The Island (11 page)

He was eleven when it happened. He’d never felt pain as intense as he’d felt that day. He’d passed out in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. They told him later his heart had stopped. He’d never forgotten his stinger suit after that day.

Lee met his eyes, his hand still on Shaw’s thigh. “And you still swim in the ocean?”

Shaw ran his fingers up Lee’s forearm. He liked the way gooseflesh appeared and the fine hairs stood upright as his fingers grazed over them.

“I didn’t, for a while,” Shaw said, and then glanced away. What was he going to say?
You have to overcome your fears? You can’t let the pain beat you? You have to be strong
? Jesus, he’d told Lee he wasn’t his friend, and now he was going all Dr. Phil on him. Maybe the kid was smarter than he thought, humanizing Shaw instead of himself. That was interesting.

Lee waited for a moment and then removed his hand and turned away again.

Shaw watched the ocean.

“He made them dig their own graves,” Lee said suddenly. “In Colombia.”

Shaw didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say.

Lee closed his eyes briefly. “There were three of us alive at the end. And he made them dig their own graves, and then he made them watch when he fucked me. And then he made me watch when he shot them.” He shivered.

The security patrol headed closer. Shaw stroked Lee’s back quickly and then dropped his hand back onto the towel.

“And the whole time, all I could think was how strange it was he was using a condom,” Lee murmured. “Seemed almost considerate. Then I realized it was because he was going to give me to whoever wanted a turn.”

Shaw nodded at the security guards as they passed. Hanson smiled at him.

Lee watched them warily, waiting until they’d turned up the path that headed up to the bungalows and the main house before he spoke again. “And, you know, when those other two guys were watching, I could see they pitied me. They’d just dug their own graves, and they pitied
me
. How fucked-up is that?”

“That’s fucked-up,” Shaw agreed quietly.

Lee drew a deep breath. “Yeah. Maybe it is better when I’m drugged. Doesn’t feel real then.”

Shaw ran his fingers gently down the scars on Lee’s back.

“I’m scared,” Lee said in a low voice. “I don’t wanna die here.”

“I know,” Shaw said. It wasn’t the response that Lee needed. He was seeking reassurance, but Shaw couldn’t give him that. It was out of his hands. “Come on back inside. I’ve got work to do.”

* * * *

Lunch was waiting on the veranda when they arrived back at the bungalow: coral trout on a bed of coconut rice, salad, and wine. Shaw sat and ate, saving a portion for Lee. Lee, sitting on the boards of the veranda at Shaw’s feet, looked like he was going to cry with relief when Shaw passed him a piece of fish.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

It struck Shaw as infinitely cruel that Lee still remembered his manners.

Lee was too thin, Shaw thought, and too pale. It was enough that he was probably going to die here. Shaw didn’t see any point to make him suffer unnecessarily in the meantime. And that, he supposed, was the difference between him and Vornis.

“Go and get my laptop,” he said, and Lee scurried to obey.

Shaw set it up so he had to squint in the light to see the screen. All the harder for the cameras to pick up a decent angle. Shaw appreciated Vornis’s need for security but not when it encroached on his own need for privacy.

There was no reply from Callie yet, but Shaw hadn’t expected one. Callie might be a miracle worker, but an inquiry this sensitive would take time.

Shaw was glad to be back at the bungalow. He shouldn’t have told Lee it was okay to talk on the beach. He didn’t need to get drawn in any further to the kid’s misery. There was too much danger that he’d feel like doing something about it. And that was not why he was here. He had to remember that. Shaw couldn’t be Lee’s salvation. He couldn’t be his anything. The danger in showing him any kindness at all was that Lee would misinterpret how far it could go.

Shaw flicked through the few photos on his laptop. Molly, of course, surrounded by the shredded cushions of his new lounge suite, looking up at the camera with her head on an angle.
What
, she seemed to say,
what did I do
? Molly at the beach, the first time they’d gone. She had no idea what was going on when Shaw had coaxed her into the shallows, and then, holy crap, the water was coming right at her! She’d been frightened at first, then confused, and by the time Shaw took her photo, she’d been frolicking like she’d been born in the water. The last photo was his favorite. Molly, sleeping on his bed, with her head on Shaw’s pillow like she owned the place.

Shaw looked down at Lee. And that was the problem. You couldn’t save every broken little animal in the world. You had to pick your battles.

This is a dangerous game, Shaw, he reminded himself, and you don’t need the distraction.

Lee looked up at him through his brilliant green eyes, and Shaw saw something in them that he really wished he hadn’t: trust.

* * * *

Vornis sent Irina and a pair of guards down to Shaw’s bungalow that night to borrow back his toy for an hour or two. He’d had an idea for something he wanted to try. Something new. Shaw hated to think what that might involve, but he shrugged like he didn’t care either way and smiled when a security guard hauled Lee to his feet and Lee whimpered.

Irina’s eyes widened at the sound, and Shaw looked at her curiously. Another soft touch? Maybe, but he wouldn’t bet on it.

Shaw didn’t watch as they led Lee away. He turned on the television instead and watched the news. He poured himself a glass of wine and leaned back on the bed and tried to look like he gave a damn about rioting in the Middle East. And he should, he supposed, because things like that always impacted on his work sooner or later, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Lee.

What was
new
, to Vornis? Shaw’s imagination was vivid.

Christ, what did it even matter? He couldn’t have stopped it. He’d chosen not to try, but that was beside the point. He knew it wouldn’t have made a difference. All he could do was count the minutes and hope to God that Lee didn’t spill his guts about what he and Shaw had done. Or hadn’t, as the case was.

The wine tasted sour in his mouth. Christ, but he dealt with some frightening fucking people. The thing he couldn’t understand, that he would never understand, was that Vornis had a wife and kids, and he doted on them. Shaw had met them before, another indicator of Vornis’s trust in him, and Carmina was beautiful and charming, and the kids were sweet and happy. And Vornis, when he was with them, was a different man. Shaw was no stranger to duality, but with men like Vornis, it worked on a whole different level. How could he help his daughter with her homework after he’d tortured a man? How could he ruffle his son’s hair with the same hands that were so often steeped in blood? How could he make love to his wife when he was a rapist?

Shaw closed his eyes briefly and listened to the newsreader go on about the number of prodemocracy protesters killed. Prodemocracy in the Middle East, Shaw thought. If you lived long enough you saw everything. It was the staying alive that was the tricky part.

Almost three hours passed before Lee came back. Shaw heard the footsteps creaking on the veranda steps, and little exhalations of pain that matched the rhythm of the footsteps. Shaw was glad he heard them before he saw them. He wouldn’t have been able to force a smile otherwise.

“Here you go, Mr. Shaw,” Hanson said. “Mr. Vornis apologizes for the delay.”

Lee was a mess. His lip was split, one eye was swollen shut, and when Hanson pushed him to his knees, Shaw saw that his back was covered in bloody welts. There was a nylon rope fastened around his neck like a noose, pulled snug. His hands were tied behind his back.

Shaw drank the last of his wine and looked at Lee like he didn’t give a fuck. “No problem.”

“Good night, sir,” Hanson said. He grinned broadly as he looked at Lee.

“Good night.” Shaw placed his wineglass down on the table. “Get in the shower, boy.”

Lee couldn’t stand, so Shaw helped him up and then helped him down the steps into the bathroom. His fingers worked at the knots around his raw wrists until the rope fell free, and then Shaw loosened the noose and drew it carefully over Lee’s head. He unfastened Lee’s pants and let them drop to the floor. He pushed him gently into the shower, following in his board shorts, and turned the water on.

The water was only cool, but Lee screamed when it hit his back. He tried to pull away, but Shaw held him there.

“Hurts!” Lee whimpered. “Hurts!”

“Gotta get it clean,” Shaw told him, forcing him still. “You can handle it.”

Lee dropped his head forward onto Shaw’s shoulder. “Fuck. Hurts.” His voice was raw.

“I know,” Shaw told him. He took the bar of soap and began to work it very gently across Lee’s back. Lee flinched. “Have to get it clean.”

When he felt Lee could stand it, he turned up the hot tap.

Lee flinched again, but held himself still under Shaw’s ministrations. “I thought he was gonna kill me. Why doesn’t he just kill me?”

Shaw didn’t answer that. He only knew it could take Vornis a lot longer than three hours to kill a man, if he had the inclination to draw it out. And he would, for Lee. He touched the ligature mark around Lee’s throat. It was narrow and swollen. Shaw could see where the thin nylon had cut Lee’s skin. Christ, Vornis was a monster.

“They strung me up,” Lee said. “Couldn’t breathe. God, it hurts.”

“I know,” Shaw said again. He turned Lee around gently and began to wash the soap off his back. Lee flinched as Shaw’s hand slipped down to the crease of his buttocks. “Maybe you should clean yourself there.”

“Yeah.” Lee’s face was a mask of humiliation as he turned back to face Shaw. He took the soap, lathered up his hand and winced as he moved it around behind himself.

Shaw didn’t let his pity show. That was the last thing Lee needed right now.

“He made me beg for it,” Lee said, dropping his eyes. “He likes that.”

“Those are just words,” Shaw told him, wondering when the shower had become the confessional, and wondering how desperate Lee was to unburden himself to a man he didn’t even know. All Shaw had done was not rape him. That was how pitiful Lee was. He should have known Shaw wasn’t that much better than Vornis, particularly after tonight, but he was too desperate to see it.

“I told him I wanted it,” Lee said, his voice rasping. “
Begged
for it.”

“Words are worthless.” Shaw knew that better than most people. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“What if it does?” Lee asked suddenly, his eyes wide.

Shaw shook his head. “I don’t know what went on tonight, but it doesn’t matter what you said in there. It doesn’t matter if you begged for cock.” He put a hand on Lee’s shoulder. “And it doesn’t even matter if you meant it.”

Lee flushed with shame.

“So you meant it,” Shaw said in an even voice. “Why wouldn’t you, if it stops the beating?”

He wondered if Lee had seen it yet, or if he was so desperate to spill his guts to Shaw that he hadn’t realized. Nothing he said had horrified Shaw, and nothing would. Shaw wasn’t his salvation. Any consolation he offered was empty. Shaw lived comfortably in the hell where Lee had been tortured.

“Anyone would beg for it,” Shaw told him. “That’s the point.”

Lee frowned slightly. “Yeah,” he said, and Shaw knew he didn’t believe it. It was the truth, but it hadn’t reached him. “Yeah.”

Shaw remembered the way Lee’s eyes had shone with hope that afternoon. Shaw wondered if he missed seeing it, but it wasn’t a bad thing that it was gone. Lee needed to know where things stood. Shaw wouldn’t hurt him, but he wouldn’t prevent him from being hurt either. It wasn’t much of a moral distinction, but Shaw had always operated in the gray areas. Shaw made decisions every day that would entangle ethicists for years in debate. Shaw didn’t have the luxury of time. He made a decision, stuck to it, and stretched the morality to fit it later. Square pegs into round holes; everything could be made to fit in the end with a little mental dexterity.

Shaw was very good at that.

“We’ve all done things we’re not proud of,” Shaw said and regretted it at once. Lee looked so grateful that it made bile rise in Shaw’s throat.

Lee’s tears for the camera were real that night. Shaw positioned him on his hands and knees on the bed, and if he raked his fingers down the kid’s back to make him cry out in pain, what did that matter? He was tired of rubbing himself against Lee like a dog in heat. He was tired of jerking off furtively and making it look like rape.

The longer Shaw stayed on the island, the more he lost his focus. The longer he stayed with Lee, same story. Why should Shaw be the only man on the island with a fucking conscience? Why shouldn’t he take what was offered, the same as the rest of them? Shaw hated himself for what he was becoming, and he hated Lee for holding up a mirror to his ruthlessness. He wanted to punish Lee for that, just a bit.

Afterwards, when Lee was crying into the pillow, Shaw took his hand under the cover of the sheets and held it.

He was no better than Vornis, probably. The small secret signs of affection were just another form of torture. Why didn’t Lee see that he was nothing but a cold shell? It felt strange when Lee slept deeply that night and sighed when Shaw entwined his fingers with his own.

* * * *

Shit.

Shaw stood at the edge of the water, his feet sinking into the wet sand. He stared out into the black Pacific, he listened to it, he demanded it work its magic. Nothing.

Shit.

He was at the end of his tether here. He hated his. He hated that Lee trusted him, because it came with a hopeful expectation that Shaw was in no position to fulfill.

“You’re going to die here,” he told the ocean, told Lee. Would have told him, except he’d left him sleeping in bed. “You’re going to fucking die here.”