The Voice inside My Head (14 page)

The hike back has sapped every ounce of my energy and I’m drenched in sweat, which seems to be my usual condition in this place. I’m not going to be able to think straight until I get a shower and some alone-time, so when a total
stranger rushes purposefully out of an open doorway and plants himself in my path, I simply swerve sideways to avoid a collision.

Unfortunately, as I jog right so does he, and when I shift left, he’s there as well. Standing still in frustration, I give him a bleary stare and take a startled step backward from the force of hostility in his bloodshot eyes.

“You got a problem?” I ask.

“I got a message for your sister,” he snarls, closing the six inches of space between us and shoving me backward. I hold my ground but begin to regret it as the reek of sweat and stale beer radiates off him.

I stare as he twitches in front of me like he’s got invisible bugs skittering across his flesh. Long fraying dreads, thin ropy body, corroded teeth — the guy’s obviously been downing a lot more than beer on a regular basis.

“You may not have heard,” I say, deciding to take a conciliatory approach. No point antagonizing a guy who’s got this much junk in him. “My sister has been missing for almost two weeks.”

“Are you makin’ fun of me, boy?”

I sigh, shift my weight and wonder how hard it would be to just knock him over and keep going. Shopkeepers are starting to appear, unlocking doors and sweeping the street in front of their shops. Is it my imagination or are they all pointedly ignoring us?

“I know ya sister be hidin’.”

“Excuse me?” My attention snaps back to the crackhead in front of me.

“She knows what’s good for ’er.”

“Are you threatening my sister?” I ask, still more confused than upset.

“Just saying what’s true is all. Ain’t no threat. Bobby gonna mess with her bad if she come back ’ere. Ya tell her dat. Ya tell her she bes’ stay missin’.”

I’m shaking from the charge of blood coursing through me as I struggle to keep my voice even. Is it possible I’ve finally stumbled across the person responsible for Pat’s disappearance? “What do you know about my sister?”

“Why don’t ya ask her?” he says, but I can see the thought dawning on him that maybe I really don’t know where she is. A smile creeps across his face and that’s when I lose it.

I’m on him before I realize it’s happening. The first punch connects with his rotting teeth, and I think I feel one crumble beneath my fist. He goes down fast, but I don’t have time to feel victory or even remorse as heavy hands claw at my back, pulling me up and hurling me across the street. I hit a storefront, stagger, then turn to take a full-frontal blow to the face. Stumbling backwards, I go down on one knee and am up again fast, just in time to take another couple of punches, first to my jaw and then to my stomach. As I hit the pavement, I see the crackhead is still lying in the dust where I left him. Looking up to see who’s pulverizing me, I see a boot coming for my head. I roll away and up onto my hands and knees, scrabbling sideways, trying to get on my feet before my attacker can finish me off.

A part of my brain registers shock. Who are these people? How can this be happening? But a greater part of me feels only fury. I’ve been wanting to hit someone from the time I heard Pat was missing. I launch myself at the hulking Rasta,
twice my size, and don’t even consider the consequences.

He catches me in midair and half-carries, half-drags me through an open doorway. I realize it’s the door these guys emerged from. I’m struggling, pummeling him, trying to break free, but it’s like he doesn’t feel it. I’m dimly aware we’re passing some half-empty tables. It’s some kind of bar, and there’re guys still drinking, though the sun’s well up. The only light is the wan beam filtering in from the door we just entered and a few slivers from some shuttered windows. There are a few glances our way as I’m frog-marched past, but I know none of these guys is going to help me. I stop struggling and just focus on staying upright as I’m shoved through another open door. I whip around as the door slams shut behind me and I’m in midair, hurling myself at it, when I hear a bolt slide into place.

I’m alone, in absolute darkness. I bang furiously on the door. “Let me out!” I scream. “Open the frigging door! Are you crazy? Let me out of here right now! Goddamnit!”

I hurl myself at the door, which barely shakes under the impact. Finally, I slump to the floor, pulling up my knees and resting my head on my folded arms.

“What did you get yourself into, Pat?” I ask out loud.

I jump as I hear a noise in the corner. For a brief second I imagine I’ve finally found her, but when the noise comes again I realize it’s just some rodent scurrying around.

“Who are these people? What did you do to piss them off?”

I peer into the darkness and slowly it seems to lighten. Just a few feet in front of me is a circle of radiance, and right in the center of it is my sister — not the Pat of my nightmares or the party girl I never knew, but Pat the way I’ve
seen her a thousand times, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her face buried in a book. She’s so close, I could reach out and touch her. My breath catches in my throat and I hold it, frightened I’ll startle her, scare her away. She glances up and smiles, as if amused by my nervousness, and returns her attention to the book. I hear the soft rustle of a page when she flips it. It occurs to me I haven’t slept in more than twenty-four hours. I’m probably dehydrated, and the blow I took to the head may be more serious than I thought, but if this is a hallucination, I don’t want it to end. I stay very still and watch her breathe.

She turns another page.

Lifting a lock of her hair, she absentmindedly winds it around her index finger, the way she always did when she was engrossed in something.

Her clear green eyes move back and forth along the lines. Her forehead puckers as she absorbs some random fact that she’ll sock away like a castaway hoarding supplies.

She flips another page and looks up, as if checking I’m still there. Then she shifts the book and turns it so I can see the page with her. The caption is too small for me to read, but the vivid photo of an undulating constellation gliding through its azure home is all too familiar.

An eagle ray.

I wonder if she’s reopening our argument of the previous day. I’m prepared to agree that this creature is as beautiful as it is dangerous if Pat will only agree not to disappear again.

Recoiling in shock when the door rattles behind me, I scramble away before realizing I’ve blundered into the space that my sister so recently inhabited. My carelessness has
extinguished her luminosity. I sense her absence as keenly as I felt her presence just moments ago.

“Pat,” I whisper desperately, trying to block out the snick of the bolt being slid across. I blink as light floods the room.

Now I can see I’m in a large storage room, a few cases of beer piled in one corner.

I’m crazy. That’s the only explanation. It’s one thing to make up conversations with my sister, and if I’m going to be totally honest with myself, it’s been a long time since those felt made up. But seeing her? I’m taking crazy to a whole new level. I should go back and move in with Martha.

I rise slowly and turn to the open doorway. Whatever or whoever is going to come through it, this is real.

Suddenly Dr. Jake rushes forward and pulls me into a bear hug. I’m not sure who I expected, but it wasn’t him.

“Damn it, mate, you had us all half-dead with fright.” He stands back, still clutching me with one hand, and puts the other up to my jaw. “He really knocked you about, didn’t he? But not to worry, you’re still in one piece. I thought a croc might have got you, so you’re looking a damn sight better than I feared. What were you doing going into the swamp at night? And then you come back and get into a row with Bobby’s boy.” He shakes his head at my colossal lack of judgment. “Were you trying to get yourself killed?”

I don’t know what to say. He thinks he’s talking to a rational person. Wandering in a swamp and starting a fistfight are the least of my lapses from sane behavior.

“Let’s get you home, then,” says Dr. Jake, realizing he’s not going to get anything intelligent out of me.

Bobby is standing in the doorway to the storage room and steps aside as Jake propels me through, one hand still firmly on my shoulder.

“He started it,” Bobby grumbles, but he looks away sheepishly when Dr. Jake holds up his hand for silence.

“I don’t want to hear it, Bobby,” Jake says. “Count yourself lucky I didn’t bring the police with me. You can be dead certain I will rain all bloody hell down on you if you or your boys go near Luke again.”

I stop just as we reach the door.

“Wait,” I say to Dr. Jake and turn back to Bobby. “What’s your problem with my sister?”

Bobby glowers at me.

“The boy asked you a question, Bobby,” prompts Dr. Jake. “Do you want to answer him or would you rather answer the police?”

“Ain’t no business of yours, Jake,” Bobby snarls, but when neither of us moves to leave, he continues, “Dat girl be bad for business, always saying she’s gonna put a stop to my activities. Ain’t none of her business. But it weren’t me that done her in, if that be her fate. You should ask dem who be dropping the cargo. It weren’t me responsible for killin’ all dem fish.”

I look at Dr. Jake to see if he has a clue what this guy’s talking about. To my surprise, he nods.

“She was upset about the drug drops,” Dr. Jake says. “Let’s go, Luke. We can talk on the way home.”

I scowl at Bobby. “If I find you have anything to do with my sister’s disappearance, I’ll be back,” I promise fiercely as I follow Dr. Jake outside to the street.

It’s blistering hot, and I wince as every inch of my body objects to the simple act of walking. My hand goes to my bruised stomach. I wonder if Dr. Jake’s right about no serious damage. He’s only a fish doctor, after all.

“What was he talking about back there?” I ask, though it actually hurts to talk.

“There was some trouble a few weeks back. A Venezuelan plane dumped some fuel drums and a huge stash of cocaine in the ocean just offshore, then crash-landed on the island. There’d been talk for a long time that traffickers were stopping off up at the airport to refuel in the middle of the night, but that was the first real proof.”

“What did that have to do with my sister?”

“I hope nothing, but she was mighty upset about it. She said something about organizing a meeting to demand an investigation. No one was ever caught, you see.”

“I do see,” I say, because this is the sister I know all too well — anti-drug, anti-crime, anti-anything that threatens her precious fish, and completely unable to keep her mouth shut.

“Do you think they did something to her?”

“As far as I know, there haven’t been any reports of planes landing since the crash, but she did disappear about the same time, now that you mention it.” He gives me a troubled look.

Any further speculation is short-circuited by Tracy barreling out of the Shark Center, which we’ve just reached, and flinging herself on me.

“Thank God you’re okay,” she squeals, clutching me to her breast. “We were all so worried. Dr. Jake sent out an all-points on the radio, asking if anyone knew where you were. Lemon Larry got back to him and said you might have gone out to old Martha’s, but when you weren’t back by this morning, we didn’t know what to think.”

“Radio?” I ask, as I determinedly pull away from her.

“The shortwave radio,” Dr. Jake explains. “Everyone on the island has one, every boat as well. It’s how we keep track of each other. Except Martha, of course. She says it interferes with her spirits, or some such nonsense.”

“Dr. Jake was on it all night,” continues Tracy. “We kept Station Sixteen open just for updates on you, but the last anyone saw, you were heading down the road past the airport.”

I didn’t even notice anyone around when we were passing the airport. It must be a bitch to cut school in this town.

“Sorry to scare you. We got lost and didn’t get there until after nightfall. Then we had something to eat and a bit of a rest before heading back.” I don’t bother filling him in on the voodoo stuff. In the clear light of day, I’m embarrassed that we went all that way for such a stupid reason and have nothing to show for it.

“Well, at least that was a good decision.” Dr. Jake gives me a stern look, reminding me it was one of too few in his book. “I expect you’re wanting some sleep now.”

I nod, though the truth is, there’s one thing that I hope will be worth following up on.

“Is Pete around?” I ask.

“He’s in the equipment shack,” says Dr. Jake. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“No, I just need to ask him something.”

“All right, then. I better get on the radio and let everyone know you’ve returned safely.” He ducks into the office, with Tracy close on his heels, while I head to the shack.

Pete is crouched on the floor sorting flippers into sizes and separating them into neat rows. It doesn’t look like he lost too much sleep over my disappearance.

“You’re back,” he says, barely glancing up from his task.

“I was wondering if I could ask you a few more questions about my sister.” I’m careful to keep my voice neutral.

Pete immediately stops what he’s doing and stands up, looking at me sharply. “I thought we’d covered that,” he says.

“Yeah, but you seemed a little unclear on the details before. You weren’t sure if you were speaking to Pat that night. Anything more come back to you?”

“No, just what I told you.” He folds his arms over his chest.

“You see, that’s strange, because someone saw you talking to my sister for a long time. In fact, she says it looked like you were hitting on her.”

“So I hit on her. So what? It doesn’t mean I had anything to do with her disappearance. She was by herself when she left.”