by Jen Blood
August 21, 1990
Adam is gone. He’s on the mainland with his daughter, ostensibly for her birthday, but Rebecca senses that he will not return. Now that she knows who he is, it will be too dangerous for him to stay—he won’t put the church in danger that way. Adam may be a liar and a fraud, but his devotion to Isaac and his congregation is genuine. She is counting on it.
None of this changes her own circumstances, however, as she struggles to decide her own fate and that of her son. Does she leave, or does she stay? Take Zion with her, or let Isaac raise him for the rest of his childhood years? She has prayed, she has meditated, she has searched for a sign. She does not want to go.
It is dusk. The air is heavy, the clouds dark—there will be rain within hours, and Rebecca aches for that release. She sits outside the greenhouse alone and watches the clouds shift and the night fall. The rest of the church—including Zion—are at a service.
She is alone.
What will Zion think of her if she abandons him now? They will stay in touch, of course—write letters, perhaps even have the occasional visit. Whatever she decides, it has to be for him. Leaving him here would be the ultimate sacrifice. She thinks of Abraham, poised to slaughter his son to prove his devotion. This isn’t the same: this is an opportunity to prove her love for both Zion and their God.
Her reasons for keeping her son with her are purely selfish—she knows this. A good mother would not put her own desires above those of her child. A good Christian would not refuse the path God has set before her, simply because it may be difficult. She looks out over the quiet field. Breathes in deeply and smells the sweetness of decay, the perfume of flowers and freshly turned earth.
She stands. She will go to the church and get Zion, so that she may tell him of her decision first. Then, later tonight, she will tell Isaac. Perhaps he will see her alone one last time, to allow her an opportunity to explain how much her time on the island has meant.
All of these thoughts and good intentions drain like sand between her fingers the moment she looks up the path ahead of her.
Her heart skids like a frightened rabbit, and the clouds get darker. Thunder rumbles far, far off. He is too close for her to escape, and too mean for her to fight. Rebecca takes a step backward as Joe—the husband she fled from before he could kill her and their son—blocks her path.
He is freshly shaven. His clothes are clean, his eyes are clear, and his smile is the one she remembers from childhood—before the fury took over.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” he says.
She swallows past the tremor in her throat. Joe isn’t a big man, but he is stronger than anyone she’s ever known. She doesn’t move, waiting for him to continue.
“I wanted to come here and tell you that they’re planning to get you off here tonight,” he said. He shoves his hands into his jeans pockets and looks at the ground. Others don’t understand Joe Ashmont, but Rebecca always has. It’s why she loved him, long ago.
“Who is planning to take me?” she asks. His revelation isn’t as surprising as she supposes it should be.
“Adam. Reverend Diggins. I’m supposed to help them, but I thought…” He looks at her. He hasn’t been drinking—it’s more obvious by the tremor in his hands and the pain in his eyes than the coherence of his speech.
“You thought if you came here, I would be grateful?” she guesses.
“No,” he says immediately. “I just thought maybe you could leave first—without Zion having to go through any more shit. I won’t stop you. You can set yourself up in Littlehope or you can move to Timbuktu—it don’t matter to me. Adam says Isaac’s got his sights set on Zion. I just want you two off this rock and away from him.”
“Zion is destined for greatness,” she tells him. She isn’t surprised at the scorn in his eyes, though he tries to hide it.
“He’s a good boy,” he says. “He doesn’t deserve whatever Isaac’s got in mind. You two can have a good life.”
“We will have a good life.”
“I know. I just…” He stops. Shrugs. They are standing five or six feet from one another, but she still feels the draw she’s always felt with him. Repel and attract, push and pull. Love and hate.
“They won’t let you stay—Adam’s dead set on getting you off here. Better to just go now, save yourself before you start a war.”
“Isaac wants Zion to stay. He will teach him the ways of the church. Help him fulfill his destiny.”
For the first time, she sees genuine anger cross his face. He clenches his fists. She moves backward, but Joe does not come any closer.
“That’s what we’re afraid of, Becca—you can’t leave Zion here. Are you fucking nuts? This preacher might seem like an angel to you, but he’ll hurt Zion. Open your eyes, goddammit. This isn’t where our boy belongs.”
As though he’d heard his name, Isaac suddenly appears on the path behind Joe. Her husband turns at the look in her eyes. She expects violence, and moves farther away from the two men.
“Where do you believe your son belongs?” Isaac asks coolly. “Locked up on an island, waiting for his drunkard father to stumble home so he can watch while his mother is beaten half to death, night after night?”
Remarkably, Joe manages to hold himself in check. He keeps his eyes on the ground, his hands clenched at his sides.
“This don’t concern you.”
“Rebecca and Zion are members of my congregation now—of course it concerns me.”
“You’re not keeping my son, you fuckin’ pervert. You don’t go near him again.”
Isaac looks past Joe to Rebecca. “I understand that you would think something so ugly, given your past. But your son has a spiritual destiny that won’t be denied. I would never do anything to harm him. I only want to nurture his considerable gifts, so that he can one day realize his true potential. For God, and for his fellow man.”
Joe looks at Rebecca. “You heard what I said. You know what’s coming. We can go get Zion now—I’ll call up one of the guys to give you a ride back to the mainland, you don’t have to set foot on my boat or see my face again. But leave with me now. You’re not gonna like what happens, otherwise.”
She hesitates. Over the years, she has seen many sides of her husband: the attentive lover, the doting father, the jealous fiend, the violent drunk. This is new. Isaac ignores him and takes a step toward Rebecca.
“You know Zion’s destiny, Rebecca. You know your path. Don’t let this man sway you with his lies and paranoia.”
It’s the final straw—Rebecca sees it snap. Joe lowers his body and charges Isaac. Isaac steps just to the right and twenty seconds later the fight is over: Joe is on the ground, bleeding. Isaac stands above him without a scratch. There is something dangerous about him now; something Rebecca has not seen before. She feels that unwelcome thrill she always feels at the first flush of violence, before fear can take hold.
“Go home, Joe,” Isaac says. “Don’t come back to this island. You bring violence and ugliness to a holy place, and I can’t allow that.”
Joe stands. There is a gash above his left eye and his lip is swelling rapidly. He looks at Rebecca and shakes his head.
“I warned you, Becca. I can’t do no more than that.”
He turns and walks away. Once he is gone, Isaac turns to her once more. The pacifist has vanished; Isaac looks at her with fire in his eyes and something bestial in his smile.
She goes to him.
Chapter Thirty-Two
I took Einstein out for a perfunctory pee break before I worked up the courage to knock on Juarez’s door, back at Diggs’ place. I knocked lightly at first, then a little louder when I got no answer. When he finally told me to come in, my hands were sweating and my mouth was drier than the Serengeti. I rubbed my palms on my jeans. Juarez pulled a t-shirt over his washboard stomach and ran a hand through his tousled hair. He’d showered and shaved, so he looked marginally better than he had when I’d seen him last. The boxers and the runner’s calves
didn’t hurt matters.
“I need to talk to you,” I said.
He rubbed his eyes blearily and nodded. “Did they find Matt?”
“No—not yet. It’s not about that, exactly.” I stood there for another twenty seconds trying to figure out where to begin before he arched an eyebrow.
“Did you want me to guess?”
“No—sorry.” Jesus. I shook my head. “Rebecca Ashmont called me. She wants us to meet her on the island—as soon as we can get over there.”
He showed no reaction whatsoever for what seemed like a very long time. Finally, he blinked.
“Rebecca… I’m sorry, what?”
“I know it sounds nuts. Which is why I’m glad she wants you to come, too—she said she knows about my father. She’ll tell me everything if I come out there and meet her. With you.” Nothing. “Tonight,” I added, in case he wasn’t clear on that part.
He pulled his jeans on. “How do you know it was her?”
“I don’t. The caller ID was from Joe’s phone, though, and she asked me to bring Zion—and then she said, ‘Bring my son.’ Rebecca Ashmont. They never identified her body with the others—it’s possible.”
“And you think she meant me when she said to bring Zion.”
“If she didn’t she’s shit out of luck, because you’re the closest thing I’ve got.”
“And she wants me out there now?”
“Yeah—she said there’s not much time. God only knows what that means, but I’m thinking it’s not good.” It took a second for his words to register. “Whoa, hang on. Not you—us. She asked for me, too.”
“I don’t know if she’s dangerous—hell, I don’t even know who she is,” Jack countered. He strapped on a shoulder holster with unnerving efficiency. “You’re staying here.”
“I’ll just follow you out there. You know I will.”
“Then I’ll just call Diggs and tell him what’s going on.”
I advanced on him. “Screw you—this is mine as much as it is yours. She has information about my father. You have no right to keep me out of this.”
I wasn’t sure whether he understood my reasoning or sympathized with my plight or just didn’t have the energy to fight with me, but he took a few seconds to think about things before he nodded.
“You have to do what I say,” he said.
Given the shoulder holster and the almost unnecessarily large gun that belonged there, that seemed like a reasonable stipulation. I nodded.
“And we leave a note for Diggs letting him know where we are, just in case.”
I agreed.
Twenty minutes later, we were steering my boat out of the harbor yet again. It was just after nine o’clock. The sky was clear, the moon nearly full. We’d left Einstein behind, along with the requisite note for Diggs. I wore a sweater to guard against a chill I hadn’t been able to shake since the night before. Juarez stood beside me at the wheel, his hand at the small of my back while I played captain.
“It could be a trap,” he said just after we’d hit the open ocean.
The thought had crossed my mind. I took my eyes off the expanse of deep black sea in front of us and met his gaze.
“I don’t want anything to happen to you,” he said.
“Yeah, I know—Diggs would never forgive you.” I was trying to be funny, but he obviously didn’t see the humor.
“I’m not worried about Diggs.” The way he looked at me made it clear he was talking about more than just the obvious. I turned back toward the bow and corrected our course, though it didn’t really need correcting.
“We should probably stay focused on what we’re doing,” I said. “Conspiracies, dead parents who aren’t really dead… You know, the usual.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed. Despite the tension I saw a flicker of a smile touch his lips. “Anyway, it’s not like I don’t know the score there.”
“What score is that, exactly?”
“With Diggs.”
We had another forty minutes before we got to the island. Try as I might, I couldn’t just let the statement lie.
“What about Diggs, exactly?”
He thought about the question before he said anything. “I’m not anything like him—I know that. I like music that sounds like music; I don’t know the latest pop culture references. I don’t Tweet. If I never had to touch a computer again, I’d be all right with that.”
The seas were calm beneath the boat and our path was clear. Moonlight reflected perfect white light off the water. I looked at Jack and swallowed a shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature.
“So, you’re just a simple cowpoke with simple cowpoke ways—is that what you’re telling me?” I asked.
He grinned outright at that, a predatory gleam in his eye. “More or less.” He paused. “You should watch out.”
The shiver returned, a little lower now. “Is that a threat or a promise?” I asked with a sexy smile.
He made a valiant effort not to laugh at me as he nudged me aside and took the wheel. “A warning, actually,” he said, nodding toward the sea. “There are some rocks up ahead.”
Right. I knew that.
We were both quiet for the rest of the boat ride. We stood side by side in the cool night air, lost in separate worlds. Any concern over romantic entanglements fell to the wayside the closer we got to Payson Isle. A bloated, pale yellow moon hung just over the tree line. We were still about ten minutes out when a thunderous crack shattered the stillness; I nearly jumped out of the boat.
Juarez pushed me down to the deck and followed suit, reaching for his gun. We waited for something else to happen: more gunfire, ghostly apparitions, the sky to fall. There was nothing.
“Was that…?” I asked.
“Definitely.”
We had an abbreviated debate over whether or not we should keep going or turn back. I voted to keep going. Despite any chivalrous illusions, I knew that was what Juarez wanted, too. Eight minutes after the first and only shot was fired, we tied the boat at the dock.
Juarez took the lead, and I was only too happy to let him. We both stayed low to the ground. I thought of my mother out here twenty-four hours ago, fighting for her life. A cold wind sang through the trees. The forest was well lit, the path in front of us deep blue in the moonlight. My heart thundered in my ears. We kept going.
By the time we were halfway up the trail to the greenhouse, anxiety had gotten the better of me. There was still no sign of another soul—the occasional, quiet call of an owl out on the hunt, maybe the rustle of a deer nearby, but certainly no more gunshots or threatening figures in our path. I followed behind Juarez and kept quiet.
We both stopped when we reached the edge of the tree line, along the perimeter of an open field surrounding the greenhouse. It was the first time I’d been here since I was a child. The greenhouse was made of granite and glass, though the thick-paned windows had been broken years ago. It stood in stark silhouette, the moon low behind it. I thought of the body my mother said she had found hanging here years ago.
“You came out here today?” I whispered to Juarez, thinking of the search party that had been on the island earlier.
“Yeah—we didn’t find anyone, though. Obviously.”
Of course not. Whoever we were looking for—whether it was Rebecca Ashmont or someone else—must not have been on the island earlier. Juarez touched my arm and nodded toward the greenhouse, now about fifty yards away.
“Stay low and keep close.”
I nodded. The field was overgrown, but we wouldn’t be nearly as well hidden as we’d been in the woods.
“You have your phone?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Good. Call Diggs.”
“But—”
He held up his hand to stop me. We were close enough that I could feel his breath in my ear when he spoke, the warmth of his body against mine.
“It will take them some time to get here—whatever’s about to happen, it’ll already be ove
r by then. Just call.”
I made the call. Diggs answered on the first ring. I told him where I was and what was happening, then hung up while he was still trying to get his head around what I’d said. Juarez looked at me, then nodded toward the greenhouse.
Now or never.
Since the gunshot we’d heard while we were still on the water, everything had gone eerily still. Other than the distant surf and the occasional, mournful call of an owl out for its nightly hunt, the woods were silent. I swallowed past my fear. Juarez squeezed my hand. He got down low with his gun close to his body and went out first. I followed.
Nothing happened. The field was thick with blackberry brambles and burrs and other things that cut and caught at us, but other than a few scratches and scrapes our run across the field was uneventful. When we got to the open, stone archway leading into the greenhouse, Juarez went in first. Looked around. When he was sure that it was safe, he gave the all clear. I went inside. Shattered glass sparkled like rare gems in the moonlight. I picked my way between broken plant pots and stray seedlings that had taken root between cracks in the floor, fallen sculptures and an old birdbath filled with algae and muddy water.
There was no one there. Juarez paused to look out one of the broken windows. I gave him his space. He’d straightened somewhere along the line; my spine popped when I followed his lead, grateful to walk upright again. I thought of the hours I’d logged out here with my father years ago, just the two of us watching the sun rise while we tended the plants and he taught me the finer points of making things grow.
“You’ll always be my magic bean, baby.”
I joined Juarez at the window. We didn’t touch, we didn’t speak. There was nothing outside, either: No Matt, no Joe. Certainly no Rebecca Ashmont.
“We should go to the boarding house,” he whispered in my general direction.
I didn’t say anything. Now that we were here, alone and vulnerable on a moonlit night with no sign of whoever had lured us out in the first place, I realized that I didn’t want to go back to the boarding house. In fact, I didn’t want to be here at all. What the hell was I looking for? What did I expect to find?
