Oleander’s fate lay with Garrett. A black thought on a black night. I had other more pleasant black thoughts. That the sea scorpion and cayenne pepper were doing their thing. That’s what I hoped as we headed down the creeks to the channel to camp. All the way back, Mal slept, Cameron scanned the sky for shooting stars, and Rikard kept watching the creek behind us.
Camp was as we had left it. Mal struggled into camp and collapsed onto the sand. Rikard stood over him studying him; then he looked around.
“You want the Old Mullet Man to stay here with you tonight?” asked Rikard.
“There’s three of us … well two actually,” I said. “We’ll be okay.”
“You gonna give him his package?” asked Rikard, watching Mal curl fetal-like upon a gentle slope of dune.
“Tomorrow,” I said. “He’s got a date with a bar of soap and the Atlantic.”
“Well, do tell me what the hell it is.”
Rikard went to his bateau and came back, giving Cameron a revolver and a handful of bullets. I had Tyler’s .38 and my rifle. We wouldn’t be helpless.
After Rikard left, Cameron and I stepped behind the dunes to the latrine.
“Listen,” I said, “that crazy goat might be faking sleep. He might be faking everything. I’m going to wake him up. Walk him down to the surf and make him take a swim. There’s a bar of soap on the log we use as a table. Make him bathe and be sure he washes that nasty damn beard.”
“No problem. I wouldn’t mind a swim myself.”
“Keep him in the water until I come get you. I’ve got to check on something.”
“What?”
“That package his brother sent? I opened it one night in the fog. Inside were a letter and the cell phone you found. But, that wasn’t all.”
“What?”
“$50,000.”
“You serious?”
“Crisp, new C-notes. That’s why our camp was ransacked, I’m sure. I buried the money but haven’t had a chance to see if it’s still there. While you take the professor down to the water, I’ll check on the money.”
We went into camp and awakened Mal who babbled some nonsense about bluebooks, double truths, and metaphysics.
“Let’s go, professor,” said Cameron, taking the soap with him. “Let’s go take a swim.”
Mallory went with Cameron like a docile pet.
“Publish or perish. You’ve been published, I presume.”
“Professor, my work’s appeared in magazines all over the world,” said Cameron. “How about you?”
“Radio carbon fourteen and mastodons. Very hard to find you know.”
Cameron turned to me, shook his head, and disappeared through the dunes tugging the academician behind him.
I moved my tent, dug quickly, and reached into the earth. It was still there. I took out the pouch and repositioned the tent, smoothing the sand on all sides. I stuffed the pouch into my shorts and went to the beach. The professor stood in thigh-high water washing himself robot-like. Cameron came out of the sea.
“This guy is deranged. He was talking to each wave … giving it a grade. Every one flunked.”
“Why?”
“Too many absences. What are we going to do with him?”
“That’s a good question. It’s here,” I said, patting my shorts. “I’ve got it.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“Give it to him.”
“Why? It can’t possibly matter to him.”
“That’s why I’ll give it to him. That way I’ve upheld my end of the bargain. Get him.”
We led Mal into camp.
“Your brother sent you something.”
The firmament, a starry, starry night, illuminated camp with the surreal glow of distant galaxies. Mal lay there sighting the stars between his fingers, as if he were using a sextant.
“Mal,” I said, nudging him with my foot. Your brother sent you a gift.”
He bolted upright.
“Cain’s on this island.”
“Yes, bamboo and flytraps, too,” I said. “Here’s a gift from your brother.”
I took out the pouch, pulled out the letter, and gave it to him. The words lay beneath starlight.
He crumpled it.
“F. Improper format.”
“Well flunk this,” I said, handing him a stack of bills whose metallic ink shone silver. “$50,000, all for you.”
I dumped the stacks of bills into Mal’s lap. He began tossing stacks of bills across the dune.
“Take him to the beach.” Cameron led Mal to the beach, and I gathered and reburied the money then went down to the sea. A million stars filled the sky.
I walked over to Cameron.
“Someone sure fucked up these boys. He’s a lunatic, and his brother is a bastard.”
Mal turned to me. “So, you think my brother is a bastard?”
“You can make sense, I see.”
“Of course. So, you think my brother’s a bastard?”
“Yes. Your brother’s a bastard.”
“Ever thought about killing him?”
“Many times.”
“Good. You just earned an A in trust.”
“What’s with the nonsense you talk?”
“No one expects anything from a crazy man. Take the money. It means nothing to me. Cain is on the island. My brother intends to kill me. Dead men can’t spend money.”
“Cain. I see. So you think Murphy’s on the island?”
“If he’s not, he will be soon,” he said, tugging on his beard.
“I don’t think so. He went to Europe for the summer.”
“He’s coming to Sapelo. I don’t care for the Forbidden Island thing.”
“Why’s he coming?”
“To get a new lease on life.”
“Fifty grand doesn’t sound like a man who wants to kill you.”
“You work for him. Surely you notice how ill he is. Fifty grand? That’ll buy one of my kidneys. Maybe he’s getting a deal—two for the price of one. Either way, he’s going to kill me and you’re helping him. You’re his errand boy.”
“The hell I am. I’ve thought about killing him myself.”
“Be my guest,” Mal said, looking much like Murphy when he was angry. Then his expression softened. “You know, when we were kids our mom used to dress us alike. Mallory and Murphy, the inseparable twins. But things change. When dad died, well … money came between us. Money can split the strongest families. Seen it happen too many times.”
“It looks as if your brother is sincere.”
“Please. You underestimate my brother. Let me bring you up to speed. First of all I’m not going to Atlanta—”
“—I’m not taking you.”
“My destiny is here. Now, let me educate you. Murphy, Garrett, and I played on this island as kids. We pretended we were pirates—“
“—Did you say Garrett?”
“Yes, he’s my cousin.”
“ ‘Garrett.’ Is that his last name or first?”
“First. Last name is Ashley. Cousin Garrett, first cousin.”
“He’s a conservation officer.”
“So, you’ve met him I see.”
“You could say I’ve seen him in action.”
“Cousin Garrett’s a true gentleman, all right. He abuses blacks, chews tobacco, thinks women belong in the home, and won’t think twice about killing a man. Most of all he loves to hunt, and deer season is always open here. All of us, Garrett, me, and Murphy knew about Sapelo’s black market long ago. When I heard Murphy’s disease had confined him to a wheelchair, I knew my days were numbered.”
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked.
“Chronic renal failure—deteriorating kidneys. Surely, you’ve seen the frost on his skin. Either he receives a kidney transplant or he dies. What better match than a twin brother?”
“You sure know a lot about a man who hasn’t spoken to you in seven years.”
“My daughter. He used to call her all the time, such the loving uncle.”
“Then why come to Sapelo?” I asked. “You’re making it easy for him.”
“I have my work. Murphy has his. And Garrett has his dirty work.”
“We saw Garrett feed a man to a gator after they had removed his kidneys,” I said.
“I’m sure he enjoyed every minute of it. Garrett used to bring hunters over here to rustle deer. Then he stumbled onto the African poachers and found a better prey—humans. Every so often, the Africans let Garrett track one of their victims. As soon as he kills his prey, they move in for the organs.”
“How do you know all this?” I asked.
Garrett tapped his head with a finger.
“People say what they want around a crazy man.”
“You seem certain Murphy’s after you.”
“My brother needs kidneys, and here I am on the very island where black market poachers thrive. I don’t mind dying, I just don’t want Murphy to have my organs.”
“Why are you still here?”
“No way off the island.”
I went into my tent and brought out the burnt journal.
“Is this yours?”
“Yes. I had planned to publish my findings but Garrett and his pals raided my camp one night. I fled in the nick of time. Well, no matter. Except for one more thing, I have nothing more to say to you.”
“And that would be?”
“Murphy’s not getting my kidneys, I can assure you. I want him dead and holding onto my kidneys is my way of killing him. So now, if you don’t mind, the idea of a good night’s sleep in a tent is most appealing.”
“Whatever you say, professor,” I said, and with that Mal went into Tyler’s tent to crash.
Cameron and I took shifts standing guard, should unwanted guests return. The night passed without incident and near the end of my last shift, a coral rim edged the eastern horizon. I made coffee on the propane stove and awakened Cameron. Over coffee we debated what to do with Mal.
“There’s no point in giving the money to that fool again,” said Cameron. “So, just what are you going to do with it?”
“I came here to do a story on Rikard, which I have under control, and, of course, Brit is back with us. I inherited the mission of helping Tyler find her daughter, which she has. Other than the poaching story, my missions here are complete.”
“The money,” Cameron insisted, “what will you do with it?”
“How’d you like ten grand?”
“I could use a new camera.”
“I’ll split it five ways with you, Rikard, Tyler, and Lorie. But never forget. It’s blood money.”
I went over to Tyler’s tent to awaken Mal.
“Professor, we’re having a faculty brunch over cappuccino.”
Cameron and I poured another cup of coffee and waited. Mal didn’t stir. I went over and looked into Tyler’s tent. Mal had slit open its back and gone inland during the night.
“The professor’s on sabbatical, Cameron.”
It didn’t matter. We had no more business with him.
***
We canoed back to Rikard’s lodge beneath a rising sun and making it there took the better part of the day. We took great care to stay in lesser creeks and nearly got lost twice. At Conjura, Rikard’s gators parted as if we were Moses at the Red Sea.
I got everyone together and pulled the pouch from my shirt. Dumping the stack of hundreds onto the floor, Rikard let out a whistle.
I gave each one $10,000, and Rikard broke out a bottle of wine. Over dinner we recounted what had happened once Rikard left camp. That Mal was crazy like a fox and that he vowed never to let his brother take his kidneys.
“I hope he kills himself. That’ll be one less white man on the island,” Rikard said, leafing through his ten grand. “Money means trouble. Give me the pouch it came in. I got an idea.”
“What?” I asked.
“Can’t tell you but just be prepared. Right Camera Man?”
“Right,” said Cameron. “Always.”
I gave the pouch to Rikard, who took it into the back of the lodge and returned without it, sporting an all-knowing smile.
“What are you going to tell Murphy about the money?” asked Tyler.
“I’ll tell him I gave Mal the money and during the night he cut his way out of your tent and disappeared.
“You need to break camp down and bring everything here,” said Rikard. Make it look like you’ve left the island. Take my Whaler and get your stuff.”
Breaking camp made sense. We discussed just what we should do in the morning. Cameron decided to go ahead and take photos of the Bone Yard first thing when the light was right. Tyler and I would break down camp and return to the lodge.
We retired to our rooms. I was used to sleeping among the trees with Tyler and a sense of loss was eating at me, but Brit waited in Atlanta and that alone more than balanced me.
The next morning at dawn, Rikard gave me the money pouch, which felt far heavier than when it held money.
“Now, I ain’t telling you what’s in here cause it’d mess with your head. Just don’t open it. Don’t even think about opening it. If someone runs you down and asks for it, just give it to ’em. That’s all you need to do. Keep it in the shade meantime.”
Rikard and Cameron left for the Bone Yard long before Tyler and I left Conjura. It felt strange, empty, to know our days together were about to end, for now anyway, and we cruised in self-imposed silence. So much had come to pass. The Whaler that had brought us over lay beneath the Atlantic, a melted wreck. Here we were in another Whaler belonging to the fabled voodoo priest. Meanwhile, he and Cameron were documenting the Bone Yard. Everything was coming together.
I had wanted the days to blur into weeks and the weeks into months and they had. Tyler had burned her calendar right after Jackson died, and we had lost track of time. The tips of the marsh grasses gleamed golden and autumn had arrived. Soon I would see my daughter, talk to her, and explain things. And then there was Mary … waiting for me.
Tyler had Lorie and a grandchild on the way, as hard as that was to believe. My daughter was out of her coma, even harder to believe. Both of us had much to be thankful for. Halfway to camp, I was watching early morning storm clouds gather, lost in pleasant thoughts of Brit, Mary, and Tyler when Tyler stood and pointed.
“Over there, look.”
A boy lay against a dune on his back, struggling to get up. I steered the Whaler onto shore. The boy heard us and jerked his head toward us. Tyler made ready to leap out.
“No, wait,” I said. “Let me go.”
I jumped ashore and walked toward the boy and knelt. An outburst of Gullah came from him, none of it intelligible, and fear widened his eyes. He’d been shot.
“Hold on,” I said and he began to cry. Tyler stood on the Whaler’s bow like a mermaid. I went over and reached up to help her onto the sand. “He looks like one of the boys we saw crabbing,” I said.
“He’s crab bait now, folks” said a familiar voice from the dunes. “That’s what he gets for messing with Oleander.”
Garrett stepped forth carrying a gun, followed by the poachers. The evil doctor carried his bag, and one of the poachers carried the same case he had used to ice down Cade’s kidneys. Behind them, another poacher rolled Murphy along, his wheelchair leaving twin serpent-like tracks in the powdery sand. Wheelchair tracks, not snakes, had scared the boys and a hot shameful feeling took hold of me for being so stupid.
“Well, hello Slater. I hope you haven’t worked too hard on the voodoo story. I killed it and Cousin Garrett here intends to kill the writer as well. It’s just the kind of fellow he is. I see you have a friend here. Pretty too.”
“So, you didn’t go to Europe,” I said.
“This isn’t the French Riviera? Isn’t Monte Carlo just down the beach? You’re easy to dupe, Slater. Too easy. I was patient, waiting to hear Garrett tell me when to come to Forbidden Island. Thanks to the cell phone I sent my brother, Garrett and I’ve known your every move.”
“How’s that?”
“If you weren’t so phobic about them, you’d know more about them, Mr. Freelancer. Global positioning system technology let us track you.”
“In the phone you sent your brother?”
“Yes, it let us follow you all the way to Sapelo, but then it quit moving for a long time. When it started moving again, we went to work and here we are.”
Garret, doubled over in pain, then straightened. The poachers didn’t look so hot either. One unleashed a torrent of vomit against a clump of sea oats.
“Damn sure did,” said Garrett. “A satellite up there’s tracking you. That day at the dock, I knew you was there. What’d you think? I was on patrol or something?”
Murphy cut him short.
“—Shut up. I’ll tell him. This poor fellow killed his wife with a cell phone. Didn’t you Slater? Shouldn’t have been so excited about that promotion now should you? People like me always figure out a way to use technology in evil ways. GPS technology, Slater, let us find you. Cell phones haven’t been kind to you, Slater,” said Murphy rolling over to me. “But thank god your little girl lived, or I wouldn’t have had your ass under my thumb all this time.”
I moved toward Murphy but Tyler stepped to my side and held me. Murphy rolled over closer, drenched with sweat.
“Slater, Slater, Slater,” he said, wiping his yellow brow. “I’ve got another $50,000 on me to close the deal with Cousin Garrett and the doctor. $100,000 to rise up from this chair and walk again. Now that’ll be money well spent. Cousin Garrett, show them how business on Forbidden Island takes place.”
“Go get him, boys,” said Garrett, and the poachers swarmed over the boy, pinning him down. The doctor pulled a sparkling scalpel from his bag and cut slits into the boy’s back. Just as he’d done with Cade, the doctor extracted two ruby-red kidneys. Murphy, drooling spittle, rolled over to the boy as the evil doctor placed fresh kidneys into the cooler. Garrett kicked in the boy’s face, then shot him in the head. “That’ll teach you.”
“When we cut Mal open, I’m going to smear his blood over my face, like a boy who’s killed his first deer,” said Murphy, drooling heavily.
Garrett waved his gun at me, leaned against a palmetto, and heaved onto the sand.
“You have to forgive Cousin Garrett,” said Murphy, wiping his chin. “He doesn’t have a weak stomach. Just sick. He and his buddies had an oyster roast last night. They’re all sick. Ate some bad oysters. As for your meddling friend in the flowing robe, he won’t be a problem much longer.”
“Where is Oleander?” I asked.
“We’ll let you see him, won’t we fellows? And we sure don’t mind having a pretty woman come along for the ride. Take them back into the dunes.”
Garrett came over and shoved his revolver against me, pushing me duneward. Tyler and I followed Murphy into some dunes where the poachers circled us like vultures. A large, sandy basin filled with toppled trees spread before us dominated by a large gnarled tree with two stout limbs that branched out across from each other, a cross.
Thin copper wire held Oleander by his wrists, ankles, and neck. A swath of cloth covered his hips. Bronzed and tortuous, he looked like some Frederic Remington sculpture mounted on burled wood. With difficulty, he turned his head toward us.
“Slater, my friend, I am sorry to have brought you and the sweet lady into harms way.” The wire cut into his neck, and he had trouble breathing. “Please do not let them kill me.”
I started toward Oleander but Garrett stopped me, aiming his service revolver at me.
“Hold it right there.”
“Cut him down,” I said.
Murphy turned to me.
Where’s my $50,000? That’s my payment for one of Mal’s kidneys. He’s here somewhere on the island. As soon as we find him, Mal and I will go to the hospital ship so I can rid myself of this cursed illness, but first the good doctor here wants to practice on Mr. Oleander.”
The evil doctor walked toward Oleander, brandishing his scalpel.
We had grown careless and now we were paying the price. Life, which had looked so promising, now seemed over. I had to do something, but what? The only thing to do was to stall. Surely Rikard, if he were as all-knowing as he said—if this island were truly his—would come, though he and Cameron were at the Bone Yard taking photographs.
“I told you I gave the money to your brother.”
Murphy motioned Garrett over to Tyler. With some difficulty, Garrett moved to Tyler and ripped her shirt off.
“Slater, my good friend, you’re a liar and a bad one at that. Your wife’s in her grave thanks to you. Never forget that. You want this pretty lady to join your wife?”
A moan escaped from Oleander. I looked out to sea where a thundercloud was blowing in, and jagged forks of lightning blazed across the horizon. Then, just beyond the Whaler, a pair of porpoises surfaced.
Rikard? Had he and Cameron left the Bone Yard? With great effort I brought my face back to the dunes.
“I could tell you I gave the money to your brother, Mal,” I said. “I could tell you he took it and slipped out of camp while we slept. And I could tell you we haven’t seen him since, or I could tell you he burned the money right before our eyes. So you tell me what he did with it.”
“A starving writer would never let a crazy man burn fifty grand. You’ve got it somewhere. We checked your camp, couldn’t find it. Tell you what, if you don’t give me my money, your pretty lady friend here can entertain Garrett and his friends before we kill her. It’ll be fun to see the rest of her clothes come off. We’ll have a little party right here on Forbidden Island.”
Garrett walked over and shoved his hand into her bra, and Tyler slapped him so hard he nearly fell. Garrett slapped her back and the poachers all took a step toward her.
Rikard was right. Timing was everything and ours had been the worst possible. A storm raged out at sea, but here the merciless sun beat down and the heat was unforgiving. The seaoats waved in the wind, and the island’s beauty remained but the island itself had become the death trap everyone predicted. I thought hard for some way to escape. Just then, a solitary pelican soared across a ridge of seaoats and flew right over us.
“If I give you the money, will you let the three of us go?”
“Where’s the money?”
“I’ve got it.”
“Where?”
“Close by,” I said.
“Where?”
“Like I said, close by. I’ll tell you but you’ve got to leave her alone.”
“Where the hell is it, Slater? You’re pushing your luck.”
“In the boat.”
Garrett threw Tyler to the ground and came to me, shoving me hard toward the Whaler.
“Let’s me and you go get it.”
“Watch him,” said Murphy. “Get the money and bring it to me.”
Garrett shoved me again as I stopped at the dead boy.
“One of Oleander’s boys. He was pretty good bait.”
Garrett for sure was a damn hick. I had spent my entire life avoiding his kind and here he was holding our lives in his hands. Rikard’s maleficia could not cut him down soon enough.
Just beyond the Whaler, the dorsal fins of two porpoises again sliced the surf, and this time they stood and backpedaled just like the porpoises that had brought me the canoe. I looked up beach. Nothing. Low over the dunes adjacent to the ones where Oleander hung from the crucifix, a solitary pelican circled back toward us.
Garrett snatched me by the shirt and held his gun against my breastbone.
“What you looking at? Damn porpoises do that a lot. Keep moving. Git in there and git the money. Try something and you’ll never git out of that boat alive.”
I climbed into the Whaler and reached into the console where the pouch lay in darkness. I offered the pouch to Garrett, but he waved me off. He bent over the wavering surf and unleashed a torrent of vomit. He was sick, very. Wiping his mouth, he cursed.
“Damn a damn oyster. I ain’t never eating ’em again. Now let’s just walk back to the dunes.”
We walked past the dead boy back into the dunes. As we did, the wind surged. The storm was rolling in, and maybe just maybe, it’d give us a chance to so something.
Murphy rolled over.
“Give me that.”
Rikard’s words floated into my consciousness. “Don’t even think about opening it. If someone asks for it, give it to ’em. That’s all you need to do.”
Murphy motioned Garrett over.
“Do me the honor of opening this, please. My hand’s a bit weak.”
Garrett ripped the zipper open, and the next second unleashed Hell. A rattlesnake sprung from the pouch and struck Garrett’s throat. Stumbling back against a dune, he flung the snake away, which hit the sand and coiled by Murphy’s chair. The poachers froze for an instant and an instant was all that mattered.
For the rest of my life, I’d remember the next moment as being “in the zone,” a time when everything appeared in absolute clarity as if it were in slow motion. Garrett swung his revolver heavily toward me, and just as he had the barrel on me, a streak of brown and white feathers plummeted from the heavens, knocking the gun from his hands. I pounced on it and had it clean around its checkered grip.
I fanned Garrett’s gun across Murphy, across the dunes, across the world, and a vision appeared over the barrel. Oleander strode into the dunes in his white flowing tunic and turban. The storm blew in from the sea ruffling his tunic, billowing it against a backdrop of dark purple sky that made it all the more radiant. Lightning flashed and arced over his regal head, and then a sharp rattling split the air from within his gown, which jerked as if the wind plucked at it. A volley cut down the poachers to a man.
Murphy attempted to roll his chair but could go nowhere in the soft sand. The rattler slithered into the seaoats as Oleander strode toward us, the AK-47 visible now. Yet, in the dunes, Oleander hung upon his cross.
The robe dropped and the turban came off to reveal the fabled voodoo priest of Sapelo. Rikard, shaven, with a thin layer of muck darkening his face walked over to Garrett and kicked him in the stomach.
“How about it, officer? You don’t look too good.”
Rikard kicked him again. Tyler walked over and spat onto Garrett.
Rikard went into the dunes and cut Oleander free. “You going to finish Garrett?” I asked.
“Nah, he’s done.”
Murphy’s arms worked the wheels and the electric motor whined but there was no escape. He was right. He might as well try swimming through a pool of peanut butter.
“Let me help you Murphy,” I said. I pushed the wheelchair up to Rikard and stopped.
“Let me introduce you to Murphy, the professor’s brother.”
Rikard shoved the AK-47 barrel beneath Murphy’s chin.
“Are you full of shit too?” Rikard asked with cold contempt.
“Please, just take me down to the hard sand where I can make it back to the ship,” Murphy said, with begging eyes. He was genuinely afraid, truly on his own now.
“Tilt his head up,” I said.
Rikard shoved Murphy’s heavy head up. A large drop of rain spattered against his brow.
“Look up there into the storm clouds, Murphy,” I said pointing skyward. Rikard’s osprey circled, his call falling down faint but clear. “Don’t you think that osprey is about fifteen stories high, about as high as our office off Peachtree?”
“Yes. Just let me go. Please.”
“If a man was up there looking down on you and me and I rolled you into the sea, he wouldn’t be able to see anything but the tops of our heads. If I drowned you, he wouldn’t be much of a witness would he? I’d be, in your words, a ‘piss-poor’ witness.”
“Please don’t drown me.”
“I can’t swim Murphy, so I’m just not sure if I can take you out far enough. Or could I? You’re a lot shorter than me in that chair. Well, let’s just see. The writer gets to take his boss for a swim. Isn’t that something? Here we are all the way from fifteen stories above Atlanta to sea level, and I’m your boss now. That’s quite a comedown.”
Murphy fumbled with a pouch tied to his chair and came out with another stack of C notes.
“Take these. They’re yours. Just let me go.”
“Where you gonna go chief? The French Ri-vi-e-ra?” Rikard asked, taking the money from Murphy. “That’s twenty grand apiece now,” he said.
“You heard his smartass remark earlier?” I asked.
“Sure did. Been here a while hiding in the dunes. I was gonna slip over behind the dunes where Oleander is and cross ’em, up but my snake got things off to a good start. Hell, that ol’ rattler made it easy. Say, look over there to that tall dune thick with seaoats.”
Cameron stood, camouflaged in seaoats, camera, tripod, and all. He was a golden version of a Viet Cong soldier who stalked the jungle wearing the jungle, a killer, only Cameron’s killing weapon was a camera.
“Long ’fore we got to the Bone Yard, old Camera Man didn’t like the light—said it wudn’t pretty. So we turned around right quick like. Decided to come help you break down camp. Like I say timing is everything … ev-e-ry-thing. He’s photographed ev-e-ry-thing. Got the poachers slicing open that boy, Garrett throwing up, Oleander on the tree, the rattler popping Garrett, even got my osprey doing his thing and me shaving clean. Now that’s a first.”
Thunder boomed, shaking the island, and Murphy began to cry.
“All I wanted was to be reunited with my brother. That’s the God’s truth. Garrett’s the one who urged me to take Mal’s kidneys. I just needed one. He was in it for the money. He double-crossed me. He swore you had made off with the money… He told me to bring another fifty grand with me. I was going to talk some sense into him.”
“Murphy you’re a rotten liar,” I said, “and what’s worse you’re a rotten human being, rotten to the core. Just minutes ago, you were making fun of my wife and daughter, remember?”
“It was all an act for Garrett.”
“Let’s go down to the sea, Murphy. I’m going to wash all your sins away.”
I tilted Murphy’s chair back and pushed him through the dunes until we made it onto the hardpan sand where the going was easy.
“The hospital ship’s what, maybe nine miles that way,” I said.
“Yes, oh thank you, thank you Slater. When we get back to Atlanta, not one word of this leaves my lips. We’ll get the magazine back to what it was.”
“Shut the hell up, Murphy.”
I pushed Murphy past Rikard toward the surf line, which was far out and would soon be coming in with high tide. Rain pelted us, and lightning dropped in jagged forks. I pushed on toward the surf.
Murphy turned his yellow-gray, rainstruck face to me.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m giving you absolution.”
The surf ran in over Murphy’s dangling feet, and I pushed onward though the going was difficult. We entered the sea and the water came over the hubs, swirling around my shinbones. Now the surf rose even more, shifting the wheelchair and Murphy’s ride became amphibious. Waves pushed against us and I pushed back against the waves.
Suddenly, the battery, inundated by saltwater, arced, shooting sparks that mimicked the great arcs splitting the sky above us. The motor snatched and revved and a surge of electricity prickled my legs. I let go of the chair, and Murphy’s ride spun, paddle-wheeling backwards into the sea. The waves coursed over his head, giving him the appearance of a sweeper desperately trying to hide a bald spot from younger women. The chair lurched, and the wheels backpedaled further into the sea, each wave covering more and more of Southern Escape’s executive editor until a final wave swamped him as the storm flew over and past us.
I watched bubbles from his final breaths surface amid a few rain craters dotting the sea. I had only meant to scare him. If the sea wanted him, good. It had him. It could keep him and in time nothing but a corroded chair would remain, encrusted with minute sea creatures, and some day not even that would remain.
I walked back to the dunes where Cameron was fast working his camera on a tripod behind a solitary palmetto. Cameron pointed to the sky far out over the sea. And gave me the thumbs up. His face told me all I needed to know. I stepped out of his way and turned. A rainbow stretched from one horizon to the other, a deep, saturated primary rainbow like no other I had ever seen, red on the outside, colors of the prism within. A freshening wind picked up, shredding the clouds. The sky was a beautiful fresh blue, and where clouds had been, a crescent moon floated in the sky.
Cameron’s camera worked away. He was bracketing his exposures and working the lens for various combinations.
The rainbow bridged the sea and centered itself over the palmetto where a silver slice of moon hung softly in the sky. Dead center the composition, the most beautiful rainbow I’d ever seen arched over the body of Murphy J. Quarrels, editor, Southern Escape.