Clap…clap…clap…
The sound of one palm slapping another. Applause. But that doesn’t make sense. We’re not actors in a theater production. We’re just us, on a deserted island, listening to Rae’s preposterous explanation.
Clap…clap…clap…
A hallucination. That must be it. I’m just imagining the clapping sound—kinda like a ringing in the ears, but much more sinister.
Clap…clap…clap…
The others are looking around, too. Which means either this is a group hallucination, or the clapping is all too real.
The leaves rustle. Twigs break. The clapping continues. I tense, all of my muscles activated by the fight-or-flight response. Although, who am I kidding? I’ve always been a flight kinda gal. At the first sign of conflict, I run. Or hide. Both, if I can manage it.
And then, Captain Xander breaks through the brush and strides into the clearing.
My knees go weak. Finally. We’re saved. Help has arrived, and this torture vacation is over.
I could cry from happiness. If I wasn’t so uncomfortable with touch, I would run to Xander and embrace him for rescuing us.
Except…no one else looks relieved. Bodin’s face has gone rigid, Mateo looks like he’s about to throw up, and Rae shifts in front of her sister, as though protecting her.
What? Why? The captain’s back. Shouldn’t that be a good thing?
Xander’s exchanged his crisp, white uniform for a pair of ripped jeans and a worn Yale sweatshirt. A belt is slung around his waist, holding all sorts of equipment—an oversized phone, a taser, a set of keys. The beard’s gone, and his hair is loose and wild around his shoulders.
Those pale, pale eyes glitter, as cold and hard as jade. But not nearly as pretty…and a whole lot more evil.
Instinctively, I shrink away. That cannot be the face of our rescuer. Something is majorly wrong here. Mateo and I should be jumping for joy, Bodin should be shaking the captain’s hand, and Rae and Lola should be sobbing happy tears.
Instead, we watch in silence as Xander reaches the middle of the clearing and plunks his hands on his hips.
“Congratulations,” he says. “I counted on you figuring this out sooner or later. And you did, a whole day earlier than expected.”
Rae rises from the puddle, the water dripping down her black jeans. “Figure what out?”
“This.” Xander gestures around us, taking in the clearing, the trees, the entire island. “That the Thai folktales are—and have always been—rooted in reality. That the abilities featured in those old stories lay dormant within us, and it only takes some prodding to draw them out.”
“She was joking,” I manage to say. “Or maybe it was hyperbole. But she wasn’t serious.”
Xander turns those pale eyes on me. “Her college studies notwithstanding, Rae isn’t the only person who could’ve reached this conclusion. Others of you have grown up hearing the stories. However, it takes a certain amount of independent spirit to connect the dots. You have to be willing to step out from behind your mother’s shadow.”
He’s talking about me. I should take offense—and I probably will, later—but my mind’s spinning too wildly at the moment.
Is he telling the truth? Impossible. I grew up in the age of Twilight, but the reason that sparkly vampires captured the preteen consciousness was because they weren’t real. They were make-believe, a figment of the author’s imagination. Werewolves are just as fictional as Mae Nak, the Thai ghost who died in childbirth but continued to live with her soldier husband, performing daily chores. Stories to entertain, to enchant. Not the truth.
And yet…and yet…there’s no denying the golden flowers that dripped from Lola’s lips.
“What are you saying?” Lola lurches to her feet to stand next to her sister. “What do worms falling from my mouth have to do with us being stranded here?”
Rae is still gaping. “How did you get here at the same moment that I had my realization? That is, unless…”
She looks around wildly. Because she’s just figured out what I have. He couldn’t have known that we were getting close to reaching this conclusion…unless he’s been watching this entire time.
When I nearly died from anaphylactic shock. When the tropical storm soaked us to our bones. When Lola reached her breaking point during our sleepless night.
He watched. Probably laughed. Maybe even ate popcorn. And didn’t do a damn thing to alleviate our suffering.
But how? Was he hidden in the trees with a telescope? Are there hidden cameras in our camp? I haven’t seen any, even though we’ve been breaking down trees and tearing apart palm fronds. But I wasn’t exactly looking for one, either. Hell, maybe he has an entire army of spies, hiding in plain sight.
Xander half turns to me. “I have to say, I’m a little disappointed that you and your mother didn’t make more of Elizabeth’s ability to recreate smells. I thought for sure Khun Moh, the revered doctor, would have connected it to the tale of the woman who could steal the scent of curry.”
So, the smell of the chicken adobo was also real, I think dully. Given the rest of Xander’s outlandish claims, the statement is not as shocking as it should be.
“You mean this was all a setup?” Mateo asks, outraged. “You were just sitting there while we suffered?”
Rae balls her hands into fists. “You monster. Look at my sister. Look at what you and this godforsaken island have done to her.”
“No, I’m not a monster,” Xander says quietly, his eyes going soft and blurry. “I’m just a modern-day scientist, exploring a phenomenon that the ancestors already accepted and embraced. I’m a lonely man on the precipice of a dream, on the verge of unlocking what should be impossible.”
I have no idea what he’s saying. I can’t even begin to imagine to what he’s referring. But goose bumps pop up on my skin nonetheless.
“Of course, I don’t expect you to understand that,” Xander continues. “You’re emotional. I get that. I would be, too, if I hadn’t eaten anything but some paltry rations.”
His gaze shifts to Bodin, eyes focused once more. “My boy, how have you been treating our guests? Rainwater and stale granola bars?” The captain shakes his head, as though vastly disappointed. “Come now. I’ve taught you better than that.”
A series of emotions fires across Bodin’s face. Rage, betrayal. A multitude more that I can’t read.
He’s been strangely quiet this entire conversation. In a way, he has so much more to be angry about than the rest of us. We’re just guests, meeting Captain Xander for the first time. But the captain is Bodin’s employer, maybe even his friend. It’s clear the history between them runs deep.
And yet, Xander left him here on this island to suffer, maybe even to die…just like the rest of us.
“You jerk,” Bodin spits out, his limbs vibrating with rage. “I worked my butt off for you, day in and day out. Charter after charter. Year after year. And this is how you repay me?”
Xander slaps him on the shoulder, oblivious to—or more likely ignoring—his boatswain’s anger. “Not to worry, my boy. You’re tired and hungry. A grand banquet is being set up at camp as we speak. Why don’t we eat, and then we’ll talk? You know what they say: a shipwreck always looks better on a fuller stomach.”
I frown. What kind of wretched people actually say that? And what is up with Xander and Bodin’s interaction? The captain seems to be taunting his former employee. Is there bad blood between them? Is that why we’re here, as casualties of their conflict?
Lola sniffs the air. “I smell peanut butter.”
My thoughts come to a screeching halt. Peanut butter? Did she say peanut butter?
I inhale sharply. Oh my goodness, yes. Underneath the salty breeze, I catch a whiff of something sweet, nutty. Unmistakable. That might not interest Preston and his peanut allergy, but it certainly excites me.
I catch Lola’s eyes. An instant later, we break into a run toward the shelter.
My heart bumps against my chest, and as we round the corner and burst out of the woods, it bumps even harder.
The rest of the castaways are gathered around a long table, excited chatter wrenching the air. I first see Mama’s narrow shoulders, Eduardo’s bulky physique. Elizabeth’s eyes are closed, her chin tilted to the sky, as though to give thanks.
They are flanked by what must be Xander’s employees. People in silver jumpsuits, with oversize, misshapen hooded masks.
And then, the crowd parts, and the entire glorious feast comes into view.
Glistening clusters of grapes snuggle with spiky red rambutans, while purple mangosteen reside inside a bowl alongside three—no, four!—varieties of bananas. Stacks of club sandwiches, bits of bacon and avocado peeking out from behind the multigrain bread, vie with a taco bar, complete with tropical salsa and queso fundido. Fried chicken crowds against mac-n-cheese and baked beans. Lamb vindaloo pairs with steaming hot naan, while moo dang tops fragrant jasmine rice.
There seems to be something here for everyone—not to mention, in the midst of all those sumptuous dishes, my favorite food in the entire universe: crispy red apples and gobs of peanut butter.
I’m done surveying. I hope my senses have absorbed their fill, because from now until the rest of eternity (or at least ten minutes from now, when I’ve stuffed my belly), I will be consumed with one thing alone—my beloved apple-and-peanut-butter snack.
Before I know it, I’ve walked to the table and crunched into my first bite, and my taste buds explode. That crisp, tart apple. The creamy, nutty flavor. I could just cry. In fact, I do—big, fat, happy tears sloshing down my cheeks. After the horrors of the last day and a half, who would’ve thought that it would be this pedestrian dish that would level me?
I open my eyes, and Mama’s in a similar state of rapture over her congee and soft-boiled egg, sprinkled with bits of scallion and fresh ginger. This traditional breakfast hasn’t always been her favorite, but ever since cancer infiltrated her body, she’s preferred it more and more, as the dish is both tasty and easy on the stomach.
All around us, my fellow castaways fall ravenously onto the food, rapture in their eyes. Sylvie crams perfectly fried lumpia into her mouth, and Kit gobbles up spinach rice and salmon drenched with béarnaise sauce.
Carefully, I put down my plate of apples and take a step back. Something…is off here. Yes, we’re hungry, and sure, all of the food looks delicious. But these people aren’t just fulfilling a bodily need. No—they’ve been transported, just like I was, because this food has a special meaning.
Is it possible that Xander filled this banquet with each of our favorite foods?
“Bodin?” I ask in a strained voice, as he’s standing on my other side.
“Hmmm?” he replies, his mouth full. He’s just bitten into a stalk of scallion, which had been marinating in a jar of vinegar. So, the khao moo dang must be meant for him.
Sure enough, he’s carrying a plate of rice covered with roasted red pork and a reddish-brown gravy garnished with a boiled egg and cucumber slices.
“Is this your favorite meal?” I ask, gesturing at his plate.
Bodin blinks. “Well…yeah. How did you know?”
“Not my fav, but pretty darn close,” Lola says, her mouth full of club sandwich.
“Same.” Eduardo looks up from his plate of Nicaraguan carne asada and plantains.
Elizabeth places a lychee in the center of the elaborate fruit salad she’s assembling. “Guilty.”
The chill that’s been forming at the base of my spine begins to climb. All of our favorite foods. But how? We didn’t list them on the forms we filled out for the yacht tour. Does that mean that the captain somehow…researched us? Exactly how long has he been watching us?
My gaze collides with the only person who hasn’t been stuffing their face. The captain, standing at the edge of our group but by no means the outsider. Oh no. If he’s controlling our group, then he’s about as interior as he can get.
“But we picked you,” Rae whispers. “The other day, Lola asked if we could go on a snorkel tour. On a whim, I called the number that was on the brochure at our villa. This trip wasn’t planned. It was never a part of our itinerary. How could you possibly know what I like to eat?”
The captain grins, as though pleased by his own ingenuity. “Who do you think put the brochures in your villa?”
Rae trembles. “You preselected us to be your playthings?”
He shrugs. “Maybe.”
My veins turn to ice. This…this…was premeditated? The entire time we were in the villa, when I struggled not to count my steps on the beach, when I shook out Mama’s colorful collection of pills, when I tilted my face to the stars, caught under Bodin’s spell, the plan had already been put into place for us to end up here. The details are so meticulous, the intention so evil, that my mind is blown.
“Stop toying with us.” Khun Anita stalks to the front of the group, the bright yellow sari flowing behind her. She wags a finger in Xander’s face. “Why have you brought us here? What is your purpose?”
He chuckles. “I thought you would never ask.”