Private 10 - Suspicion (13 page)

I heard a rustle and whirled around. Abranchbehind me swayed as if something had just leapt off of it. My heart catapulted to my throat. Another rustle sounded, this time to my left. I turned, but didn't see anything. Something skittered across my foot. I yelped in terror and jumped about three feet in the air.

Thunder rumbled overhead and the rain came down even harder. I stared helplessly at the trees, tears welling in my eyes. I had two choices. Find a tree to hide out under, or go back out to the beach and be pounded by the elements.

I took a deep breath.

"You're just imagining things," I told myself, rounding my shoulders and adjusting my meager belongings in my arms. What was it my father had always told me when I was little and terrified by the spiders in our basement?

"They're more afraid of you than you are of them."

Right. Anything that was living on this little island was going to be afraid of me. After all, it was pretty clear they didn't get a lot of human visitors around here. To them I'd be a giant, freakish monster. Hope-fully.

There was a blinding flash of lightning followed by a crack of thunder so fierce the ground shook. Just like that, I was on the move.

A few minutes of careful hiking and I came to a small, circular patch of land filled with soft, knee-high plants. The area was surrounded by large trees. One of them had thick, heavily vegetated branches, and the ground beneath it looked dry compared to the mud in which my bare feet were now mired. I ducked under the branches and sat down with my back against the trunk, then let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. It was perfectly dry under the canopy of branches. I wrapped my arms around my shivering self and smiled slightly. See? I could do this. I could survive.

I lay the plank of wood down on the dirt in front of me. Then I removed my shell from my sopping wet silk clutch.

"I can't believe this," I said aloud. "Three mornings. Why am I still here?" Three mornings without food. Without water. Without anyone to talk to. How much longer could I do this?

"Stop it," I told myself. "Stop it, now."

I was not going to start a pity party now. I had just found myself a dry place to wait out the storm. That had to count for something. I dug the shell into the plank and made a third line. I should be proud of the fact that I had made it through the last few days. Proud that I was still here to draw these lines. Proud that I-I heard another rustle. My heart stopped beating. I squinted past the branches of my tree into the gray forest. A crunch. A loud series of crunches. Holy crap. The leaves on the plants outside my tree were moving. Something was out there. Hidden beneath the camouflaging leaves of the plant life. And it was coming this way.

I dropped the shell and picked up the plank of wood. Glancing around, I wondered if I should run. But if I did, would it chase me? One glance back at the vegetation and I realized it was too late. The thing was coming on fast, cutting a direct path through the underbrush, right for me. I pressed my back into the rough bark of the tree, pulled my knees up as close to my body as they could get, and wielded the plank like a baseball bat. I was just going to have to defend myself.

It was three feet away.

Please just don't let it have sharp teeth.

Two feet.

I don't think I can do this.

One.

I wanted to close my eyes, but knew I couldn't. I had to defend myself; there was no one else here to do it.

The underbrush stopped moving. There was a prolonged moment of complete stillness, save for the rain pounding overhead. Maybe I had imagined it all. Maybe there was nothing there. My muscles started to relax.

And then, something flung itself at my feet.

I screamed at the top of my lungs, jumping up and slamming the top of my head into a tree limb. I was going to die. This thing was going to attack me. I looked down at the ground, my head throbbing angrily, and froze. Looking up at me was a yellowish-green lizard, about the size of a kitten. It stared at me inquisitively with one eye, its head turned to the side. Its little pink tongue flicked out, then back, then out, then back. It was actually kind of cute.

But that didn't mean it wasn't vicious. Or poisonous. Or even meat eating.

"Um, hi," I said quietly. "Sorry if I disturbed you, but... could you go away now?" The lizard thing turned its head, looked at me with its other eye for a moment, then skittered off into the forest.

Ever so slowly I sank back down to the ground, my nerves still trembling. I placed my head between my knees, curled my shoulders forward, and laughed. I laughed for what felt like ten minutes. Laughed until my sides hurt and tears were streaming down my face. It was a great release. A necessary release. And when I was done, I was exhausted. I crossed my arms atop my knees, rested my cheek on them, and looked down at the three white lines on my plank.

"Upton, you'd better show up today," I said under my breath. "You get one more day. After that, we're going to have to have some serious conversations about where this relationship is headed."

DONE

Five lines. Five pretty white lines on a dark piece of wood. One, two, three, four, five. Five mornings with no food. Five mornings with no shelter. Five mornings with no sign of Upton Giles, the guy who claimed he loved me.

I had really thought Upton was going to save me. I figured he'd pay the guys off, find out where I was, and swoop in to rescue me. Obviously, that hadn't happened. So what had happened, exactly? Would I ever know? Was I goingto die on this stupid fruitless, foodless, waterless island never knowing why?

God, I had turned into a whiner. I was such a whiner I was starting to annoy myself. But then, I had no one else to talk to. And really, if you can't whine in a situation like this, when can you whine?

Why hadn't I gotten on that commercial flight to Atlanta? Why hadn't I followed my instincts and fled? Because Noelle and Upton had convinced me to stay. I had allowed two people who clearly didn't give two shits about me to keep me here. Here, where I was clearly going to die. Two shits. That was a funny expression.

The bandana that was formerly my gag was covering my head, two corners tied under my chin to secure it. It was morning, so I had removed the T-shirt that had been serving as a meager blanket at night, and sat at the edge of the tree line in my now tattered and muddy red dress. Last night it had rained again and I had ventured back the woods, looking for my tree, but I hadn't been able to find it. Instead I had spent way too much time wandering hopelessly in circles, tipping fat leaves toward my lips to drink the tiny, tiny puddles of water that had formed there. My stomach had reacted with anger. Obviously, it had assumed something better was coming, not just a few teaspoons of water. I had retched it all up moments later, my knees pressed into the cold, wet earth, my hands braced on a fallen log. Not my finest moment.

But then, none of the moments on this island had been. Not the hours I had spent trying to use my compact mirror to light a fire, which had never worked. Not the spectacular fall I had taken from the rock ledge while trying to spear those teeny-tiny fish with a branch. Not the many, many, many nervous breakdowns I'd had, crying out for Upton, for my parents, for Josh, for anyone. There was a point last night, when the rain had been pounding down around me and I had been shivering uncontrollably under the darkened branches of a twisted, nightmarish tree that gave less than zero shelter, when I had even wished the kidnappers would come back.

Because clearly I was going to die here. And if they came back, it would at least be quick. Where were they? Maybe Upton had refused to pay. Maybe they had gone to the person who had hired them, told whoever it was that I was already dead, taken their money and gone. Why not? I was as good as dead. This way, they didn't have to waste all that gas, not to mention the bullet it would take, to finish the job.

I looked down at my arms, raging red with sunburn, and pressed my lips together against the onslaught of horrifying emotions. Above all, I was disappointed in myself. I had always thought I was a strong person. A survivor. But as it turned out, I was helpless--and hopeless. I hadn't been able to make fire. Hadn't been able to find shelter. Hadn't eaten a thing in five days. In books and movies, when people were thrown into this situation, they always rose to the occasion. They fashioned axes out of sharp rocks and homes out of tree limbs and palm fronds. They learned to catch fish, clean them, cook them, and eat them. They even found ways to entertain themselves, tossing rocks or chasing crabs or exploring caves. But I was bored. Bored, tired, scared, starving, weak, stupid, useless, friendless, loveless, sunburned, dirty, and done.

I stared at the pile of driftwood I had built for the fire I had been so certain I was going to start. The wood was gnarly and bleached white from the sun. If I looked at it just so, it could have been a pile of bones.

That was what I was going to look like when--if--anyone ever found me. One big pile of bleached white bones.

WATCHING

Six white lines. Six. Yesterday I had assumed I would never see six white lines. Had assumed I'd be dead before that could happen. But I woke up this morning. Not dead.

Weird.

It was another beautiful, sunny day in the Caribbean. Not a cloud in sight. Somewhere people were reveling in this fact. They'd picked a good week for vacation, all right! Butnotme. I wouldhave given up a limb for a cloudy day. My skin was peeling off in long strips. As much as I tried to stay in the shade, it was freezing the moment I stepped--or crawled, usually--from the beach into the tree line. Unbearably so. Freezing inside, scorching out. There was no in between. And so, I was burned. My lips were chapped and blistered. My throat as dry as the sand under my ass.

My ass. I looked down at it now, thinking about it for the first time in days. It actually hurt from all the sitting. Maybe I'd go for a walk today. Yeah. I was tired of looking at this stretch of ocean. Maybe it looked different from the north. Sure it did. Why not? I got up, leaving my T-shirt on for some sun protection, and started to walk.

Huh. My legs actually worked. Even after five--no, six--days with no food, my muscles still worked. They were a little--whoa there-wobbly, but they worked. I walked along the beach, my feet crossing over each other as I stumbled alongtryingto keep balance, and looked around, feeling quite proud of myself.

I was still alive. Ha! Take that kidnappers. Still alive. Maybe it was my butt that was feeding me. I always thought it was kind of round. I bet my body was eating up all the fat stores from my butt now. Yeah. See, having a big ass is a good thing. Good, good, good. They should put that in magazines. Why diet? Why stay thin? If you ever get kidnapped and left for dead, your fat ass could save your life!

A light breeze blew my hair across my face and suddenly I felt dizzy. I put my hands out in front of me, but the beach tilted and spun. My sore butt hit the sand hard, radiating pain up my spine. I blinked a few times, trying to get my bearings. Then I laughed. A breeze had blown me over. Things could not be good if a little breeze could knock me down like that. I rolled over onto my stomach, folded my arms in the sand, and rested my forehead on my forearms. Probably the backs of my legs were a lot whiter than the fronts. Maybe I should just lie here and even out the color.

Red in front, red in back.

I laughed even harder. Laughed until I coughed. Coughed until I was gasping for air. My throat constricted, my lungs burning with pain. Was this it? Was this dying? I tried to push myself up on my elbows, but my muscles quivered and I face-planted in the sand. Sucked sand into my mouth with the next cough. Gagging. Gagging. Gagging. I rolled onto my side. Heaved. Spit sand everywhere. Convulsing, drawing my knees up toward my chest. Tears streamed down my face into the sand. Dying. This was me, dying.

"Reed."

I blinked. Covered my mouth with my hand to try to quiet the cough. Surely I was imagining things. I had not just heard my name.

"Reed."

I squeezed my eyes shut. I was hallucinating. Dammit. I really was dying. How many times could one person die?

"Reed. Up here. Lookup."

It was Thomas. Son of a bitch. Thomas was here. So maybe I was already dead.

"Come on, New Girl," he said, his voice teasing. "You can do it." I rolled over onto my stomach again and looked up in the direction from which I thought the voice was coming. Looked at the tree line, just a few feet away, and gasped. Blue eyes stared back at me from the darkness of the forest. Thomas's blue eyes. Had God sent him here to take me to heaven? Because if I was going to go, that would be a really cool way to go. But wait, Thomas had not, technically, been the most pious do-gooder on earth, what with the drug dealing and the lying and the short-temper problem. Had he even one to heaven? Crap. What if he was here to take me to hell?

"You're not dead, Reed. Just come here."

"I can't," I said.

My arms were so weak they felt like noodles. There was sand in my mouth, up my nose, in my eyelashes.

"Yes, you can. You can do anything," Thomas said. "I've been watching you, Reed. You have no idea how strong you are."

"But I-"

"Just come here," Thomas said, growing impatient. "There's something I want to show you."

Well. That was intriguing. My dead ex-boyfriend had something he wanted to show me? I mean, who could turn down an offer like that? I braced my hands under me and pushed as hard as I could, lifting myself up onto my knees. The head rush was excruciating and long. Way too longto be normal. But eventually, my vision cleared and I could make out shapes and colors again. Thomas was still there, his blue eyes peeking out at me now, from under a low bush.

I squinted. How could he be that low to the ground?

Edging forward on my knees, I called out to him. "Thomas? What are you doing? I so don't have the energy for hide-and-seek."

I shoved the low, thick leaves of the bush aside and gasped. The blue was not Thomas's eyes. It was the label on a bottle of Evian water. I grabbed it, fully expecting it to disappear right in front of me, but it didn't. I was holding an actual bottle of water. A full bottle of water. But no. It wasn't possible. This island was deserted. I hadn't seen a soul, a boat, anything, in six days. This was just another hallucination. A really horrible one, since I could feel the plastic beneath my fingers.