Dead Asleep

by Jamie Freveletti

  “Is that a problem?” Emma said.

  “I like to keep it in my sights. I hate to have it roaming about the island.” He gave her a wry look. Emma couldn’t help it, she smiled, and his lips crooked in amusement as well. He followed it with his usual serious expression. “But we can’t fly away just yet. If we do, then we won’t get done what Stromeyer asked us to do.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that, but realistically, would the sale go forward under these conditions? With a quarantine in place and a tropical storm?”

  “Those are ideal conditions. Especially if the buyers were already on the island before the quarantine was put in place.” He shivered. “Before I decide anything, I’m going to shower. I’m freezing and my stomach is rebelling. Could either symptom be from the drug?”

  “The nausea, for sure.”

  He put his drink down. “Then I’m going to see if I can settle it down.” He asked Porter to show him to a spare room. Emma decided to follow his lead. She shrugged off the coat and continued to a different room to shower.

  Thirty minutes later she was clean, dry, and wearing a robe while she waited for their laundered clothes to dry. She sat in a chair in the spare bedroom and stared out at the rain, brooding. She’d come to a decision. There was a soft knock on the door and Sumner entered. He was dressed and holding a pile of clothes.

  “Yours,” he said. She crossed the room to take them from him. They were still warm from the dryer.

  “Hallucinations gone?”

  He shook his head. “No. They keep popping up at odd times. I wonder how long a half-life this stuff has. Maybe it’s like LSD and can keep affecting you months later.”

  “I think you should fly everyone out of here and let me check out the two villas that Stromeyer asked us to,” Emma blurted out.

  Sumner frowned. “No.”

  “Let me tell you why I think it’s a good idea.”

  “Don’t bother. It’s a terrible idea. Joseph is still out there somewhere, not to mention a handful of arms dealers bent on buying a weapon that will allow them to pass undetected through metal screening. While I know you can shoot—due to my fine instruction, I might add—I doubt that you can shoot as well as this Joseph. I, however, can.”

  “There are too many people at risk and no one else can fly Carrow’s jet.”

  “I’m not leaving you here alone to face them,” Sumner said.

  “I’m only going to do half of what we discussed. The reconnaissance. See which villa is hosting. We can call back to Stromeyer to arrange for her to take it from there. It’s not ideal, because the buyers could disappear, but at least we’ll know who the players are, and that might be enough information for Stromeyer to track them. I can handle this. You need to get these people out of here.”

  “I know you can handle it, but I’m still not leaving.”

  Emma blew out a frustrated breath and headed to the attached bathroom to dress. When she emerged, Sumner was gone.

  She found him in the kitchen, standing at the sink and cleaning his gun. He nodded at her when she entered before returning to the task. Every few seconds he glanced at the corner of the kitchen with a grim expression on his face.

  “Beasts?”

  He nodded. “I don’t suppose you see them.”

  “No.”

  He sighed. “It’s all that I can do to stay calm.”

  Emma walked up behind him, put her arms around his waist and laid her cheek against his back. His body vibrated with tension. She held him and tried to give him the strength he needed to keep ignoring what his brain told him was true. He stilled. They stayed that way for a minute or more. He put down the gun, placed his hand over hers at his waist and wrapped his fingers around her palm. She listened to the pounding rain and the murmuring voices of the others in the villa and felt his regular breathing and warm body heat. Someone coughed, and Emma turned to see Porter standing in the doorway.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but you wanted to know if anyone approached the villa,” he said. She still had her left arm wrapped around Sumner’s waist, and felt his stomach clench in alarm. She stepped away from him.

  “Yes. Is there?”

  “The entrance gate has a camera mount. Come take a look.”

  Porter hurried through the villa to the front hall, where a small screen was attached to the wall near the door. It showed a man making his way through the trees.

  “Is that Joseph?” Sumner said to Emma.

  “Who’s Joseph?” Porter asked.

  Emma watched the man working his way around the ten-foot-high brick boundary wall. The pouring rain and shadows from the trees made the image blur. She couldn’t see the man’s face clearly enough to be sure. After a moment the man disappeared from the screen. She shook her head.

  “It’s hard to tell, but he had the right body shape and height. My gun’s in the bedroom. I’m going to get it.”

  “Who’s Joseph?” Porter asked again. “And why do you need a gun?”

  “We think he’s a hired killer,” Sumner said.

  Emma glanced back and paused when she saw Porter’s stunned expression.

  “Please tell me this is all a bad dream,” he said.

  “Go get Warner and Rory,” Sumner said. “I’m going to cover you while you run to the garage. Take the first car you can and drive away as quickly as possible.” Porter started down the hall to where Emma was standing.

  “Where are we going?” he asked her.

  “To the airport. Get inside Carrow’s jet and wait for us there.”

  “Are you coming with us?”

  “Not right away. I have something to do first.”

  “We have to do something first,” Sumner said. He gave Emma a pointed look. Since she couldn’t exactly force him to go with the others, she just nodded her assent. There was no time to argue with him. She looked back at Porter.

  “Give us an hour. If we don’t arrive, leave the jet and get over to the Siren’s Song. Take it out. You don’t have to go to sea, but you should go far enough so that he can’t find you easily. Oz is at Island Security right by the airport. Please don’t leave without him.”

  “The sound man?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can see someone lurking in the backyard,” Sumner said. His voice was low.

  “Porter, go!” Emma said. Porter ran down the hall.

  “Meet me in the kitchen,” Sumner said.

  Emma sprinted to the bedroom and grabbed her gun from the coat. She ran into the living room to check on Rory. It was empty. The bank of French doors lacked any curtains and so she shut off the lights in order to make it more difficult for someone outside to see in. She saw a man working his way through the trees at the lot line. He seemed taller and bulkier than the man she remembered as Joseph. The lawn was illuminated from a lightning burst as the man turned to look at the house. Emma gasped and ran back into the kitchen. She found Porter and a sleepy-looking Warner standing there.

  “Where’s Rory?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t find her anywhere,” Porter said.

  Sumner was against the wall next to the bay window keeping an eye on the lawn. “I was just telling everyone to go out through the front. I’ll keep him pinned down here.”

  “Forget it. I have some bad news. He’s got an accomplice. I’ve seen this guy before. His name is Carl. He works for the water company.” She waved a hand at the Springfed water dispenser in the kitchen corner. “We’re going to have to stage a distraction.”

  Sumner nodded. “Makes sense. What do you have in mind?”

  “You’re the sharpshooter. I think you should stay focused on Joseph and I should draw the other one away. He’s on the side with the pool gazebo, which is good, because it’s far from the garage. What do you say that I draw him out and you cover the rest while they run to the garage.”

  “How do you intend to draw him out?” Sumner looked at her with suspicion.

  “On foot. I’m going to run into the tr
ees. There’s a trail that leads from the villa down to the beach. I’ve run it before. It’s the one we talked about, with the poison garden and the manchineel trees at the bottom. If the big one follows me, he can’t keep up, and with the wind and the rain I doubt he’ll be able to get a clean shot. I don’t know anything about him, but he didn’t seem the type to be superskilled.”

  Sumner nodded. “Okay.” He looked at Porter. “Hit that garage, head to the airstrip, and don’t look back.” He looked at Emma. “Just concentrate on running as fast as you can.”

  Emma checked her own weapon. “I need a flashlight. I’ll kill myself on that path otherwise.”

  Porter walked to a pantry and returned with a heavy Maglite flash.

  “This one should work,” he said. Emma put a hand on Sumner’s arm.

  “Give me a moment to get some glasses and cover up my face from the manchineel tree sap. Can you take the second car and go to the dock and get Marwell? Meet us all at the airstrip?”

  Sumner nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  Chapter 48

  Emma shrugged into her coat, pulled on the Wellington rubber boots, and picked up the flashlight.

  “I need a scarf to cover my face and some sunglasses,” she said.

  “I’ll get them,” Warner said. Two short beeps rang in the house.

  “What was that?” Sumner said.

  Warner turned pale. “The alarm pad. It’s on chime, which notifies you when someone’s opened a door or window.” She went to a keypad located on the wall next to the French doors. A series of words ran across the LED screen.

  “What does it say? Where is he?” Sumner asked.

  “The far west bedroom window.”

  “He’s driving us toward the other guy,” Sumner said.

  “Forget the scarf and glasses, I’m gone,” Emma said.

  “Let’s go. Now,” Sumner said. Emma nodded at him, pulled the doors open and ran into the backyard.

  The storm’s increased intensity took her by surprise. It was one thing to watch it through the windows while safely inside a house and quite another to experience it firsthand. She bent against the wind and had to turn her face from the driving rain. Visibility was so bad that she thought it unlikely that either she or Carl would get a shot off. The lawn flowed with water and she splashed through several deep pools that had formed in various places. She began to run, her feet slipping in the grass and the heavy boots slowing her down. Still, she was glad for the protection, however minimal, that they provided.

  She headed toward the area where she thought the trail began. She was only able to see a few feet ahead of her and didn’t want to turn on the flashlight to pinpoint her location until she was near the trees. The intermittent lightning helped. Each time it flashed she looked at the ground ahead of her and did her best to remember what she’d seen. When she got to the tree line she turned back toward the villa and switched on the flashlight. She played the beam of light around, making sure to point it in the direction she’d last seen Carl running.

  The light hit him full in the face. He stood twenty feet away from her. His small eyes narrowed as he squinted in the glare of the beam, water streaming down his face. He moved his arm as if to raise the gun and Emma darted into the tree line. She ran, keeping the flashlight in her hand and pointed in front of her. She heard the crack of a gunshot, but nothing hit around her and she kept moving. The tree branches above her head bent downward with the storm’s force but acted as effective windbreaks, making it easier to run. But her boots sank with each step and their cumbersome weight made her usual graceful stride awkward and lurching. She consoled herself with the thought that her pursuer was also stuck with the same conditions.

  The trail continued downhill, and she leaned back to keep from falling face-first. The path curved right and then left before going lower in a steep angle. Her boots lost their grip and she started to fall. She caught herself with her free hand behind her, her fingers sinking into the ooze before she got back up.

  It didn’t work, she thought. He’s not following.

  A beam of light hit a tree trunk next to her head and she leaped forward. Another cracking noise pierced through the cacophony of howling wind, crashing lightning, and booming thunder. She kept running, keeping the flashlight on. The path became steeper and slicker. Water ran down her neck into her coat collar and down her back. Her hair was in a ponytail, but pieces had fallen out and the wet strands stuck to her face. The boots were covered in layers of mud. They were even heavier than before. Her thighs began a slow burn with the effort of pulling her feet up and out from the sucking mud over and over again. She wished she could discard them altogether, but the manchineel trees were ahead of her and she didn’t want her feet covered in blisters. She’d be unable to move at all if that happened.

  She reached the poison garden and stopped with a cry.

  The voodoo priestess hung from a tree branch. Her face was black and her tongue protruded from her mouth. Emma opened hers to scream and the vision was gone.

  Emma started to shake. She kept going, keeping her eyes on the trail and avoiding looking up into the trees. She’d always relied on science and rationality to get her through the challenges she had to face. Intellectually she knew that the hallucinations weren’t real, but emotionally she reacted as though they were. The events felt like black magic. She could only imagine what Sumner was experiencing at the dosage level he’d ingested.

  Emma came to the last portion of the trail before the beach. This section of the path wound through an open meadow, and once again the wind pummeled her. It yanked at her coat tails and drove water into her face. She turned off the flashlight, because the open field provided no cover whatsoever. She was counting on the poor visibility to keep her alive until she made it to the bottom.

  The manchineel trees came into view on her right. She stopped, put the flashlight in the pocket that didn’t contain her gun and ripped off her coat. She put it over her head and held it closed under her chin as she ran. Within a minute she was even with the first of the tree stands. The wind swirled around her. She felt rather than saw the milky white sap hit the side of her coat. It made a heavier, stickier sound than the pounding rain. After a moment the tip of her nose began to burn as the wind blew the acid sap her way. Her eyes were next. They felt as though needles were stabbing into them and they began to tear. She kept blinking, but that seemed only to coat her eyes with the acid.

  She tripped over something on the path, stumbled and fell face-first, tumbling down onto the grass. Her forearms hit the ground and took the brunt of the fall. She rolled and sat up, then looked back to see what she had fallen over.

  Belinda Rory laid on the path, her face and arms a mass of blisters, and her mouth moving but making no sound. Emma crawled the few feet to the woman and knelt next to her head, trying to shield Rory’s face with her body.

  “It’s me, Emma Caldridge. You can’t stay here. The rain is blowing the acid from the manchineel trees onto you,” Emma said.

  Rory’s eyes were swollen so badly that they would soon be shut and she’d be effectively blind. She moved her lips again, and this time Emma could tell that she was forming words.

  “You need to move,” Emma said again. “Get up. You can’t stay here. The acid is deadly.”

  “The dead,” Rory said. Emma grabbed at her arm to encourage her to sit up.

  “I said deadly, not dead,” Emma told her. “The dead aren’t here. Get up.”

  “They are here. They say I’m in hell. They’re burning me.”

  Emma reversed around the woman to kneel at her head and did her best to push her shoulders. To her great relief Rory sat up.

  “Good. Now stand up. We’ve got to go. There’s a man after us that wants to kill us. You have to move. Now.”

  Rory nodded. “Yes, he comes because I called him. He’s the messenger for the devil. They said that they would send him.” Emma felt a coldness run through her at the woman’s words.

 
“What do you mean, you called him?”

  “I called and told him where you were. The evil man. Now he’s coming to kill you and me. The dead are saying that I was wrong. That the burning is hell. I’ve been sent down.”

  Emma looked back up the path. She saw the flickering of Carl’s flash at the top of the meadow. He was only 150 yards up the mountain.

  “The burning is acid from the trees. Get up and run.” Emma felt several drops hit her skin and she almost groaned out loud at the sudden pain from the acid.

  The woman shook her head. “I borrowed money from the skinny one. A loan. But I couldn’t pay and he told me that he would waive some interest due if I stayed and told him when you and Carrow were going out to the blue holes. I did. And now I called him. I shouldn’t have, but he was going to tell everyone about me. That I don’t see the dead. That it was a hoax. I didn’t, that’s true, but I do now. And I see Lucifer. The skinny one is Lucifer in human form.”

  “Get up,” Emma said. She gave the woman a shove, and Rory staggered to her feet. Emma dragged her along down the path. Rory wore flip-flops that slipped with every step.

  “You’re wrong. The dead are here. There’s a man at your shoulder. He looks frightened for you.” Emma focused on the path and keeping both her and Rory on their feet. “He says you need to avoid the water.”

  A gust of wind from the direction of the manchineel tree stand hit them and the part of Emma’s exposed forearm wrapped around Rory’s waist erupted in a scatter shot of burning pain. A portion of a nearby branch exploded and bits of bark showered them. Rory screamed as each piece landed on the skin of her face and neck. The burn in Emma’s exposed arm increased.

  “He’s shooting at us,” Emma said. “Keep moving. You’ll be a tougher target.”

  “The dead man says not to use the water to make your green grass tea.”

  Emma’s heart plunged and she gasped. Memories of Patrick, her deceased fiancé, flashed through her mind. How he’d bring her boxes of the special tea that she loved and complain that it tasted like grass. An image of his body twisted in a car crash when he was hit by a drunk driver followed, which she knew was her imagination. She’d never seen a picture of the wreckage. At the time, she was too crazed with grief to even attempt to look at it.