“Not Clint, not Clint II…” He balled his fists by his sides.
Georgia charged over to Trey, yanked the jagged-edged blade from his hand, scowling, “Give me that. We have two minutes to do all five. I’m tired of your incompetence.”
And, then swishing over to Kalani, she sank to her knees, held the blade with both hands over her head, and screaming, plunged down deep into his chest.
Colby shut his eyes against the sights and sounds of ribs cracking and Georgia grunting as she muscled through his body with her athame. Nothing could block the animalistic shrieks filling the basement that came from Kalani’s chest. “Oh, God.” He shuddered, hearing Nate and Sam and Alex murmuring through their gags, responding with similar repulsion.
He ventured a glance to see where she was at in the process and watched as she lifted a still-beating, deep scarlet mass of flesh toward the ceiling. “Dark Lord, I give you the first heart of a fertile young man.”
Breathe…
Colby sucked in air through his flaring nostrils. It would not do to have him choke on his own spew, though at this point, it’d be better to faint and disconnect from reality than witness the carnage. Trey continued to stand frozen, fists by his side. He looked like a toddler getting ready to charge at his parents for not letting him have another bowl of ice cream.
“Grrrr!” Colby screamed through his gag. Stop her! Don’t do this!
“My name is Trey,” he said again, louder this time.
Yes, your name is Trey! Colby screamed inside his mind.
Georgia tossed the heart into the bowl with a blunt thud, wiped her brow, and scooped to collect the blood still spurting from Kalani’s expired body. Then, she placed it on top of his chest, marking the completion of the first sacrifice. Colby couldn’t see Kalani’s expression from where he lay on the ground, but he remembered how much he’d looked forward to freedom and being with his grandmother. Maybe it was for the best.
Giving Trey a cursory glance, Georgia hissed, “Clint, Clint I, Clint II, Clint ½. I’ll call you whatever I like. Clint ½ sounds perfect, since you’ll never be half the man my husband was.”
Oh, shit.
The floodgates opened. Trey growled, launched into a beeline, charging at her, knocking her to the ground, pinning her by the shoulders, but Georgia was formidable in brute strength. Whether the Dark Lord had given her that power or she believed it in her mind, it was enough. She fought and fought him good. It might’ve been the jacked-up amounts of adrenaline coursing through her body, but either way, she heaved Trey into the air several feet, and he landed on his ass.
Colby’s hope dampened a moment.
But then, Trey stood, charging at Georgia again, slamming into her. They wrestled and pounded and kicked, until a new voice joined them in the basement, and both paused. Out-of-place voices crackled through a speakerphone, and the room fell still. Hope set alight in Colby’s heart. He craned his neck to see a familiar woman coming down the steps from the east stairwell, wherever that led to, phone in hand.
Colby recognized her—the woman who’d kept a close eye on them during their Ke’e Beach visit, the nosy neighborhood watchdog who’d called to see if everything was all right; the super pale lady who’d nearly kicked their asses just for breathing. Her clothes were soaked from the rain. Her brown hair clung to the sides of her face like runny glue. But she was beautiful just the same. Beautiful because she was there.
Katie’s gaze and perturbed face froze the moment she witnessed the horrors of the basement. Her narrowed eyes raked back and forth across the scene, settling on the dead body in the middle of the circle which surely must’ve seemed to her like something from a satanic cult film. Shakily, she muttered, “I knew it,” and then she said into the phone, “They’re in the basement.”
Georgia scrambled to her feet, dodging a full-body lunge from Trey, and spun the knife she’d used to carve up Kalani straight at Katie. The blade whirled and rotated in perfect circles toward the woman who was unable to piece together what was happening fast enough to respond. But Colby saw it coming and cringed, as the blade connected, perfectly penetrated the center of her forehead, knocking her head back.
She dropped to the ground, phone tumbling off to the side.
Fuck! Colby’s hopes flushed down a bottomless drain.
What were the chances? The outside world had finally caught on to their whereabouts, and hope was in sight (he could hear a helicopter circling the property), but now his rescuer lay in a pool of her own blood. Georgia charged over to her, yanked the blade from the woman’s forehead, and returned to the circle to finish what she started. Tucking her tangled mane of hair into the back of her dress, she wiped her brow with her bloody sleeve.
“It’s 11:10, Trey. Let’s get this over with.”
Trey calmly stepped over to where she stood, head hung low. “I’m sorry,” he said, reaching down for her hand and tracing the lines of her palm. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I adore you, Georgia. This is our paradise, you and me, forever.” He took the knife from her hand, turned to face Colby, and stared down at him.
Colby willed himself to pass out, to clock out of the moment, die by heart attack ahead of the blade if he could. He sent out loving messages to his mom, his dad, siblings, and every person who’d ever shown him kindness in this beautiful world. Yes, it was beautiful, even with its ugly parts.
He glanced at Sam and gave him a thumbs-up.
It’s okay. See you on the other side…
If there is one.
“Clint, less than a minute, baby,” she urged.
And then, Trey whirled, lunged…not at Colby but at Georgia, ramming her across the floor as if by renewed supernatural force, grabbing her by the neck and slamming her against the iron bars of the prison cell Sam and Colby had been inside. “My name is Trey,” he growled.
He waited until she couldn’t breathe, until her face had turned as red as the hibiscus growing wildly all over her property, before slamming her head against the bars. Again. And again. A thick bubble of bloody mucous formed at her nostril, popped into a thin stream that dripped down her cherry-painted mouth, then hung off her chin, swaying back and forth with every blow Trey gave her.
When he was done, he let her drop.
She fell against the bars and slumped to the side.
Out of breath, Trey whirled to face the rest of them. “I could finish you myself and take the Dark Lord’s gifts for my own. Right now.”
“No,” Colby tried muttering. To his surprise, Trey plodded over with the little energy he had left and bent over Colby’s body. His stomach clenched, prepared for a blade to attack him, but he only shoved his bloody fingers into Colby’s mouth and pulled out the gag. Colby wasted no time talking. “Come home with us. You can get your life back. We’ll make sure you have it all, just like you had it all here.”
Trey stood, droplets of sweat flying off his body and landing on Colby’s face. “I can’t. Someone has to stay, or the demon will follow you into the world and make sure you die.”
“Dude, there’s no demon,” Colby tried telling him. He heard Sam groaning, looked at him to find him wide-eyed and shaking his head. Don’t tell him that, he seemed to communicate. Colby looked back at Trey. “You can get away from the Dark Lord. He won’t find you in L.A. Come on, bro.”
But Trey strode over Colby, moved over to Sam and pulled his gag out, doing the same for Alex and Nate. “It’s too late. He’ll kill me now that I’ve failed him.”
“Everybody who died after failing the Dark Lord took their own life,” Alex said in a dry voice devoid of energy. “You can come with us. We’ll take care of you.”
Colby closed his eyes and sighed in relief.
Alex sounded like Alex.
“It’s too late for me,” Trey said in a voice tinged with actual emotion. “Someone has to stay.” He began cutting the ropes off their ankles first, moving in a circle, then coming back for a second round of cuts to their wrists, keeping watch over his shoulder the entire time, in case one of them might lunge at him and take him out themselves.
But Colby could never hurt him, even after everything he’d done.
Alex sat up and rubbed his wrists, then his eyes. “What happened?”
“Nothing, Alex. Just…” Colby dropped his chin to his chest. He’d never been more happy to hear Alex’s voice back to normal. He looked up at him. “I’m glad to see you, bro.”
Trey cut the last of the ropes, Nate’s wrists, and stepped back, pointing toward the northwest stairwell. “Go, before I change my mind.”
Despite everything that’d happened, Colby still wished he could help Trey. “We’ll come back for you. We’ll send help,” he said, but Trey only stood there, chest heaving, wiping his brow with the edge of the blade, painting a line of blood across his forehead.
Colby knew a chance when he saw one. He looked at Sam, Nate, and Alex, and urged them up the stairs. They ran out, one by one, climbing the steps up into the rainy darkness, into the freedom of the outdoors, as Colby hung back to keep an eye on Trey, in case this was a trick. Water pelted him from above, washing his face.
Trey was done. He wouldn’t hurt them. Colby had a distinct feeling he might take his own life after Colby left. Or he might leave the Belle Estate and hide in the wild, be a fugitive forever. Maybe he’d come forth and talk about his experience living with the last remaining leader of a forgotten, forty-year-old cult. Whatever the case may be, Colby would at this moment, and forevermore, for giving them their lives back, consider him a friend.
He burst out of the grate, shielding his eyes from the glare of the spotlight from the helicopter. As ferns and hibiscus and all sorts of flora swayed back and forth, compressed in the whirring air of the helicopter blades, Colby oriented himself on the property. They were standing behind the statue, the mermaid statue made of material infused with Amethyst’s bones. She marked one of the five entrances into the basement, silently warning of the terrors contained within her mother’s basement, forever keeping watch, unable to tell the truth.
She’d tried to warn him, Colby felt, but he hadn’t caught on. He couldn’t have possibly imagined it. Now he’d open himself to subtle energies from the other side for the rest of his days. Maybe there was a Dark Man. Maybe there wasn’t. Maybe ghosts did exist, maybe they didn’t. In the end, though, the worst of the evil had been cast by real live people. Because humans, misguided, untethered, and susceptible to greed, were the most vile beings of them all.
One by one, they climbed the rope ladder and entered the helicopter. Colby was surprised to find Pauahi huddled in the back seat with a bloodied shirt wrapped around his wrist in a knot.
“You can thank him.” Manuel was in the pilot’s seat, yelling over the whirring blades and pointing to Pauahi in the back. “I found him on the beach. He told us where they were keeping you.”
Their tour pilot and fellow prisoner had rescued them. Fucking awesome. Colby allowed himself the smallest of smiles at Pauahi and made a mental note to give Manuel a super-huge tip when all this was done.
“Thank you, bro,” Colby told Pauahi, who nodded weakly.
“Us?” Alex asked, settling into a seat.
“Ms. Katie and me,” Manuel said, counting how many passengers he had in tow. “I’ll have to come back for her. Our seats are completely full.”
Sam was the one to tell him. “She’s dead. So’s your neighbor’s son, Kalani. There’s no one left.”
“Kalani?” Manuel asked, then realized who Sam meant. A saddened expression fell over him, and his headphones bobbed in acceptance. He asked Colby to lift the rope ladder, then he flew forward, circling over the Belle Estate.
From the air and through the pouring rain, Colby could clearly see the five points of the star—the gazebo, the waterfall, the mermaid, one point off to the north, still covered by tree detritus caused by the flood, and the water fountain in the driveway.
Someone emerged through the water fountain grate and stood, staring up at the helicopter. It was Trey—he stood there, spattered with blood, shielding his eyes from the blinding spotlight.
“Is that Trey?” Sam asked.
“Yeah.” For a moment, Colby wondered if he’d changed his mind. He almost told Manuel to go back and get him. He seemed to want a ride off the property, just like them. A new start to a new life. Rebirth. It was the new moon, after all.
Colby stared at him, waiting for a sign. After Trey had stopped the ritual, stopped Georgia, he’d be willing to give him another chance, even if they had to fly back one last time to get him. But Trey crossed the driveway, stepped onto the porch, and stood at the front door, watching them as they left.
A knot formed in Colby’s soul. Trey was doomed to live under the house’s spell forever. Trapped in paradise, right where he wanted. Trey Weiss gave them a peace sign, backed into the house, and closed the door.
They flew off in silence, no headphones, too shocked to give voice to anything they’d seen or heard. It would be a long, long time before they could ever heal. There were Alex’s, Pauahi’s, and Sam’s wounds, plus horrific memories that would take forever to fix, far worse damage than any flood could ever cause an island. But they’d survived this experience as friends.
They could survive more.
As Manuel flew off the northwest coast toward what Colby guessed was the nearest hospital in Hanalei, Colby took one last look at the pristine paradise of the Na Pali Coast standing in darkness, unsure he could ever see it the same way again. Sure, it was midnight, but he could still see the silhouettes of the pointy peaks jutting up against the ocean’s darkness beyond. For a second, Colby even thought he could see the hippies down on the beach, celebrating around their bonfire, dancing naked in their jubilation, singing and laughing at the witch’s defeat.
But the vision dissipated, and Colby knew it was only the salvia wearing off.
Nobody spoke. Nobody had to. The relief, sadness, and shock they’d feel for the forthcoming months would speak for themselves. There was much to do—call their families, get medical help, alert local police about the kidnappings and deaths, possibly even tell their fans about the unbelievable experience at some point. Could they? Would anyone believe them? Probably not. Being on vacation, they hadn’t filmed any of it, so there was no proof.
But it’d happened. Colby, Sam, Nate, and Alex all knew it had.
Maybe they’d come back one day prepared with all their ghost hunting equipment and cameras. Georgia was no longer alive to hurt them, so why not? Colby’s eyes shut, his head against the helicopter window. He felt a nudge on his knee, cracked an eye open, and saw Sam holding out his hand. He clasped it with his own.
Best friends for life.
Nate leaned forward in the seat and cracked a bloody, gap-toothed smile. “Anybody want to see the south side of the island? It’s supposed to be really beautiful. We could go tomorrow, and—”
They all glared at him. “NO.”