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“Here you go,” Hawaiian Shirt says, dumping a small stack of papers before me. “Figured you might like copies. These are from Alex Key’s complete journal. These are for the Cortes journal, pages numbered one through thirty-six. The museum wouldn’t let us take the original. They’re what Hemslock’s using to base most of his theories, so you can expect us to ask questions about these on camera.”
I scan through them quickly. The Cortes journal had been translated for the crew’s benefit; the writing is faded but legible. Ironically Key’s journal is harder to read. There is no organization to the wild thoughts the man had scribbled on paper, veering chaotically from one unrelated topic to the next, writing over his previous words in the same way his own thoughts seem to have lain on top of each other.
Hawaiian Shirt points to one of Key’s entries:
My eyes cannot see my ears cannot hear yet I see and I hear and the voices in my [inconclusive] help is the three of the eye and the eye of the three and the heart is here the heart they take they will come because of me and it is here it is a void that contains both nothing and everything at once I am [inconclusive] nothing and everything the eight are ready they are coming first to feed second to seed third to wear fourth to birth fifth to serve sixth to lure seventh to consume eight to wake [inconclusive] I am fifth I serve my ears I cannot see my eyes I cannot hear
“Absolutely batty, right?” Hawaiian Shirt says. “Notice the similarities? Like the writers already told you, the journal pages reference the same riddle, despite the Key journal being written before we discovered Cortes’s. Not even the museum curator thought it would be so significant—she only thought Lindsay Watson’s obsession with the journal was odd. The locals knew about the eight deaths, but nothing more specific as Key wrote about it. The Cortes journal has some pages torn out, more’s the pity. But look at this.”
Hawaiian Shirt jabs at one passage. “See this entry by Cortes? Read it.”
This is what the people here believe. Typically a priest or chieftain performs such rituals, but anyone with the strength can do so (for the god prizes strength rather than its own people) to achieve power beyond their wildest imaginings. For every sacrifice, they gain abilities beyond imagining. Control of the demons in the woods. Invulnerability. But most importantly—rulership of all. The command of an eternity within a dream, as these people say.
Yet they describe little of this god they worship. An eye, they say. It sees you. Perhaps it is a demon that wears nothing but an eye, though that paints a disturbing image. A Godseye. It incites the imagination.
If there is a strange power here, then it is our duty to find out more lest it be used against us.
I sought out Magellan for what information he could provide, for it was Rajah Humabon himself who explained the phenomenon to him. That is why the chieftain wishes for us to wage war against Cilapulapu, for the latter knows its secrets and worships this strange god. It is believed that Cilapulapu has already done two of these rituals; Humabon believes that he wields the god’s power and is impervious to their bolos, and it is why he remains invincible. His people claim they saw Cilapulapu control certain creatures within the forests soon after the criminal’s sacrifice—strange monsters fashioned from the god’s own sacred tree.
Our muskets shall soon put that boast to the test.
But Magellan had only shaken his head mournfully, told me that such power is not for humans to enjoy, only for God to administer—
His finger moves toward the ragged tears in the next section of the journal, the pages missing. Hawaiian Shirt grunts. “And just when we were getting to the good part, too. Like Cortes, Hemslock thinks this Lapulapu fella may have learned how to manipulate the Godseye, and that’s why he was able to kill the Spanish conquerors. Jessie from the team in Leyte says they’ve got some promising news—they might’ve found people who’d talked to some of the Watson cult members. Hopefully we get answers out of them.”
He turns to leave, pauses, then hands me something else. “It’s a grisly picture, so give it back to me if you don’t wanna look.”
It’s a black and white photo, but that doesn’t hide the bloodbath. I can make out a pair of legs, a bloodstained wall behind a heap of flesh.
The corpse doesn’t appear to have an upper body.
“Haven’t seen this yet, huh? Alex Key had a Filipina wife. He killed her and fled to the island, and they found him outside the Godseye like this, days later. It’s why the authorities didn’t do much else after finding his body. Part of his body, anyway. Closed the case as quick as they could. Local government didn’t want an investigation, either. Always thought that maybe he’d run afoul of some local mob boss or something, and they’d dumped him there. Seemed like he had a running debt.
“Gries wants to feel better about his wife and Hemslock wants to clear his name and I don’t know why the hell so many of the higher-ups are interested in producing this show—but when I first heard what Key had done, I thought good riddance. I still don’t believe in all this god and ghost stuff, but if something really is out there, then I want to tell its story. Good job, you know? Hell of a good job.”
And then he wanders off, to discuss the upcoming episode they’re planning to film with one of the crew.
I remain where I am. My eyes flick toward the trees out of reflex, though this time there is no one watching. Small makahiya leaves slowly fold themselves shut, bashful against the wind. “Parang awa mo na,” I say quietly all the same, though I don’t know if anything hears, either.
***
A fight breaks out, strangely enough, between two of the bodyguards accompanying Hemslock. “I fucking saw it!” The soldier shouts angrily, pointing toward the shore. “He was there! Bastard followed me here! I’m gonna fucking kill him!”
“He was about to charge into the water when I stopped him,” the other soldier reports uncertainly.
“What the hell are you on about, Kyle?” Hemslock demands.
“My fucking stepfather, that’s who. He’s right there.”
“Your stepfather’s not in a condition to be here, Kyle. You told me so yourself. In the time it would have taken to get here, the hospital would have reached out.”
The soldier stares out at the sea. “But I could have sworn I saw him,” he whispers.
They send him off to the doctor’s tent.
Melissa sidles up next to me. “The studio did background checks on everyone coming to the island,” she murmurs. “I read some of the paperwork. That dude’s stepfather is in a coma at a hospital in Colorado. He’d fallen down the stairs in the dark or something. Wild. Wish they’d thought to do mental health checks on the mercs. Not really the people I want to have guns.”
The second time, it’s someone from the medical team who approaches Hawaiian Shirt, visibly shaking, to tell him that he’s seen his mother. Hawaiian Shirt stares at him for a good three seconds before venturing, “Your mother?”
“She’s been dead for six years.” The poor man looks terrified. “It’s not my imagination, Gerry. Sam claims he saw his father, and I overheard one of the bodyguards say he’d seen his brother who died last month. There’s something on this island. Maybe there’s a gas leak, but—”
“There is no gas leak,” Hawaiian Shirt says firmly. “Don’t let the ghost stories get to you. Take some Ambien or something.”
“Guy was an army medic in Afghanistan,” he grumbles to me when the man leaves. “Went through all that bad business there and came back with an impressive psych eval, but here’s where he hallucinates? He wasn’t on good terms with his mom when she died—toxic relationship, from what I’ve heard. Still, not like him to get this jittery.”
He winces. “Heard screaming again last night. That alone would scare the crap out of someone, but I’m not the one who decides when we get to leave. I—”
And then he straightens, eyes going wide. “Hey. Is this Dreamer haunting only bad people?”
Excitedly he fishes out the photocopies of the journals from his satchel, thumbs through them rapidly. “Here’s the early Key journal entries”—He knows your dreams. He knows your fears. He has seen mine. He has seen my father, and now he has seen my wife. I have haunted her through the years and now she haunts me. He sees me. I am not worthy. I am afraid. The Eye is upon me, and I am afraid.
“He went downhill from there. Your god knew that Alex had killed his wife. It deliberately targets people like him, doesn’t it?”
I look him in the eye. “I said he would never harm innocents.”
He pales a little, then laughs half-heartedly. “If he’s gunning for villains, then the whole slot of producers on this show alone would—that’s just too—maybe there’s something on this island making people hallucinate things. Wouldn’t hurt to talk to the science team to make sure before we consider anything else.”
***
I spot Goatee and the girl again. She is behind another series of trees near the water, her face the only visible part of her, and he is on the path leading to the small pier, staring at her. The can of beer slips from his fingers and stains the sand a dark brown.
As if on a whim, he rushes toward her, his fists bared. I race after him.
The girl waits, serene and sad as she has always appeared. But when Goatee reaches her, his fury has turned to despair. His hands unfurl, and he reaches out toward the girl. “Tabitha,” he says brokenly. “I—”
The girl gazes at him silently. Her lips move, but I don’t hear what she says.
She pitches forward.
Her head drops into his hands.
With a loud cry, Goatee lets go and leaps back. But nothing falls to the ground.
He spins around. There is nothing in the space around him.
“Did you see that?” he cries out at me desperately. “Did you see her?”
He stumbles back in the direction of the cabins; his hands shaking, his face red, snot running down his nose. He trips, falls to his knees, but Hemslock is suddenly there. The man hauls him up, none too pleased.
“How are you this drunk at one in the afternoon?” he shouts. “Where the hell were you? We’ve got call time in half an hour and you’re not even fucking ready! I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, Karl, but if you’re only going to get wasted—”
Goatee stares at him. He looks hopeless, like he’s given up on everything. “I saw her again, Rube,” he whispers. “Tabitha. She was waiting for me by the shore. Said she was going to see me soon.”
Hemslock casts a quick glance around them. “You need help, Karl. It’s been years. As soon as we get home, I’m marching you straight to rehab. Pollock’s a discreet place; they’ll treat you right.”
Oddly enough, Goatee smiles. “I don’t think anything can help me anymore, Rube. And you know that? That feels—it’s a relief.”
He straightens himself, brushes off the man’s help, and lurches toward the cabins.
Hemslock gazes after him, frowning. “What did you see?” he asks me.
I look back at the trees. “Consequences,” is all I say, knowing Goatee is lost.
***
The call to gather in front of the cave occurs half an hour later, and it takes another hour to set up everyone with the necessary equipment. A crew member straps a mic on me, while the others are outfitted with small cameras on their helmets and body vests. There are ten of us: me, Hemslock, Goatee, Gries, a scientist, a researcher, and four of Hemslock’s bodyguards. Chase is talking with his father, trying his best to dissuade him from joining. “Please, Dad,” he protests, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Nothing’s going to happen,” her father says reassuringly. He puts up a brave front, but I see the dark circles under his eyes, proof that he hasn’t had much sleep. “A team went in yesterday, and they were fine. I’ve been spelunking for years, and the network of tunnels they’ve mapped out isn’t extensive enough to worry. We’ll be okay.”
“If it’s okay, then at least let me go inside with you.”
“Absolutely not. You know nothing about caves. Why don’t you go and take more pictures of the beach for your followers?”
Chase glares at him. “You think I’m shallow for doing what I do, but you think what you’re doing isn’t insane?” he snaps at him, then stomps off.
“He may be right, sir,” I say softly.
“I’m just jet lagged. I’ll be okay.”
“Seeing your dead wife isn’t jet lag.”
Gries starts violently. Wipes his forehead with his sleeve.
“I need to know what happened to her,” he says. “I’ll do anything to know.”
“We’ve marked off parts of the caverns that are safe to move through,” the scientist tells us. “There’ll be luminescent paint and some physical markers we’ve placed inside so you can see the boundaries. Everything beyond that is still unexplored territory, and I advise you not to wander. That said, I don’t foresee any problems.”
She smiles. “You’re really going to like what we’ve found there, Mr. Hemslock. The cave system we’ve plotted is very, very different from the one the previous investigators provided us with. I can’t explain it. Caves don’t shift like this in a few years’ time. It’s almost as if we’re exploring an entirely new system, and that’s impossible. There’s at least three more caverns inside that aren’t on the plane crash reports, and we haven’t even explored it all.”
“That’s music to my ghost-hunting ears, Christie,” Hemslock says with a wink at her. “While I appreciate the effort, I wish we could have gone into the cave blind.”
“We’re expendable and you’re not, sir,” the woman says dryly. “Once Mr. Galant wakes, he would agree.”
Goatee cleans himself up well and is back to his impatient, slightly sneering facade. He’s smoking, likely an attempt to ease his nerves, but at least there’s no bottle in sight.
Chase wanders to me, taking in my appearance. “You look like you could blend in with the rest of them,” he says, an attempt at humor.
“I hope not.” I don’t know why I sound so defensive.
Chase raises his hands. “I’m not here to argue, okay? I just wanted to tell you to be safe.” His gaze drops to my hands. He moves like he wants to take mine in his, and then stops himself. “Be careful in there,” he says instead.
“I’m always careful.”
“Would it kill you to say thanks, for a change?”
I grin at his obvious sulking. “Thank you.” I start to turn, stop. He still looks far too tense, like he’s using great effort to rein in his temper. This mood didn’t start from his argument with his father. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he says, suddenly evasive.
“I don’t think so. Tell me.”
He gives in. “It’s Riley again. She’s spreading rumors that I was the one cheating on her first. With you. Before I even got here. Before she even cheated.”
“I met you only a few days ago.”
“Her new theory is that we met in California, then I flew you out here so we could have some privacy. And all because she saw a fucking pair of legs in my selfie.”
“I’m sorry.”
He sighs. “You have nothing to be sorry about. This is all on her. That’s why Jordan and Rory have been calling me all morning—to let me know. People are going to believe her even though she’s the one who cheated!” Chase whirls toward the cave entrance. “Fuck you, Riley!” He shouts, the echoes receding into the darkness. A few of the crew members look our way, startled, but Chase doesn’t seem to care. “I hope you get an STD, you cheating ho!” He shouts, and then marches away, kicking angrily at a few rocks in his path.
Askal crouches beside me, whining questioningly. “Go with him,” I say. “Make sure he’s okay.”
He understands and trots off after the boy.
Hemslock chuckles nearby. “Teenagers, right?” His gaze drifts toward the cave’s entrance as well, and then starts, as if he’s seen something there. I look, but only darkness beckons us.
Still staring hard, Hemslock takes a step into the caves, and then another. Gries reaches out a hand to stop him. “What are you doing? The team isn’t ready yet.”
“I could have sworn I saw…” Hemslock frowns, but never finishes the thought.
“We’re ready,” someone from the safety team says. “You’re all wired up so anything you say we’ll hear in real time, and you should hear us loud and clear through your earpieces, too. Everyone gets walkie-talkies in case of an emergency. If you run into any kind of trouble or if communication shorts out, use those to reach us. We’re ready whenever you are.”
“We’re ready,” Hemslock says. “Keep a lock on us at all times.” He glances at the rest of us. Goatee nods, as do the scientists.
“You got weapons?” the actor asks me.
“I have a machete, for chopping wood. That’s all I’ll need.”
To his credit, he doesn’t mock me for it. He only inclines his head, looking oddly thoughtful. “I got a feeling we’ll be needing all the protection we can get.” He turns. “Let’s roll.”