Uncharted (27 page)

What would it cost him to restore her pride? Not much.

He tipped his head and spread his arm with a gallant flourish. “After you, my dear.” After a long moment, she took his hand, lifted her chin, and walked through the gaping mouth of the cave.

“Wow,” she said, her voice stronger now that they were no longer competing with the wind. “This place is bigger than I imagined.”

Kevin had to agree. Hollowed by the wind and surf, no doubt for hundreds of years, the front chamber was larger than his master bedroom. Thin gray light streamed through openings above, while the wind whistled in the empty space overhead. The sandy floor sloped upward and leveled off as he and Susan approached the back of the first cavern.

Except for a trail of fresh footprints, the floor had been smoothed by waves, evidence that the tide
did
enter this cave, and often. Horizontal lines of seaweed decorated the sand and clung to the rock walls.

They’d not be spending the night in
this
chamber.

“Kinda damp for my taste,” Susan said.

Kevin lifted his head. Though he couldn’t see the others, he could hear their voices through a tunnel at the back of the cavern.

He gestured toward the entrance. “Shall we join the rest of the group?”

“Why not?”

Kevin brushed his hand against the gleaming walls as they proceeded. The stone seemed to be a composite of materials—the sharp sand, crushed seashells, and other forms of rock. His palm was covered in tiny scrapes when he turned it; crimson lines emerged over the deepest abrasions.

“Are you hurt?” Susan’s whisper broke the silence.

“Fine. I shouldn’t have been careless.”

The tunnel led to another cavern, this one completely enclosed except for one high fissure that let in a narrow stream of light. Like superstitious primitives paying homage to an unknown deity, the others had gathered around the spot where the light painted an uneven circle on the floor.

Mark had chosen well. The sand here was unmarked and dry, as were the walls. Water may have once swirled in this chamber, but not lately.

Karyn smiled at Kevin as he approached. “Whaddya think? Almost all the comforts of home, right?”

He forced himself to look at Mark. “No cisterns?”

“Not here, but I haven’t explored all the tunnels. I thought we could establish a base and search after getting some rest. That passageway behind you could wind almost anywhere.”

Susan sank to the ground beside Karyn. As he sat, Kevin noticed that neither Karyn nor Lisa even glanced at Susan’s odd headgear.

Mark stretched out his legs. “Tomorrow we need to concentrate on building a signal fire.”

Kevin gestured to the ceiling of their shelter. “Should we build the fire on top of the big rock? Would that be more visible?”

Mark considered, then shook his head. “That’s the best lookout point, but smoke is smoke. It’s gonna rise no matter where we build the fire.” He nodded at Kevin. “I’m thinking we can use that trench you started. We’ll fill it with rotten wood, a couple of logs, and anything else we can find that’s flammable. Once the fire’s going, a couple of green palm fronds will keep it smoking.”

Karyn waved for attention. “How are you planning on starting this fire? I think it’s safe to say none of us has matches.”

Mark gave her a relaxed smile with a great deal of confidence behind it. “I can start a fire. All I need is a piece of glass.”

Kevin snorted softly. Mark talked like he could do anything, but he hadn’t been much of an achiever in college. Hard to believe a leopard could change his spots . . .

Lisa caught Kevin’s eye. “Maybe we should position a lookout on top of this rock.”

Karyn lifted her gaze to the narrow opening. “How are we supposed to get up there?”

As always, Mark was quick with an answer. “You’ll have to go outside and climb the rocks along the edge. But who knows? Caves have a tendency to lead into other caves, so we may be able to climb out through an interior passage.”

“Whatever.” Susan’s one-word answer was more like a bark, and in it Kevin recognized the sound of exhaustion.

“We’re tired and dehydrated,” he said, looking around. “I think we should stretch out and try to get some sleep. We can focus on building a signal fire and look for water in the morning.”

For once, neither Mark nor Karyn argued with him.

Leaning against a sandy rock, Lisa studied the uneven aperture in the ceiling and prayed for sleep that refused to come. Even though gray light still streamed through the overhead opening, the others had grown quiet.

She propped herself on an elbow and looked around. Kevin had taken the position nearest the tunnel. His eyes were closed, but his foot jiggled in hyperactive movement, so he wasn’t asleep. The corner of Lisa’s mouth twisted in a smile—he was probably waiting for the touch of a cold tide at his back so he could warn the group.

Karyn had curled up a few feet away from her ex-husband—near enough to hear the comforting sound of his snoring, perhaps, but far enough that no one could accuse them of being attached. Susan had curled into a ball against a jutting boulder. She looked uncomfortable, and Lisa wondered if her injury was terribly painful. The gold organza was only one layer thick over Susan’s brows, and even from a distance Lisa could see dark circles bracketing the blue eyes that once charmed dozens of frat boys.

She shivered, remembering the awful moment when she’d glimpsed the damage done to that flawless face. In that instant, all she could think of was the flounder she’d filleted for dinner before leaving Seattle. Her knife had left the same kind of gash, and the fish had looked like Susan’s cheek—translucent, bloodless, gaping.

It would take more than one operation to repair that mutilation.

Lisa drew a deep breath and looked to the right, where Mark lay at the farthest point of the cavern. He wasn’t moving, but he wasn’t snoring, either. And Lisa knew from experience that Mark always snored in his sleep. His snoring could rival the crack of doom.

She exhaled softly. She couldn’t help but laugh every time she thought of the day she met Mark at the college post office with a wrapped parcel. When she asked if he’d received a care package from home, he proudly explained that the box contained “the Bullworker,” an exercise gadget guaranteed to “tighten the abdomen and increase the biceps in only fifteen minutes a day.”

From that moment, Mark’s allure began to lose its luster. They dated a few more times, but although she would remain his friend, she no longer wanted to be his girlfriend. How could she admire him when the other guys outshone him on every occasion without even trying? Neither David nor Kevin needed gadgets to bolster their self-confidence.

The memory of David’s face brought a trembling smile to her lips. He should be here, not lying in his grave. Even in these horrible circumstances, their circle felt incomplete without him.

Mark waited until the others had settled, then he stood and pretended to stretch. No one spoke, no one sat up, so perhaps they really were asleep.

Moving past Kevin with a silent tread, he left the chamber and stepped into the tunnel, then lifted his head like a cat scenting the breeze. He smelled only the stink of decomposing seaweed.

After glancing over his shoulder to make sure none of the others had decided to come along, he stepped into the tunnel and followed the winding passageway. Now he was quite alone, which was how he preferred to hunt. Especially in this godforsaken place.

He hadn’t walked thirty feet before he discovered another cavern. The sand at the threshold was dry and smooth, a sure sign that no human or animal had ventured into this place in months, if at all. The space beyond was as dark as a freshly dug grave, but as Mark stepped into the chamber, a light shone from above, illuminating a strangely familiar scene.

He took a quick breath of utter astonishment, then blinked in pleased surprise. He was looking at the interior of his church, but the pulpit had been replaced by a large white screen. A projector sat on a stand down front, and Jack Hempell, his pastor, stood by the machine, his finger on the start button. Mark squinted, then smiled when he spotted the back of his own head. He was seated, as usual, front and center, on the second pew. Pastor Jack gestured to someone Mark couldn’t see, then the overhead light dimmed and a movie began.

Mark suppressed the urge to laugh. Susan’s bizarre ideas had convinced him and Kevin that dehydration caused mental confusion, so this hallucination had to be the result of exhaustion and prolonged thirst.

At least it was entertaining.

Mark crossed his arms and leaned against the stone wall as the film flickered. At first he could barely see the grainy images, then he placed the setting—Melbourne, where he made his first kill back in ’91. He saw himself smiling at pretty Lois Armor as she struggled to manage an armload of groceries and unlock the trunk of her car; he saw his smile vanish as he swung a baseball bat at the base of the young woman’s skull.

A flutter of horror ran through the church assembly. A slight coldness wrapped around Mark’s bones as he peered into the cavern and studied the people watching from the pews. They leaned toward each other, exchanging confidential whispers and shocked cries. The women pressed handkerchiefs to their eyes; men squared their shoulders and draped protective arms around their wives.

But this had never happened. The people at his church would never guess his hidden identity. To them, he was and always would be Mark Morris, outgoing car salesman, generous contributor, and one of the most eligible bachelors in the singles department. This had to be a figment of his imagination. The polluted atmosphere of this island must contain traces of some mind-altering chemical or poison . . .

Though he was curious about the spectators, movement drew his attention to the skittering images on-screen. He watched himself put Lois Armor in the trunk; he heard his cheerful whistle as he unlocked the driver’s door. A bag boy walked by, pushing a load of groceries for an older lady. Mark smiled at both before tossing Lois Armor’s groceries into the passenger seat and settling behind the wheel.

The scene faded to black, then shifted to his backyard. For an instant he was disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to relive the actual kill, then he noticed the blood-stained sack-race bag at his feet. For the next few minutes he watched himself open the bag and dispose of the evidence in the pond, then his younger self turned toward the camera.

The image snatched Mark’s breath away. His boyish features had been replaced by a fat face; his thick brown hair had receded, leaving a bald skull sprinkled with freckles and fuzzy strands. An oversized
infant’s
head rode atop his body; his chubby hands were those of a
baby
. . .

The implication filled his mouth with foul, burning rage.

Was this film saying that he was as unable to control himself as a two-year-old? Was it implying that an
immature
brain directed his grand plans?

What sort of trickery was this? These images couldn’t have risen from his subconscious, because he
dominated
his world; he had held and manipulated and quenched nearly three dozen human lives. So who had put this film together? Who controlled this cursed place?

“Where
are
you? Show yourself!”

The still air of the cavern shivered into bits, the echoes of his scream scattering the particles of light that formed the illusion. Darkness settled over the cave once again.