faded jeans and a tank top and frowned at the candle. Porter sat to Sumner’s left and never took his eyes off Rory.

  The French doors leading to the pool area were open, but the screens were closed to keep the bugs out. The candle threw the only light, and shadows flickered across the circle as the breeze blew. The tree frogs sang their song. Sumner thought the island had a beautiful, ancient quality about it, and he could see why those who could afford it built homes there. Each villa sat on an acre of land, at least, and Carrow’s on several more than that, leaving the occupants in the villa with a great deal of privacy. Privacy and isolation. The privacy Sumner liked; the isolation not so much. A stand of trees shielded the main house from the staff quarters.

  Rory’s humming became louder and more insistent. Her body began to sway in a languid circle. Warner seemed fascinated with the process. Porter kept his expression closed. Rory gave a loud shriek and Warner jumped in surprise. The medium slumped in the chair, as if asleep.

  “Go away,” Rory said in a low, guttural voice that was so unlike her own that even Sumner wondered how she managed to transform her tones. None of the rest of them replied. “I want the woman and you”—Rory snapped to a sitting position and pointed at Sumner—“to go.” The medium’s eyes were open, but even in the poor light Sumner could tell that the pupils were dilated. They hadn’t been that way at the beginning. He wondered if she’d put dilating drops in her eyes before joining them. He held her gaze, saying nothing.

  “Why don’t you speak?” Rory said.

  Sumner maintained his silence. He had agreed to attend as an observer only; he had no intention of engaging in the charade. If Rory thought to scare him off with a parlor trick, it was best she learn the error of her ways early. Sumner didn’t worry about ghosts or goblins or zombies or anything else of a supernatural nature. What he worried about was blown covers, front doors wired to explode, and dead women hanging from trees. When compared to those events, he considered a ghost or two a completely benign problem; interesting to experience, but ultimately unable to affect much in the present day.

  “You have twenty-four hours. After that all will begin.”

  “What will begin?” Warner said.

  “The death,” Rory replied.

  “Whose death?” Warner asked.

  “The petit-mort.” Sumner jerked at the unfamiliar voice. Silhouetted in the screen was the figure of a woman. She wore a colorful dress and her head was wrapped in a scarf. Feather earrings hung from her ears. Warner sucked in her breath and Porter shot Sumner a worried glance and sat up straighter.

  Ah, the hougan priestess, Sumner thought. Interesting that she appeared in the middle of the séance. He wondered if Rory told her to appear or if one of the servants tipped her off.

  “What’s ‘the petit-mort’?” Warner said. While she looked pale, Sumner thought she seemed less terrified than he expected her to be. She must have been made of sterner stuff than her fragile frame and appearance indicated.

  “It’s French. It means ‘the little death,’ ” the priestess said. She chuckled. “It’s another term for sleeping. Because sleeping is like death, is it not?”

  “Leave!” Rory bellowed the word at the priestess in her guttural voice, and this time Porter jumped in his chair.

  “Not until the chemist does.” The priestess looked at Sumner. “And her consort.” While Sumner didn’t mind being called a consort, he did mind that the priestess thought she could demand that anyone leave. He stood and started to stride across the living room.

  “Leave her! She’s evil. Do not go near,” Rory said. Sumner ignored the medium while he kept his eyes fixed on the priestess. She watched him approach, her
head still held high, but as he neared she got a wary look in her eyes. He kept moving, watching for the moment that the priestess would back away from him. When he was within arm’s reach of the screen she took a step backward. Perfect, Sumner thought. Let her be wary.

  “I don’t like anyone to threaten Ms. Caldridge,” he said.

  The priestess shrugged. “So you think you’ll protect her from me?”

  Sumner shook his head. “No. She can take care of herself. I think I’ll protect you from her.”

  The priestess’s eyebrows flew up. “Arrogant man. I have the forces on my side. Not you.”

  “Your forces are evil,” Rory said from behind Sumner. “Mine are good. Mine will prevail.”

  “She’s a charlatan,” the priestess said.

  “So are you,” Sumner replied. “Both of you need to quit playing your games. I’m not amused and neither is Ms. Caldridge. The authorities have been notified. I see you around here again and I’ll be sure to have you arrested.”

  “And what about her?” The priestess pointed a finger at Rory.

  “She’s a guest of the owner and hasn’t threatened anyone, trespassed, or vandalized another’s property. You have. Don’t do it again.”

  “Do you think I am afraid of you?” The woman raised her chin.

  Sumner nodded. “Yes, I think you are. And that’s wise, because neither Ms. Caldridge nor I scare easily.”

  “I can send you both to hell,” the woman said, her voice filled with venom.

  Sumner shrugged. “No, you can’t. We’ve both been there already. The devil kicked us out.”

  Chapter 33

  Once again Oz used the net to pull the body toward them. Carrow grabbed a rope and started tying a loop.

  “Get him close and I’ll try to wrap this around him,” he said.

  Oz drew the body forward, carefully pulling hand over hand. The man was fully clothed and wearing a life jacket. He had a stout body and a gold chain around his neck. When he got close enough, Carrow leaned over and ran the loop over his legs, working it upward until it was around the man’s stomach. He tightened it.

  “On the count of three,” Carrow said. Oz joined him to pull on the rope.

  “I’ll grab at the vest once you’re able to get him out of the water,” Emma said. Carrow counted and they hauled the body up and over the gunwale. A wash of water followed. They laid him on the deck. Emma noticed that one of the man’s feet was bare while the other was encased in a beige deck shoe. He appeared to be pushing fifty years old, with a thick head of salt and pepper hair. His eyes were closed and his lips blue. Emma knelt next to him and put her fingers to his carotid artery. She felt a pulse.

  “My God, he’s alive,” she said. “Let’s get him downstairs and get these wet clothes off of him.”

  They hauled him below to the stateroom reserved for the crew. Oz arranged the bunk while Carrow and Emma stripped the sodden clothes off the man.

  “What’s this?” Carrow said. He pulled a gun out of the pocket of the pants and held it up for Emma and Oz to see. “Great, we’re helping one of the guys that tried to kill us.”

  “How’s that for a bit of irony?” Oz said.

  “He must be the driver,” Emma said. “The shooter was bald. The last thing I saw was this guy with a rifle with a bayonet on the end stabbing at the water behind their boat.”

  “Do we throw him back?” Carrow asked.

  “No. I, for one, would like to question him. But we definitely keep our eyes on him.”

  “And the guns away from him,” Oz said.

  Once they laid him on the mattress they covered him with two heavy, military green wool blankets. Emma grabbed the first aid kit and returned to the man’s left side. She removed the cloth and examined the wound on his arm. It looked like a bite. It had taken a bit of the meat from his bicep, but it didn’t appear that any veins had been hit. The blood had congealed but it was clear the wound needed to be disinfected and stitched soon. She wiped the area with alcohol, careful to avoid dislodging the lump of congealed blood. She used a strip of gauze to wrap it tightly before stacking a couple of pillows next to him and placing his arm on them. Through it all the man remained unconscious. When she was done she straightened.

  “Let’s take all the knives with us. I don’t want to leave anything even remotely resembling a weapon within reach.” Carrow was out of the room first and grabbed a set of knives out of the kitchen drawer. Oz dimmed the lights. They convened at the helm.

  “The sooner we reach Terra Cay the happier I’ll be,” Oz said. “Radar’s down again.” Emma joined him to peer at it.

  “Can you guide us by celestial navigation?”

  Oz gave her an excited look. “I can. But I should warn you, it can result in a five kilometer spread. I’m hoping my calculations get us closer, but three miles can mean a lot when you’re out at sea.”

  “I’ll take it. By then I hope the GPS and radar will be back on line.”

  “Can you take the wheel?” Oz said to Carrow. They switched places and Oz bent to his calculations. He grabbed his notes and stepped out from under the canopy to look at the sky.

  “Pays to be smart like him, doesn’t it?” Carrow said in a low voice.

  “Not too many people are that smart. Oz is unique.”

  “Are you nervous about going back through the Triangle?”

  Emma shook her head. “No. Whatever happens we’ll deal with it. I just can’t imagine two methane eruptions hitting us.”

  “What about two sea monsters?” Carrow gave her a sidelong look.

  “Can’t imagine that either,” she said.

  “Uh guys, can you put it in neutral and get out here?” Oz said from the deck.

  “Which way?” Carrow asked. Oz took the wheel.

  “I’ll steer.” He drove and watched the sky and some of his calculations as he did. Carrow leaned against the nearby counter.

  “How long?”

  “Two hours, tops,” Oz said.

  “That’s not so bad,” Emma noted. She grabbed the rifle out of the holder and returned to her position at the gunwale. Carrow tinkered with the satellite phone.

  “Still down?” Emma asked. He nodded.

  “Makes no sense to me. Even if we’re talking about magnetic disturbances, they shouldn’t affect the satellite.”

  Emma agreed. The entire area seemed rife with electromagnetic disturbances of some sort or another. She wanted nothing better then to be out of the triangle and onto dry land.

  “Radar’s up,” Oz said.

  “Excellent!” Carrow went to stand next to Oz.

  “See anything? Boats nearby?” Emma asked.

  “Yep. Something’s blipping a quarter mile away,” Carrow said.

  “Boat?”

  “Most likely.”

  “What about our direction? Are we good?”

  “Right on,” Oz said. Satisfaction filled his voice.

  “Good job with the navigation,” Carrow said. In the next instant they both groaned.

  “Down again,” Oz said.

  “Oh well, at least we got some useful information out of it,” Emma said. “I suggest we steer away a bit from the other vessel. Don’t need to meet up with the bald-headed shooter right now.” She heard a noise from below. “Sounds like our passenger is awake.”

  She headed to the cabin, this time keeping her rifle with her. When she reached the bottom of the stairs she saw that indeed their passenger was awake. He was looking around and attempting to sit up. He paused when he saw her.

  “Water,” he croaked.

  Emma propped the rifle against a seat bench in the direct line of his vision. As she had hoped, he glanced at it and back at her. His eyes held a cautious look. She took down a glass and filled it halfway with water. She approached him on his right side.

  “Stay down. I’ll just lift your head a bit.” She ran her arm under his neck and lifted him enough so he was able to drink. His lips were cracked and covered with white, drie
d salt. He drank the entire glass in one, long gulp. She lowered him back to the pillow and went to retrieve some more. She repeated the process, and when he was done drinking the second glass, he sighed. She put the glass on top of a narrow ledge running along the angled wall of the cabin and settled back on a bench. The man watched her.

  “Your arm’s injured. I have it propped up against the pillows, but I suggest you not move until we reach land and can get you to a doctor. The blood has coagulated at the tear, but it could reopen at any time.”

  The man nodded. Carrow stepped into the cabin and remained in the doorway, watching.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Ardan Kemmer,” he said.

  “Why were you and that other man shooting at us?” Emma asked.

  He closed his eyes. “I don’t want to talk right now. I’m tired.”

  Emma was having none of it. “And I’m inclined to toss you back overboard. Either answer my questions or be prepared to get up close and personal with another shark.”

  Kemmer opened his eyes and gave her an angry look.

  “Wasn’t a shark. Was some sort of massive octopus. It had our boat in a grip and ripped at my arm with its teeth.”

  “Octopuses are invertebrates. They don’t have teeth.”

  “Well this one had arms and teeth, I’m telling you. It wrapped itself around me and tore at me.”

  “So a Lusca,” Carrow said. He stepped into the light.

  “A Lusca?” Emma said.

  “A large creature that is said to live in the blue holes. It has an octopus’s arms and a shark’s head and teeth,” Carrow said. “It’s a mythical being. Not real.”

  Kemmer snorted. “Mythical my ass! It was real enough to rip a chunk out of my arm, wasn’t it?”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t an average, everyday shark that bit you?” Carrow said.

  Kemmer nodded. “I’m the head of a treasure hunting company. I’m comfortable on a boat and I’m familiar with the creatures around here. I know a shark when I see one, and I know an octopus when I see one. I’m not mixing the two up.”