The Purgatorium (16 page)

Not for the first time, Daphne worried Brock had been detained by someone at the resort. Maybe they had him at gunpoint, just as they’d had her, hoping she’d come for him and right into their trap. If she weren’t so exhausted and dizzy and sore, she would have gone back by now instead of sitting beneath the giant oak with her eyes closed.

For the past few hours her mantra had been, “A few more minutes.”

“When the sun sits beneath the cloud bank, I’ll go,” she had said. But when the sun was no longer shrouded in white, she cringed, exhausted and weak. “When it reaches that headland, I’ll go.” Once again, she could not muster up the strength.

Now the sun was no longer visible from where it set on the other side of the island, and soon dusk would settle over her, and then darkness. Although she was frightened of spending the night in the dark alone, she knew there were worse things, and so had resigned to stay.

She might have been happy to sit there with the old oak tree, confident the search for her would be put off for the night, if it weren’t for her fear that they’d harmed Brock. Sure, they would use him for bait, but that didn’t mean he’d be
live
bait.

Then it occurred to her he might have injured himself on his way to find her and could be lying on the beach or at the bottom of a ravine unable to go on. The memory of Pete being swept by the tide into the cave chilled her. Brock could be dying, and here she was on her butt against a tree. She had to go back and look for him. She couldn’t make the same mistake she’d made with Kara.

She climbed to her feet, using the tree for balance, her legs wobbly and her back sore. Finding her footing in the sandy dirt, she trudged swiftly in the direction she came, aware that dusk was upon her and night was coming. She climbed up the hill toward the rocky crags above the sea cave that had swallowed Pete and then down past the pier along the beach as dusk gave in to darkness. The steep bluffs of Bowen’s Point made her cry as she dragged herself back up to the summit. She had zero energy and was on the verge of fainting from lack of food and water. But she made it up to the headland and the old wooden sign. She fell to her knees to catch her breath.

When she lifted her head toward the mainland, she was shocked by all the beautiful lights shining from the California coastline. She could imagine all the people safely in the cities dining in restaurants, watching movies at the cinema, listening to IPhones, playing online computer games, drinking coffee, and driving back and forth along the highway to visit friends and relatives.  At one time, she had been among them but hadn’t realized how lucky she was. She had eaten in restaurants and had gone to movies and such, but she hadn’t appreciated her freedom and safety because of the guilt and shame she carried around. She had been miserable, even in the safety of her own home, feeling she couldn’t allow herself to enjoy life when she had ruined it for so many others. But now, standing on the summit of Bowen Point gazing across the dark oblivion that was the ocean, she knew, as she longed to be back on the mainland, that, if given the chance, she’d change. She thought so, anyway, standing there at that moment. Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe it would be too hard. Maybe she’d go back to the way things were. But she wanted to believe she could allow herself to be happy, to forgive herself and to realize Kara, her parents, and even Joey would prefer her to be happy.

She heard the sound of rocks sliding to her right where a beam of light danced at the top of the headland. Her heart fluttered as she grabbed the nearest rock for a weapon and cautiously peered down. Brock clambered up with a light attached to a cap on his head. She dropped the rock with relief.

“Where have you been?” She took his arm and helped him to the top. “I’ve been so worried.”

He hunched over, breathing heavily, and, when he could, said, “Man, Daph, when you said you were going ahead, I didn’t know you meant this far. Hell, you’ve crossed half the island.” He shrugged out of his backpack and dropped it at her feet.

She threw her arms around him and burst into tears. “Oh, Brock!”

He held her close and kissed the top of her head. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m sorry it took so long.”

“I saw a dead body. Someone I met earlier today.” She shuddered. “His name was Pete.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Over down there by the pier. The current swept him under a cave. I couldn’t get to him.”

“Are you sure he was dead?”

“If he wasn’t then, he is now. What are we going to do?”

Brock stepped back and dropped to his bottom on the rock. “I can’t believe it.”

“I told you, this place is dangerous.” She sat close beside him, unzipping the pack for water. She drank down an entire bottle in a less than a minute.

“It must have been another trick.”

“Brock, I saw him with my own eyes.”

“He must have been acting.”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“Dr. Gray told me all about this place, about the therapy, about your parents sending you here. That’s what took me so long to come find you. I’m not supposed to let on I know. I’m supposed to get you back to the resort in the morning—it’s too dark and dangerous to attempt it tonight.”

“What?” Daphne was incredulous and began to tremble with anger and confusion. “I told you, they had a gun. Stan had a gun pointed right at me.”

“It wasn’t loaded. It was all an act.”

“But Pete—”

“He was in on it. That’s why I can’t believe he’s dead.”

“Hortense Gray said he was in on it? She said
Pete
was in on it? But Pete ran away, like me. He was going to get help.”

“She explained everything to me. Cam was there, too.”

“You saw Cam?” She could feel the heat rush to her sunburnt face. “He was with them?”

“And Stan and Larry. A whole group of them. Dr. Gray had me follow her into the main building and they told me all about what they do for the people who come here. I wasn’t supposed to tell you yet, but I can see how upset you are and, like I told them, I’m no actor. They shouldn’t have asked me to lie to you.”

A blast of wind blew against them and whipped her ponytail into her face. The sky was dark, the stars not visible above the gray clouds, which were also barely discernible in the soft, distilled light of the half moon. Daphne shivered, dumbstruck, trying to process all that Brock had said.

“But the horse threw me. I could have been killed.”

“They said that was an accident, and they’re upset about it. They’re worried they’ll be shut down.”

“They should be.”

“They said they herded you back to this part of the island. They knew you’d run, and if you hadn’t, another actor would have found you and brought you here. They have that Gregory guy on standby. I think he likes you.”

“Gregory Gray?” Her mouth dropped open for the umpteenth time.

Brock shrugged.

“I don’t believe it. They’re lying. Larry told me this place was about the watchers, not therapy for me. Larry said that. You can’t believe anything they tell you.”

The two of them sat in the darkness and the quiet and said nothing more for many minutes. Daphne opened another water bottle and ate more of the food—crackers and slices of cheese and summer sausage. The grapes were like explosions of wonderful as she popped them into her mouth and bit down.

“Look, I know you’re tired,” Brock finally said. “Dr. Gray sent a sleeping bag, knowing we’d be caught out here.” He tugged it loose from the pack and unrolled it.

“Only one?”

He cracked a smile. “Two would’ve been too bulky to carry.”

“I see.”

“She also sent sunscreen and ointment for sunburns. Let me put some of this on your back and shoulders.”

Although the ointment gave her goose bumps, it soothed her burnt skin and brought her relief. Sounds of pleasure escaped from her lips as he coated the cream across her back where her halter top had failed to protect her.

“This bruise doesn’t look too good,” he said.

“That’s where I fell off the horse.”

“Am I hurting you?”

“A little, but it mostly feels wonderful.”

He rubbed more of it along her shoulders and arms. She reached for the tube so she could apply some to her legs and face, but he snatched it away and whispered, “Let me.”

So she closed her eyes as he gently applied the cream all over her sore, tired, burning body. Over and over she said, “Oh, thank you. Thank you.”

When he had finished, he unzipped the sleeping bag and crawled inside. “I’m sorry all this has happened to you, and I honestly don’t know what to think. I doubt your parents would’ve sent you here if they knew what it was really like.”

“Did my mother actually tell you she and Dad sent me here?”

“No. She told me about a letter and asked me to bring a check. Dr. Gray said that was all to get me to the island.”

“You weren’t expecting…”

“No.”

“So they could be lying. Don’t you see? Wouldn’t my parents have said something to you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to think.”

“Bet you’re sorry you got mixed up in all of this.”

He lay down and linked his hands behind his head, gazing up at the sky. “I’m not sorry, Daph. I’ve missed you.”

Her throat tightened and tears rushed to her eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve been hoping you’d call.”

“
You
could have called.”

“Wouldn’t do any good if you weren’t ready.”

She thought about that. “No. I guess not.”

“I’ve been in touch with your parents.”

“Checking up on me?”

“Of course. But they never seemed to know anything either. We’re all so worried about you. Especially after last New Year’s.”

“Don’t talk about that.”

They were quiet again, until he said, “Come here.”

She screwed the lid back onto the plastic water bottle and climbed into the sleeping bag beside Brock, resting her head on the crook of his arm. As she stretched her body and relaxed, an involuntary sigh escaped her lips. 

“It’s too bad we can’t see the stars,” Brock said.

Daphne closed her eyes. “I’m too tired to care.”

“Try to get some sleep. I won’t let anything else happen to you. If you want to leave the island, I’ll make it happen.”

She couldn’t resist giving him a soft kiss on his cheek.  “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m not as scared now.”

He leaned over and touched his lips to hers. Tears slid from the corners of her eyes and dripped down to her ears.

“God, Daph, it’s been so hard without you.”

She yielded to his kisses and kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his waist and turning to her side to press her sore body against his. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered in between kisses. “I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

His warm, damp tears bled onto her cheeks, and she pressed her hand against his back and pulled herself hard against him.

“I still love you, you know,” he said.

“I know. I know. Oh, Brock.” She kissed him again. “I love you, too. It was never about that.”

“I know.” He rubbed her sunburnt arm.

“Ow.”

“Sorry. I can feel the heat coming off your skin. Poor Daph. Try to get some rest now.”

She nestled against him and closed her eyes and felt at peace.

Sometime in the middle of the night, the clouds broke. Brock whipped the sleeping bag over their heads, but soon they were drenched, Daphne’s newly burnt skin unable to keep her warm in the wind. She shivered all over.

They struggled from the bag and gathered their things with the light on Brock’s cap providing little help in the thick rain. The lightning in the distance illuminated the headland as they made their way down toward the east. The rain turned the white stone slick beneath their feet, and, as they scaled down the side, they slipped and half-fell to the next level of rock before finding the path to the beach. They ran across the now-wet sand, past the pier, and through the narrow gaps between the crags, resting for a moment beneath a cliff edge, but because it provided no protection, they ran on until they came upon the sprawling old oak.

They crawled beneath the thick branches and sat with their backs against the trunk, shivering and panting beside one another. Only some of the deluge made its way down to them through the manifold of twisted branches and leaves all around them.

“Are you okay?” Brock put an arm around Daphne.

She nodded. “Just cold.”

“The sleeping bag’s worthless.”

Shivering, teeth chattering, unable to speak, she nestled against his wet, warm body. He lifted her chin and pressed his wet lips against hers, sending shocks of heat through her.

He whispered at her ear, “I’ll take care of you. Go back to sleep.”

Wrapped in his arms, his warm breath against her neck, she relaxed and, despite the torrent, fell asleep.

In the morning, Daphne was awakened by the sound of her own name being whispered near her ear.

She smiled and opened her eyes and stretched under the oak tree with the damp sleeping bag beneath her head and her own hair tickling the sides of her face with the gentle breeze. The water lapped the shore a dozen yards away, and the sun, low in the cloudless sky, hid behind the rocky bluffs. A hundred birds called out to one another from where they roosted in the thick branches above.

Where was Brock? She sat up and looked around, her stomach clenching.

This is not the haunted side of the island.

The whisper came again, this time behind her. “Daphne.”

She jumped to her feet and ran in all directions but saw no one. Could it have been the swaying of the leaves?

Out in the sea, Brock jumped over the waves with his hands in the air, his bare back to her, and he was shouting, “Woo, hoo!” repeatedly.

A smile crossed her face at the sight of his revelry, and she decided she was just tired and edgy and was hearing things that weren’t real. She fished through the backpack for more grapes and then, carrying a bunch, walked across the sand to join Brock in the sea.

The cold water crawled up her legs toward her thighs, and she let out a squeal when it reached her waist.

“Hey,” Brock said. “You look happier this morning.”

“Should we head to Scorpion Anchorage right away?”

“They think I’m bringing you back, remember? They won’t search for us for a while.”

She popped a grape into her mouth. “Want one?”

“No thanks. Sleep alright?”

“Guess so. You?”

“Best night of sleep I’ve had in months.”

Daphne laughed. “You had your best sleep against an old oak tree during a storm, soaked, cold, and without a proper bed?”

“Yep.” He stole a grape from the bunch and popped it into his mouth with a wink.

Even though she teased him, she felt the same way. She had felt at peace in his arms.

“Brock,” Daphne’s mouth went dry. “What if I can’t do this? What if it’s like last time?” She hadn’t meant to ask him that. The words spilled out.

His smile dropped at the corners, and he gazed at the sea. Then he turned his blue eyes to her and said, “Don’t worry about hurting me. I won’t be any worse off the second time.” He moved closer and put his arms around her. “If you’re willing, it’s worth it to me to try again.”

She buried her face in his bare chest, warm and wet and hard with muscle. She wanted to kiss him and to leave him at the same time. “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be. Try to enjoy life as much as you can. Let go of the past.”

She pulled away and took several steps back. “But that’s the problem. I can’t. I don’t know how.”

“If it had been you and not Kara, if Kara had heard but hadn’t gotten up, would you want Kara to be miserable for the rest of her life?”

“Of course not.”

“What if she’s watching you from heaven? What if she has to witness your suffering?”

“Are you going to say I’m selfish again?”

“I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.” He stepped toward her.

She narrowed her eyes, unable to control how defensive and angry she felt. “But you believe it, don’t you?”

“No. I understand better now. I’ve done a lot of research on survivor’s guilt, which is what you have.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” She gasped at her own cruelty. “I’m sorry. Oh, Brock. I didn’t mean that.”

He clenched his jaw and walked past her toward the shore. “It’s okay.”

She followed him. “What did you discover, in your research? Anything helpful?”

“Sure.”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s easier to believe you could have done something to change what happened than to accept your own helplessness.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, the water washing over her calves.

He stopped, too, and looked back at her.

She thought about that. Was that was she was doing? No.

“I
could
have done something. If I’d gotten out of bed, Kara would be alive.”

“Maybe.” He kept walking. “Maybe not. Maybe you’d be dead, too. We’ll never know.”

She followed him through the waves toward the beach and back to the oak. She thought about what he’d said. Was she fooling herself into thinking she could have prevented Kara’s death?

She wished it had been her instead of Kara. Tears sprang to her eyes as she peeled through the branches and sat against the thick trunk of the tree. Brock dusted off and rolled up the sleeping bag.

“It should have been me,” she said out loud. “I don’t mean to sound like a baby, but it’s true. She was smarter, and faster, and prettier, and I was so jealous of her. I hate that about myself. I wish I could have been happy for her, but I wanted to be better than her, and I wasn’t—not at one single thing.” The tears ran down her cheeks and her body shuddered. “I hate my self-pity, but I really do believe even my parents wish it had been me instead of Kara.”

Brock knelt on the ground and tied up the sleeping bag to the backpack, shaking his head. “No wonder you’re miserable.”

Daphne’s mouth fell open. “Wouldn’t you be?”

He stood up with his hands on his slim hips and looked down at her. “First of all, I doubt they wish it had been you.
You
wish it had been you. They wish it had been
them
. That’s survivor’s guilt. But let’s say your parents are cruel enough to wish it had been you instead of Kara. Then they’re assholes and you have to cut them loose and go on with your life, because your life has value.”

“They aren’t assholes.”

“Any parent who wishes one child was dead in place of another is an asshole, Daphne, plain and simple.”

“They can’t help it. Kara was so good.”

“And you’re not?”

“I’m not
as
good.”

He crossed his arms in front of his chest and frowned. “Why do you say that?”

How had they gotten into this? Daphne wanted to stand up and run away, to the other side of the island—anything but talk about this.
Because
, that’s why! She wanted to scream,
Because!
Before she knew what she was saying, she was shouting, “Do you know what the last thing I said to her was? She had borrowed my favorite Hollister shirt without asking. I didn’t know until we got home from school—she was in junior high and I was a sophomore—and I made her take it off right away, right there in the living room, afraid she’d get her supper stains all over it. When she took it off and handed it to me, I,” she broke into sobs and shouted through the lump in her throat, “I swung it at her and told her she should ask next time. She said she would have asked, but she left for school earlier that morning and didn’t want to wake me up, and Mama said it was okay. I yelled that it was my shirt, not Mama’s, and I was planning on wearing it. She said all her shirts were getting too small.

“I was such a bitch. Who cares about a shirt? I was fifteen and she thirteen and I was hitting her with a stupid Hollister shirt. The truth is she looked better in it. We didn’t speak to each other all night. Joey had heard us screaming at each other, and he sided with me. He wouldn’t have thought she was possessed if I hadn’t gotten so mad at her…wouldn’t have gone to her room. Oh, Brock! Don’t you see? My stupid tantrum, my idiotic jealousy, made him kill her!” Daphne covered her face with her hands, so ashamed. She hadn’t told anyone this and hadn’t meant to. She didn’t want anyone to know how petty she had been, how mean she had been to her sweet sister the day before she died, and how truly, unalterably, Kara’s death had been her fault.

Brock fell to his knees and took Daphne in his arms. He held her so tight that it hurt, but it hurt in a good way, a comforting way, and she was glad. He didn’t say anything, but held her until she stopped shaking and sobbing and was still.

At last he kissed her forehead and said, “Maybe one day you’ll see how typical that was, fighting with your sister over a borrowed shirt, and how impossible it was to know it would set Joey off, if it even did. Now let me put some of this sunscreen on you.”

“Wait a minute.” She searched his eyes. “Are you still saying it wasn’t my fault, even after what I just said to you?”

“That’s what I’m saying.” He took his shirt from the back pack. “Here, you wear my shirt and help me with this sunscreen.”

She sat beneath the oak lathering the sunscreen across his back and her own arms and legs in stunned silence. Brock still didn’t think it was her fault, even after hearing the whole story. She’d told no one, sure everyone would despise her even more than they already did. Why didn’t Brock despise her?

When they finished applying the sunscreen, Brock got up and helped her to her feet, swung the backpack across his shoulders, took her hand, and led her east, toward Scorpion Anchorage.