Behind You
Gries finally patches a call through to the helicopter rental again, only to be told that the flight had once more been canceled.
“Someone’s sabotaging us,” he says in disgust, as he ends the call. “Someone keeps calling and pretending to be me. It’s useless at this point. There’s a full-fledged storm in the area, and they can’t send help until it passes.”
Hawaiian Shirt looks at him, and then up at the cloudless blue sky, the sun shining down. “Doesn’t look like bad weather to me,” he says.
He says it again later that afternoon, staring out at the sea. The dark clouds that loomed over the horizon earlier are gone, and we have a clear sight from the island’s shore of the mainland some miles away, without even fog to mar the view.
“Maybe it’s just me,” Hawaiian Shirt says, “but there ain’t no fucking storm out there. It’s not only the helicopter rental playing us. Leo’s right. Someone is screwing around with us for fun.”
“No,” Straw Hat says quietly. “We’re getting reports from our team back in Leyte. It’s a full-on downpour there. They’re waiting it out because the streets tend to flood. They’re not lying to us.”
“But we’re not lying, either,” Hawaiian Shirt says desperately, looking at the bright sky and warm sun. “They see rain, but we don’t. What the hell is going on?”
Armani has been sedated; the medics found nothing wrong with his eyes—beyond the fact that he couldn’t see through them—and suggested temporary hysteria, PTSD as a cause.
Hemslock does not sit well with this diagnosis. “Nobody gets PTSD from a damn tree,” he spits out angrily, cleaning his guns again. Their search that day had turned up no signs of his friend, and the frustration is clear on the survivalist’s face. He soon retreats to the mess hall, where he has set up multiple infographics detailing everything known about both the island and the curse. The riddle is scratched out in capital letters on a white board, scribbled notes linking five of the eight prophesied deaths on another.
“Tell me what you think,” he says to me. “Tell me if there’s anything here that I’m missing.”
I scrutinize the boards. The corpse tree takes up much of his theories, along with his belief that the dead body is the ill-fated Cortes. Lindsay Watson’s mugshot stares back at us.
“Third to wear,” Hemslock says. “My gut tells me I’m right. I’m thinking your god’s snagged Karl for the sixth sacrifice. Sixth to lure. Because that’s what he is, eh? He’s bait for the rest of us to enter the Godseye again. But why him? What makes him so special?”
I look at the photos the crew has printed of the corpse tree, and then at a painter’s illustration of Oliviero Cortes. He doesn’t look as intimidating as one might think, whatever his exploits with Magellan. “Cortes wanted to steal the Diwata’s power,” I say, finally. “This is his punishment. The eight deaths aren’t rewards.”
“Karl didn’t steal from your god.”
“He drinks.”
Hemslock chuckles despite himself. “Your god preaches sobriety? He’s mad that Karl likes beer?”
“He drinks because he wants to forget. Because he committed a terrible thing.”
Hemslock’s face grows more serious. He sits on a chair across from me.
“How did you know?”
I gaze down at my hands. “I saw her, too.”
A long silence stretches between us before he speaks again. “You’re right. He did do something terrible. Hit and run. A teenage girl. Her family was poor, and he paid them off to settle out of court without press. He’s been drinking ever since. He does his job well enough despite it, so we let him be. But it was an accident. He didn’t even know her.”
“No,” I say. “He did.”
Hemslock doesn’t look surprised by that revelation. “And how did you find that out?”
“The living bring their own ghosts to shore, and only the latter are honest about why.”
He nods. “Yeah, you’re right. He knew the girl. Didn’t want to make him look bad while he’s still missing. I was told that they argued. He got into the car, and she tried to stop him from leaving. He didn’t see her when he—it was still an accident.” He sighs, spreads his hands. “He started drinking after that. Only so much we all could do to help. We’re gonna find him. We have to. You think he’s a candidate to be the fifth sacrifice, don’t you?”
He takes my silence as confirmation and turns back to the board. “Fourth to birth. I thought at first that the pregnant woman was the sacrifice. I was wrong. I think she was collateral damage. It was her all along.” He points at Watson’s picture. “The god chose her for the fourth sacrifice. The riddle doesn’t talk about the sacrifice’s condition. It talks about what is the sacrifice’s purpose. Ironically Watson killing that woman qualified her to be a sacrifice herself. And now she’s birthed all these fucking tree monsters that keep coming after us.”
I say nothing again, and he smiles, satisfied. “And you knew all this, didn’t you? I can believe that you didn’t know anything about the cultists since that was before you were even born, but you would have known the specifics of the ritual. We’re paying you to tell us this shit. So why didn’t you?”
I meet his gaze. “There have been far too many people trespassing here, hoping to recreate the ritual. The cultists came the closest, but they weren’t the first.”
He nods. “Cortes was one of the first recorded, I assume. But there would have been other Filipinos on the island who’d tried to wrest control from Lapulapu. Just like Watson. She learned what Cortes had. She tore the pages of that journal because it showed her exactly how to perform the ritual. But it backfired.”
He turns back to his board. “I keep coming back to your hero, Lapulapu. Took a deeper dive into the history. The records make him out to be some kind of superman. Powerful warrior who prevented the Spaniards from encroaching on his territory, protecting his subjects. But here’s the problem.”
He slams a fist against the table. The pencils jump and the cups rattle, but I don’t move.
“There’s scant history about him before his fight with Magellan, and even less afterward. But I’ll bet all my money that Lapulapu did perform those first two sacrifices, and then sacrificed Cortes. And in exchange, the god rewarded him. The Spaniards couldn’t defeat Lapulapu, despite their superior weapons. Watson had it right. Her only mistake was in choosing wrong—”
He shoots to his feet, startled, as if he’s seen something by the window. I turn, catch a quick glimpse of a face, a flash of yellow hair. But all too quickly it’s gone, leaving only more makahiya growing over the pane.
“What we need,” Hemslock says, his voice strange, “are some more fucking guns, so we can descend into whatever level of hell this god is sleeping and put a bullet through his head.”
***
Chase paces by the entrance of the cave, refusing to wait while his father and the others are searching inside the cave. Askal keeps close, copying his movements.
“Is Dad in danger? Is that why he can see Mom’s ghost?”
“The others mentioned that your father was a ruthless businessman,” I say, carefully.
“But—but he’s not like that anymore! Yeah, I was royally pissed when I learned the shit he’d done before, and I know Mom was too, but he’d stopped…”
He trailed off. “It doesn’t matter, right? A lot of people lost their jobs because of him. Even if he was sorry, it’s not like that’s enough.” He froze. “Did you think that he was—violent—to Mom? He wouldn’t—I would have known.”
His phone buzzes.
We stare at it. Chase excitedly picks up.
“Look,” Rory’s voice comes over the receiver without waiting for an acknowledgment. “I have finished my investigation—”
“You haven’t investigated shit,” Jordan rebuts, laughing as his video feed pops up beside Rory’s.
“I have finished my investigation, and I have determined that you need to tell your delicious tour guide that you’re interested. Alon seems like the type to hate beating around the bush. I—oh, hello, Alon.” The boy doesn’t even look guilty, like he was planning for me to hear. “’Sup?”
Chase turns red. “Rory, thank God you’re here, I—”
“Also,” Rory rattles on, without waiting for Chase to finish, “I don’t know how you put the fear of God in Riley, but I am living for it. Josh says she’s been all over social media admitting she lied about you and your hottie, and that she is begging for your forgiveness. I don’t know what you two told her, but she’s getting wrecked for what she’s done, and I am enjoying this far too much—”
“Rory!” Chase shouts. “Shut up for like a sec and listen! You need to get someone to send a helicopter to us as soon as you can! We’ve got injured people here!”
“Oh! Wait! Hold on!” Faint noises, then Rory yelling indistinctly.
“Yo, wait, wait, wait. Slow down,” Jordan says. “Injured people? Are you serious? The hell’s happening over there? Is it that damn curse again?”
“We think so! Our phones aren’t working. I don’t know how you got through, because my phone’s had no reception since this morning. We don’t have a way to contact the local authorities to tell them we’re stuck on Kisapmata!”
Rory returns. “I told Dad. He’s calling people right now. He plays golf with Paradigm’s CEO. They should have people on it already.”
“Tell him to call one of the producers. Stanley Brosnick, or Don Huessman or—”
“Wait, Don Huessman? Not gonna happen. Didn’t you hear? Oh, wait—if you don’t have working phones there then you wouldn’t have. He’s gone missing.”
Askal whines quietly, looking at the nearby trees.
“What?”
Jordan clears his throat. “Yeah, no one knows where he is. Went into his home office and then never came out, his housekeeper said. It’s all over the news. The police aren’t sure if it’s foul play yet. They think he fled the country or something. I could ask Dad to call Stanley Brosnick, but dude must be fielding a ton of calls. Everyone knows he and Heussman are best buds.”
Don Heussman. Producer Two, who stared at us from the monitor, chuckling about how the Kisapmata curse sounded like the rapture.
“I don’t think he’s left the country,” I say slowly.
“Well he was seen dining out in LA earlier today, so he should still be in California. The police checked the flight records. He hasn’t flown out.”
“No. I think you’ll find his body soon.”
Chase stares at me. “Your god can do that?” His voice shakes. “Can he reach all the way around the world and just—kill—someone?”
I take a deep breath. “He sees your thoughts. He can find you that way—even through a computer, I think, as long as a connection has been established from the island. If the Diwata did that, then it means that he’s getting…stronger.”
“Because Karl was sacrificed? Are you saying Karl’s dead?”
“Who’s dead?” Jordan gasps.
“Hold up, hold up,” Rory shouts. “What is—”
The call cuts off abruptly. Chase taps at his phone but receives nothing but an automated voice telling him that Rory’s number can no longer be reached.
“At least we’re sure about the rescue this time,” he grunts. “And I just realized—you could go home. You said you live nearby. Isn’t your dad or the rest of your family worried that you’ve been gone for so long?”
“They know what this job requires.”
“Your family never told you to stay away from this place?”
“Kisapmata isn’t dangerous to us.”
“The cultists disappeared the same way Heussman did. But why would the Diwata kill Karl?”
I remember Goatee and his e-cigarettes, the way he tried to drink himself into insensibility every chance he had. It was as if the miles of sea he tried to put between him and the past that haunted him were not enough. I remember the scream and the way he had jumped back in fright, the girl lurking among the balete. His slow but steady spiral into despair in the days that followed. “He’s not innocent,” I say slowly. “But…”
When I don’t say anything else, Chase grunts. “All the big studio heads make these decisions, but they’re getting off scot-free. You can’t say that your Diwata is handing out justice when there’re so many people who never get the punishment that they deserve. I—” Chase’s voice dips low. “Mom didn’t deserve to die. Nobody on that airplane did, least of all her. Why was that one passenger on their flight discovered here, on the island, but no one else? And why didn’t anyone else find the plane wreckage underground before the crew did?”
“The Diwata didn’t cause the crash. He honors innocents who die on Kisapmata.”
Chase stares at me. “Are you saying that the Diwata buried the passengers as a sign of respect? Then what’s the deal with Dad seeing Mom’s ghost? Is she suffering here?”
“I…I don’t think it’s your mom that your dad sees.”
He shudders. “Then where’s Mom’s grave?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“If the Diwata favors you, can’t you, like, entreat them to protect us or something? Protect the people who are here because they need a paycheck, like Melissa? Will it attack me?”
I remember the figure in the trees watching us, and the makahiya leaves on Chase’s windowsill. “It won’t. But I’ll keep you safe.”
Chase snorts. “Not like I don’t appreciate it, but…I mean, I’ve seen all the movies. It’s always the jock who gets stabbed, right? Plus, we’re the ones making money off your legends. And you’re still trying to protect us, even if we don’t deserve it.”
“You deserve it,” I say seriously. I am astounded when his eyes fill with tears.
“You’re a good person, Alon,” Chase says earnestly. “You really are. We’ve only known each other a few days, but I feel like—like I—”
Askal barks, startling us. He’s running in circles, pausing every now and then to backtrack a few feet and look at us, as if insisting we leave.
A chiming sound comes from Chase’s phone. “We got reception back?” Chase eagerly swipes to see the message.
And then he yelps in fright, dropping the phone to the ground.
I reach down for his phone to see what scared him so badly.
It’s a message from Rory. “THERE’S SOMETHING BEHIND YOU,” he has typed, in all capital letters, followed by a screenshot he took of Chase and me during our video call with him.
Behind us something lurks in the trees—a dark figure with a twisted white face that looks like its skin is being wrung dry.
I help Chase sit on a nearby rock, and then move toward the copse of trees to search for the culprit. Askal follows me, still visibly agitated.
“It might get you!” Chase yells, but I ignore him.
I reach the spot where the apparition should have been but find nothing there. I turn to wave at Chase, who stares at me, worry straining his face—
—and see that same white face lurking just over his shoulder. Its shriveled flesh makes its eyes larger than they should be, and its steepled, twig-like fingers caress at Chase’s hair, gliding down toward his neck—
I take off toward Chase, running as fast as I can, shouting “’Wag mo siyang hawakan!”
Chase doesn’t understand, but I know the creatures does. Askal is faster than me. He closes the distance rapidly, leaping at the creature behind Chase with a bark. But suddenly the shapeless figure and its unblinking gaze is gone.
Nothing else moves around us. Askal calms, returning to my side with grim satisfaction.
Slowly, still oblivious, Chase reaches out for my arm and gulps. “I didn’t understand what you were shouting.”
With effort, I force my lips to move. “I said, Don’t touch him,” I say hoarsely. “I told it not to touch you.”