“Nice to meet you, Mr. Sharp. Have you met Miss Houghton yet?”
“We were about to go up and talk to her,” Travis said, leaning against the railing.
“While you do, I help set up for the Welcoming.”
Dominic spoke in broken English, but had he known the language before or after he’d arrived on the island?
“What’s the Welcoming?” I asked.
“Eleanor thought it up ages ago,” Travis said. “It’s a gathering we have for newcomers.”
“I get things started,” Dominic said.
“Cheers, mate,” Travis said as Dominic disappeared into the hut. “That’s half the work done.”
“It sounds like a big deal.”
“No worries, mon,” Khenan assured, “Travis is just lazy. We do dis fer anyone who wants to live in Nort’ Village.”
“Do a lot of people live here?”
“Some live on their vessels,” Travis replied. “Like that rich little bugger, Neal Gibbons. Lives on his dad’s yacht ’cause our village is too primitive for the likes of him.”
“How does he get ashore when he needs to?”
“Rowboat,” Khenan said. “But Eleanor suggested we build a pier fer da ships to dock. We need it, ’specially after da cruise ship arrived. Dat way no one ’as to go into da water.”
“Cruise ship?” I said in surprise. “Are you talking about The Ramón?”
“Da very same. Dat fat couple you met befah was on da ship.”
I couldn’t believe it. In August 2010, The Ramón had left Key West, headed for the Bahamas. It had disappeared after a few hours at sea. No trace had ever been found and no distress call had ever been made. At first, people suspected pirates, but after weeks of no ransom demands, authorities had considered other possibilities. I’d laughed at the flakes who’d blamed the Bermuda Triangle for her disappearance.
“D’ya need to get anyt’ing from yer plane?”
I thought about it a moment. “Actually, I do.”
“When yer ready to go out dere, let us know and we’ll go wit ya. We don’t have anyt’ing else to do.”
I had no intention on taking him up on the offer. I felt I could manage well enough on my own, plus I didn’t need anyone around that could slow me down.
“Okay. Thanks.”
* * *
I stayed in the hut to give myself time with my thoughts before the Welcoming. I also needed a bath. I was sticky and reeked of the ocean.
As I walked around, I felt a bit like a prisoner contemplating my escape. It was impossible to believe people couldn’t leave this place. What could keep them here? Maybe I could get my plane working and fly out. Or get on a boat and sail away. We weren’t hundreds of miles from land. How could so many people be trapped on an island, yet no one had found a way to escape.
I stepped out onto the back porch to look down at Tommy Pine’s lifeless body. Was there a way to cover it up without stirring up bad juju?
It suddenly struck me what I was thinking. I was considering how to conceal a dead body so I didn’t have to see it every day. Unbelievable. Then again, so was this entire situation.
I went through the hut to the front porch, where I leaned against the railing and gazed out at the ocean. To my dismay, fog blocked the horizon and most of the junkyard. The haze was a strange thing. Was it the reason why I couldn’t breathe comfortably? My brain was bogged down with questions and I hoped to get some answers at the Welcoming.
As twilight settled in and the ghostly sky shadowed into darkness, fireflies appeared by the thousands. They moved in a hypnotic dance, drifting up and down, and offering me a mild distraction from my questions.
“I brought you some fresh clothes, lad,” Travis said when he returned. “Hope you don’t object to wearing another man’s undergarments.”
“I won’t object at all. These clothes are stuck to me.”
He handed me cutoff shorts and a gray T-shirt. “How are you holding up?”
“Okay, I suppose. I’ve just been watching the fireflies.”
He turned toward the thousands of glowing dots. “Aye, they’re a sight, all right. It’s the blasted mosquitoes and bees I hate.”
“I haven’t been bitten by any mosquitoes since we reached the village.”
“That’s ’cause every home is protected with pesticide lamps. A cargo ship got stuck here a while back, carrying tons of chemicals. It’s been a real treat, believe me.”
“After being eaten alive today on the beach, I can believe it. Are you usually that lucky?”
“When a ship’s captain and crew realize we need what they’re carrying, they usually donate it. Building materials, food, clothes, cleaning supplies, toiletries. We have to stretch it thin at times, though.”
“Dang.”
“Are you going to take the hut?”
“I suppose. But I have to find a way to cover Pine without disturbing him.”
“There you go, lad! Out of sight, out of mind, eh? You’ll see it ain’t so bad. You’ll just get put off a bit when you don’t see much sunshine. You’d think a bloke like me would be used to overcast skies, being from Britain, but I do miss the warm touch of sun on me face.”
“What do you think is happening here?”
“Don’t really know, mate, though I’ve often wondered about it. There’ve been countless discussions about it, so you’re bound to hear loads of theories.”
“No one knows for sure about the real story behind this place?” I asked grimly.
“Not even the people who’ve been here longer than me.”
“Damn.”
There was a brief silence before Travis spoke in a serious tone. “Would you like to know the deep dark secret about the dead?”
My expression alone gave him my answer. “You know?”
“Aye, everyone knows, but no one wants to talk about it.” He raised his T-shirt to reveal a long nasty scar across his side. “See this? I got it from a deckhand on me ship one night during our first month here. It took ages for this to heal up, it did.”
He lowered his shirt and stared off into the void. “One of me shipmates and a deckhand got into a drunken scuffle. I tried breaking it up while everyone else, including the captain, did nothing. The deckhand slit me open with a dagger. When me mate saw that, he grabbed the dagger and stabbed the deckhand in the neck.” Travis crossed his arms and paused a moment. “The crew carried me away, but I didn’t know what had happened till after the doc had patched me up.”
“What did happen?”
“They sent Tucker to the brig for killing the deckhand, which was a joke, ’cause the captain had done nothing to prevent it. As soon as I was on me feet again, I paid him a visit. I thought he’d gone mad. He was pacing back and forth, holding his hands over his ears. I asked him what was wrong, and he screamed, ‘You can see ‘im, too, can’t you? Tell me you can see ‘im!’”
“What was he raving about?”
“There wasn’t anyone else in the cell with him and I told him that. But he told me as soon as he killed the deckhand, he saw that bloke standing over his own dead body. Tucker claimed the wanker had been tormenting him ever since, cursing him for stabbing him to death.”
“Do you think he was telling the truth?”
Travis stayed quiet a beat. “I didn’t want to believe him. We all thought he’d gone daft, but he got worse. The captain was afraid to let him out of the brig. Tucker cried night and day, begging the deckhand to leave him alone. Other times, he cried for death. After a while, I couldn’t bear it anymore. I brought a pistol to the brig and gave it to him.”
“You gave him a gun?”
“Tucker saved me life. I owed him that pistol. It was like giving water to a thirsty man. He grabbed the gun and put it to his head.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“No one really understands,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “All we know is that when someone dies, we leave ’em exactly where they lay. If anyone moves them, t
hey come back, but only the person who moved them can see and hear them.”
“Will the bodies decompose if they’re disturbed?”
“Aye, that they do.”
I stared at Travis, trying to figure out if I was the victim of a cruel joke. But Travis’s expression was dead serious. “It’s true. The souls of the dead will come after you.”
“Can they hurt you?”
“It depends on the spirit and your relationship to the person. I’ve been here a while and I’ve seen too many blokes who didn’t heed the warning. If you murder someone—or even kill someone by accident—it doesn’t matter if you move the body or not, they’ll come to you anyway. ”
“What about people who die on their own?”
“They sleep.”
That took me by surprise. “Sorry?”
“Like little ghost babes. Only those lucky sods can rest in peace. But if anyone disturbs them, it can get nasty.”
“Jeez,” I muttered. What he said made me think about Gavin. He’d died in the crash, so why was he visiting me? Had it been when I’d touched him? “Laffite told me that all someone needs to do is ignore them and they’ll go away.”
“That’s very rare, lad. Most ghosts don’t vanish when they’re ignored. It only makes them angry. I’ve only heard about a ghost vanishing once since I arrived. Lafitte told me about his first mate, who told him to do something about his body. He ignored the specter and eventually it went away.” Travis chuckled. “Though the bugger told me when he was so drunk, he doesn’t remember telling me now.”
“It just happened to Lafitte?” I said despairingly. “No one else?”
“There was one other case like Lafitte’s. Irving, George’s co-pilot. George is a dead WWII chap out in the junkyard. Irving claimed George wanted his body disposed of.”
“George? The one with the glass shard in his eye?”
“Aye. You came across him then, eh? Anyway, Irving said George wanted his body disposed of.”
Maybe if I could talk to this Irving guy, he could shed more light on my problem. “Is Irving going to be at the Welcoming?”
Travis shook his head. “Nah, he died long ago. A sad story there.”
Damn it.
Khenan approached us. “Dey’ve got everyt’ing set up down dere. Come on and meet everyone.”
I gradually stood, my nerves on edge at the prospect of meeting new people, most who probably should’ve been dead years ago. I didn’t know what to expect. I only hoped I wouldn’t have to walk on hot coals or eat a beating pig’s heart to be accepted.
Tiki torches and pesticide lamps lined the wharf. Colorful lights, like the ones on Lafitte’s ship, crisscrossed overhead. Travis and Khenan led me to the center of the wharf, to a long table created from several smaller tables pushed together, covered with food and drinks.
As we walked among the crowd, I was introduced to the crew of eighteenth century warships, passengers from Flight 441, people who’d tried to catch fish on the beach earlier, and many others. But one stood out among all the others.
“Hello, sport,” a soft-spoken young man said as he enveloped my hand in a strong grasp. “Charles Carroll Taylor. Pleased to meet you.”
Chapter Eight
Lieutenant Charles Carroll Taylor shook my hand.
“Taylor? As in Charles Taylor, the leader of Flight Nineteen?” I asked.
Taylor smiled, and when he did, his upper lip vanished above perfect teeth. He had kind eyes, long dark hair tied back, a beard, and mustache. He wore blue jeans, a button-down short-sleeve shirt, and no shoes. “I’m afraid so, my friend.”
I couldn’t find my tongue, which prompted him to say, “Don’t believe that rumor about us crashing into some ole’ swamp in Georgia, sport.”
I don’t know why I was so surprised about meeting the leader of the legendary Flight Nineteen. I’d already met three hundred-year-old pirates and a tribe of missing links, yet I was star-struck, as if I’d met Clark Gable’s ghost.
“Maybe you should sign an autograph for him, Charles,” a sweet southern voice said. “Something he can hang on the wall.”
I turned in the direction of the voice and saw a beautiful woman with bewitching blue eyes.
“Hello,” she said. “I’m Eleanor Houghton.”
Her glowing face and deep Mississippi accent instantly distracted me from Taylor. I swallowed and said, “Hi. I’m—”
“Heath Sharp,” she interjected. “So I’ve been told. Come, sit over here with me and two others you’re familiar with.”
As she led me to the end of the table, I hoped I didn’t have to sit at the very end, where everyone could stare at me. It was like being the new kid at school and having to be introduced in front of the whole class.
To my relief, Eleanor took the chair at the end. I was even more relieved when Travis sat directly across from me with Khenan beside him.
“Where’s Marissa?” I asked, taking a seat.
“Don’t know,” Travis replied. “Most likely, spending the evening with her girlfriend.”
“Oh.”
Eleanor pointed at someone behind me. “Mr. Sharp, this is Carlton Malone, from Texas.”
I turned to a man I recognized as the guy who’d been reading Naked Lunch. I couldn’t explain it, but Carlton’s appearance seemed odd. He was a short, round man with skin as white as paper. He reminded me of Judson, his bushy gray eyebrows nearly touching each other and his earlobes hanging low enough to reach his shoulders.
“I remember you,” Carlton said, shaking my hand vigorously. When he let go, he made his way to the table and sat down.
“And this is Professor Inglewood,” Eleanor said.
I turned my attention to an average-sized man wearing a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt. He took a seat next to Travis. As I sized him up, I couldn’t help wondering how someone with his skinny physique had managed to capture a brutal and insane Viking.
“I’ve heard of you,” I said. “Jean Laffite mentioned you.”
“Oh, did he?” the professor said with an Aussie accent. “Good things, I hope.”
I didn’t want to tell him the reason Laffite had talked about him, mainly because I didn’t want to appear eager to see his Viking, like a tourist looking to visit an attraction. I chuckled a bit just to be polite. That response was as old and stale as a hundred-year-old piece of toast.
Everything on the table was familiar, but with odd variations. Directly in front of me were steamed shellfish that reassembled lobster, but instead of having two antennas and claws, antennae covered their backs and additional claws protruded from their torsos. Steamed oysters and crabs filled a large bowl. The crabs had four hind legs and two large claws, and were in the shape of a star. The oysters were pink instead of gray.
“I know,” Eleanor said, noting my confusion, “it looks a bit strange, but believe me when I say they taste exquisite. Have some wine.”
Before I could say anything, she poured some into my cup. The dishes were old China with blue flowers around the edges and one large rose in the center.
“These dishes have been around since the eighteen century,” she said. “We use them only for a Welcoming.”
“I’m honored,” I said, examining the sterling silverware. “You really didn’t have to go through all this trouble for me.”
She laughed as she poured wine into her crystal goblet. “Don’t be silly. We do this for everyone on their first night in the village. It’s a way for a newcomer to get to know everyone.”
“Yah, mon,” Khenan said, “it’s just a one-time ting. Tomorrow, you’ll be just anot’er face in da crowd.”
I was relieved to hear that. I didn’t want to be an anomaly among this bunch of lost souls.
“And I’m sure you have many questions,” Eleanor said. “But first, fill your belly and drink some wine. We have all night.”
I took her advice and ate before making any inquires. I was hungry and longed for the comfort of food.
Everyon
e served themselves. Some said prayers before eating, while others went right into stuffing their faces. I filled my plate with pink oysters, four-clawed lobsters, steamed vegetables, and shark stew, the latter just out of spite.
Eleanor was right. The food was exquisite, and although it had its own unique flavor, it tasted familiar. The wine, which left an aftertaste of citrus and kiwi, made my tongue tingle, as if it was made from a grape that had yet to be discovered.
The feast was punctuated by lively conversation. Words were exchanged as often as platters of food. People looked over at me, but when my eyes met theirs, they turned their attention elsewhere. I detected no threat from anyone. I was the new guy and it was only human nature to be curious. They were no different than the people I used to pass on the street, except that most should be dead.
After I finished eating, I caught Eleanor looking at me. She blushed and turned away as soon as our eyes met.
“So, Mr. Sharp,” Inglewood said, “tell us about yourself.”
Everyone stopped talking and looked my way.
“Yes,” Eleanor said, placing her elbows on the table and resting her chin on her hands. “For starters, where are you from?”
I took a drink of wine. It was my fourth glass and felt like it. “Well, I’m originally from San Francisco. I…travel a lot.”
I had no idea what to say, even though I’d lived an adventurous life. Being on the spot felt like studying all night for a test, only to forget everything the second the test hit my desk.
“Forgive me for asking,” Eleanor said, “but what nationality are you? You have beautiful eyes, but they don’t quite match your features.”
I didn’t know how to address her question. It sounded like a compliment, but only about my eyes.
“Don’t get me wrong, darling,” she chortled, “I’m not indicating that there’s anything displeasing about your face. It’s just that you look like an—”
“A Native American,” I cut in.
She gave me a look as if I’d spoken a foreign language. Then I realized she must’ve come from a time where there was no such thing as political correctness. I smiled and added, “An Indian.”
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