Primal Instinct

by Robert W. Walker

  Here was illusion, with the changing tide meeting the sky on the horizon; here the abundant cover of leaf and fruit, there light, a rainbow of shadow, lavender skies, where softly painted darkness, bird and arrow, water and drought, wind and calm, cloud and mountain, sun and rain, all mingled in a dance along a high wire of conflict and tension called life. Like the teeming sea itself, the land of the pineapple, guava, mango, papaya and sugarcane was rich in color and beauty with countless varieties of multicolored birds and flowers, some blossoms mimicking the appearance of birds. The land of the monkeypod tree, the flaming poinciana and the ancient Indian banyan represented for Jessica, and all who came under Hawaii's spell, a paradise that affirmed life's richest bounties over despair, decay and death. Yet it was an unforgiving land too, pitiless toward the foolish or uninitiated. It was a world where East and West clashed, one devouring the other. She'd seen the ambiguity of Hawaii in the single branch of a passion-fruit tree whose flowers, symbolizing Christ's passion, flourished even as its fruit went rotting on the bough, filling the air with an acrid and sour odor which mingled with the rotting overabundance of guavas and mangoes growing wild along ancient footpaths that'd become paved highways.

  She'd witnessed the same contrasts on Maui, where beauty and death were enshrined atop Maui's Haleakala summit, where the rare silversword flourished amid an arid, lunar landscape. She now recalled for Jim her visit up the winding highway to Mount Haleakala, House of the Sun, where Maui-of-the-thousand-tricks, impatient with the gods, had fooled them into creating Maui from the sea by connecting two volcanoes, Puu and Kukui, into the spectacular gorges and valleys, giving Maui the name “Valley Isle.” Haleakala, at 10,023 feet, was home to the world's largest dormant caldera, twenty-one miles in circumference, and now it housed men and high-tech instruments in Science City, a collection of blockhouses and scanning devices to track NASA launches, satellites and the activity of the sun.

  But the sun was far from Jim's or Jessica's mind tonight. With a near full moon, the sky over Oahu, as seen from the balcony of the Rainbow Tower overlooking Waikiki Beach and Diamond Head, was a deep, abiding cerulean, rivaling the blue sapphire of the Pacific itself.

  “Beautiful and enormous, isn't it?” she said to Parry, finding him in a thoughtful mood, staring out at eternity in the form of ocean and sky as it stretched before them.

  “Been a while since I've had a moment to really breathe it all in.”

  She'd earlier left him to his own devices while she had showered and located an extra pillow and blanket for the sofa. He'd broken into the dry bar for wine, and now he held out a glass to her and she gratefully accepted. She had on a thick white terry-cloth robe compliments of the hotel, yet she clutched the extra bedclothes to herself.

  He proposed a toast, lifting his glass. 'To all peaceful moments in paradise.”

  She smiled in return and sipped the Zinfandel. It felt oddly intoxicating, pungent, telling her that maybe she'd better go easy on an empty stomach. “You hungry?” she asked him.

  “No problem,” he murmured, staring out once more at the deep colors of the evening over the pulsating sea. She bit her upper lip, tentatively stepped further out on the balcony and almost turned to leave when he wheeled, his hands reaching her shoulder, his eyes smiling at her blinking stare.

  “Your eyes, Jess.” He began to lift uncertain fingers to her cheek. “So pretty, alluring.”

  She broke their stare, and while she hadn't resisted his touch, she stepped away now, her own wish to be held by him at odds with a nagging sense of duty and self-control that spoke of common sense.

  She could think of nothing to say, but Jim filled in the silence. “You're as... as alluring as all of Hawaii and the ocean encircling us, Jess.”

  “Jim, we're not going to do this. It'd only lead to complications neither of us can afford right now.”

  “Complications.” He repeated the word as if it were an alien term. He stepped back, instantly hurt, turning his eyes away, nodding. He desperately sought to change the subject. “Bet you can't imagine what Oahu was like before we whites took over,” he said, setting aside his wine glass and taking pillow and blanket from her.

  “Unspoiled maybe?”

  “No concrete.” He said the word as if it were a curse.

  “No cars or exhaust,” she countered.

  “No liquor stores, pot or crack.”

  “No ice cream sundaes either,” she challenged.

  “There's little left of the old Hawaii. You find some of it around Hana in Maui, and of course there's Kahoolawe.”

  She tried to repeat the melodic word. “Ka-whoo-law-we?” she asked, smiling, fascinated with all that he knew of the unknowable islands.

  “Ka-who-la-vee. Last of the old island tribal governments wants to rule there. It's forbidden to whites nowadays, returned to the people by the U.S., thanks to the PKO.”

  “PKO? What exactly does that stand for?”

  “Preserve Kahoolawe Ohana. You might liken them to American Indians out to redress wrongs. They've gotten good at working in the political arena, and they have hired some damn good lawyers. They're a lot like your dyed-in-the-wool wacko environmentalists.”

  “I see. So Kahoolawe is now a reserve?”

  “Yeah, now it is. U.S. Navy used the island for target practice with their big battleships since World War II, and this PKO group got them evacuated through legal means.”

  “I'm impressed, but why haven't I heard about this place?”

  He shrugged, the pillow bobbing in front of him. “Nobody speaks of it much; certainly not the airlines or the brochures. Too unsettling, too political, for the tourist industry, you might say.”

  He stepped inside, laid the pillow and blanket on a chair arm and located the usual stash of tourist information. He quickly found a map depicting all the islands of Hawaii. She followed him back inside and looked over his shoulder. In a moment. Parry was pointing out the smallest of the Hawaiian island chain.

  “That's Kahoolawe there. Only forty-five square miles across. No cars, no billboards, no hot-and-cold anything, no neon signs, football stadiums or shops. No one goes there and the islanders on Kahoolawe have shunned all Western ways, so historically there's been an understanding, but in the not-too-distant past, the U.S. made it officially off-limits to commercialization or development, and so off-limits to us, the white man.” He paused thoughtfully. “The Hawaiians are holding fast to their status there, feeling the encroachment of extinction on their culture, history and laws. Even the so-called 'civilized' Oahu natives here see the preserva-tion of the old ways on Kahoolawe as imperative to the survival of the culture. Hell, the Bishop Museum has a wing that showcases the aboriginal lifestyle, and believe me, they don't use pictures from your typical all-expense-paid TWA island luau.”

  “Is it part of... I mean, does the island fall under your bureau?”

  He took a deep breath. “We don't interfere there. Leastways we haven't. Somewhere in between it gets very dull gray when we speak of jurisdictions and laws as they might apply to Kahoolawe, but suffice it to say, we're not wanted, and the State Department doesn't want us treading on their treaties. Hell, you've got the same situation on Indian reserves on the mainland. You know if the tribal leaders don't agree on FBI or even local intervention, we don't go in, any more than we would Guatemala—under ordinary circumstances, that is. Course, when things become extraordinary — “

  “Yeah, I know.” She studied the strange little island out in the sea to the southwest of Maui on the map he'd shown her. “So it's unofficially not part of your bureau?”

  “That's about the size of it, yeah, although it shows up as part of Maui County and Maui County still wants to think of it as under their jurisdiction.”

  “God, I'd love to see it. It must be —”

  “Pristine, wild... yeah, so I'm told.”

  “Then you've never been there?”

  “I don't rush in where fools fear to tread; fact of the matter is, we've
been ordered to stay out, and there's no love lost between the natives and us. But there are those who, for a price, will gladly take you to a remote side of the island, if you're willing to pay through the nose.”

  “Remote side? It all looks remote.”

  “Remote as in away from the main village. Remote as in where the wild sheep, goats and deer roam. There are some sacred shrines on the island, taboo for whites, that kind of stuff.”

  “Then I guess wc won't be doing any diving or hunting for deer there?”

  “Deer's scarce there anyway, I'm told. Maui's got enough wild lands to keep you busy for a decade. Although, I've heard what a markswoman you are. Heard about that shot you took from atop Quantico's central operations building that took out that maniac they called the Claw.”

  “Archer. Archer was his name, but you'd know that, having read my file. Right?”

  He smiled wryly and nodded. “Couldn't help myself, matter of fact. One hell of a shot to make while you yourself were under fire from your own guys.”

  “Yeah, it's a shot I'd never be able to duplicate. But what gives here, Parry?”

  “Whataya mean?”

  “Do you really have nothing better to do? I mean reading all that crap about me? Maybe you need to get a life.”

  He chuckled at this. “Touche.”

  “You really can't find me all that interesting.”

  “I had a request in specifically for your help for almost a year, so when I learned you were in the islands—”

  “When you learned I was in the islands? And when was that?”

  “Day you arrived.”

  “Sneaky SOB, aren't you?”

  “Comes with the chromosomes, you might say.”

  “And just how did you learn that I was on Maui?”

  He took her in with his eyes once more. “I'm not ready to reveal all my secrets just yet—are you?”

  She hesitated, started to answer but thought better of it.

  “I have long found your work, your record interesting. Doctor, and now I simply find you very interesting.” He moved closer, putting his arm about her waist. “Would you have me shot for my curiosity?” She felt a wave of passion sweep through her, but still she resisted, taking his hand away and snatching the blanket from where he'd tossed it across the arm of the chair. “Better arrange this for you,” she said in her most motherly tone. 'Time you got some rest, don't you think?”

  She busied herself with spreading the blanket over the sofa, saying in a near-whisper, “I hope you'll be comfortable here, Jim, and now, if you don't mind, I'd like just to—”

  “Yes, well... I'm sure I'll be perfectly comfortable here, yes,” he sputtered, trying desperately to regain the moment but failing to. Wanting to touch her again, but fearful of the consequences, he instead began making faces behind her back—faces that told of his frustration and anger with himself for being so clumsy—while she fluffed his pillow and pleasantly chanted, “There, there.”

  She smelled so clean and fresh, like the island air swirling in from the sea, and earlier he'd listened to the cascade of water from her shower, fantasizing at the time how it would be if he simply joined her. He'd step into the spray and she'd welcome him into her waiting arms, but he'd stepped out onto the balcony instead, and she had come to him in that thick robe, her robust skin shimmering against her auburn hair in the half-light. He wondered now how he could ever allow her to step away from him.

  When she turned, he again reached out for her. She took his hands firmly in hers and said, “Good night, Jim. Get some rest. You're overtired, and so am I.”

  She quickly left, realizing how teasing and foolish she'd been earlier, having gone to him on the balcony in her robe, but she had found out what she wanted to know. He was extremely interested. “Good night, Jim,” she said in a whiskey-voiced whisper from her door.

  Just as she turned, he stole a final glance to see her soft form glide off, disappearing into the adjoining room as she closed the door behind her. He then stared at the sofa, kicked off his shoes and tore away his coat and tie. In a moment he was stripping away his shirt, allowing the cool breeze coming in off the balcony to play over his naked chest. He stripped down to his shorts, grabbed a white terry robe with the Rainbow logo and went in to shower.

  In the shower stall, the hot jets of water were soothing on his neck and shoulders, the headache of earlier having become a fist at his temple. He closed his eyes and stood there and suddenly his flesh trembled, feeling Jessica's soft touch against his back as she entered the stall. Drenched, he turned to face her, but his fantasy evaporated in the mist of hot spray when he opened his eyes to find himself quite alone.

  He toweled off and found Jessica's Nuprin bottle, popped three of them and returned to the living area, where he dropped the robe over a chair and quickly nestled below the cotton blanket she'd given him, his head alighting on the pillow. His every nerve screaming for sleep in the absence of sex, he was immediately met with slumber.

  Parry was shaken by a soft, moaning noise reverberating in his head until it turned into a panicked cry, having suddenly intensified even as he gathered his senses to realize where in hell he was: outside Jessica Coran's bedroom, in deep slumber only moments before.

  Then the cry from her room became insistent. He tore himself from the covers, grabbed his gun from its holster over a chair and rushed to Jessica's side, fearing the worst.

  A moment later, he stood over her bed and watched her troubled sleep. She called out the name Otto, and next she called out the single word Father, mantra of the frightened child, he thought. Somewhere below her calm exterior, below the veneer of the doctor, there was a scared little girl after all. “Just like me,” he whispered aloud. “Like all of us, I suppose.”

  He felt uncomfortable seeing her like this, and so he gently sat alongside her and slowly shook Jessica into consciousness, softly and firmly repeating her name. She felt good beneath his warm, gentle touch; he smelled good, too, natural and balmy like the sea air that parted the drapes at the window. She found his eyes burning a path over her reposing form, and as she struggled for complete consciousness, she heard him tenderly say, “God, you're beautiful.”

  She came fully awake, her nightmare vanquished as if he'd taken a rapier to it. shredding it apart to reveal a safe reality on this side of sleep.

  She gasped for air and gripped his bare arms for support. He gently wrapped her in himself and rocked slowly, telling her that everything was all right.

  “I'm here, Jess... I'm here,” came his litany of assurances. She sobbed against his firm, wide chest, feeling foolish, caught off guard, appearing so damnably vulnerable.

  “You okay?” he asked, his voice banishing the shadows and demons that'd come so near.

  “No... yeah, I mean... yeah, for the moment. Bad dreams is all.” She knew her voice sounded a bit desperate and rocky.

  “About Matisak?” he asked, referring to her nightmare.

  “No... about Linda Kahala... about the way she died. Lau and I've measured the wounds the killer inflicted just to the one limb. He taunted her for hours if I'm any judge of the nature of the wounds, some striated in layers, as if he'd dug out goddamned...”—she searched for the word—”petroglyphs against her flesh like she was stone.” She'd mentioned the patterned nature of some of the cuts to him before, but she hadn't told him how it had affected her. “The... the bastard... likely placed such cuts all over her body before she mercifully gave into hemorrhagic shock, coma and death.” The slow death was filled with suffering, and the nightmare felt so real.

  She shivered involuntarily.

  He held her more firmly. “Nothing can harm you here with me,” he quietly promised, kissing her atop her head.

  She tipped her head slightly upward, her mouth at his chin, and he moistened his lips and brought his mouth to hers. Their embrace was long, warm, honeyed and mellifluous; their bodies becoming fluid, each seemed to easily and wearily melt into the other, and now, for a time,
they simply held firm to one another, Jim lying alongside her there on the bed. afraid to let go, a man who has reached too far, fearing a false move.

  For a long time they remained quiet, but stroking his hair, she found herself exploring him, and in a moment each was exploring the other with renewed energy and needful hearts. Fingers and hands made swirls about her being, and each lover was now enraptured and wrapped in one another's longing. Each in great and passionate throes, each seeking comfort in the other... and suddenly there was no darkness or shadow living here, neither in the room nor inside her.

  She reached around him and dug her nails into his back and wrapped her legs abouf him all in one flowing motion. He responded with ever more passion, his mouth cascading with a waterfall of warmth and saliva. Exploring her firm breasts, his fiery tongue stroked her like a welcomed hot poker. She raised and lowered with his rhythmic movement, their combined gasps and deep breathing their only music, enchanting and melodic.

  This is what you came to Hawaii for, she thought.

  “Jess, Jess, Jess,” he chanted as a refrain, his unrestrained body bathing her in the oils of passion and play.

  She awoke to his warmth beside her and the rich sounds of Hawaii greeting the sun. At the open floor-length balcony window here on the sixteenth floor, little island birds had come begging for morning crumbs, one of them inching into the room, cocking its head in her direction—a silent appeal for attention.

  “Will you look at those beggars?” she asked. “I'll call room service,” she suggested.

  “For the birds?”

  “For all of us!”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Any preferences?”

  “I trust you implicitly, but I'm not sure the 'elapaio do.”

  “ 'Elapay-o'.'“

  “That's what your new guests are called. Honeycreepers who've been spoiled by tourists on balconies everywhere feeding 'em Cheerios and potato chips and pizza crumbs.”