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Clad in his pajamas, Nigel waited for the upload to finish and the computer to be ready to display the hours of video taken in his absence. Such uploads were the ritual of his life. Film all day (sometimes into the night) then upload the video and get a sense for what he'd captured and what might remain to be done. Working remotely, his assistant Tesanee would start to organize the videos and trim the segments according to his notes or her own instincts. She'd find some short teasers and put them out on social, saving some good bits as bonus films for the Rowe-vers, the club of his most devoted followers.
He dreaded this particular video. For most of the eighteen hours, it would show the empty spit of rocks with the tide rising and falling, the sun setting, then light creeping over the scene again from the other direction. In between, there'd be his own retreat from the position. The finding of firewood. Joe's discovery of the old pistol parts. Joe. Alive.
He would isolate any video that had Joe's form or voice and make up a reel to share with the young man's family, when they could be located. While several people in town reported having seen this or that member of Gator's crew, nobody seemed to know where they were staying, a fact that raised Nigel's suspicions.
In the meantime, he studied Hortensia's golden coin under the vivid glow of the ring light he typically used to illuminate his own face for studio segments. A Spanish dos escudos coin sixteenth century vintage, it hung on its chain from an irregular hole bored not far from one edge. Not, alas, a hole in the shape of an island, just an ordinary hole made by a sharp point, rotated by hand. Could even be the same tool used to inscribe the carapace of Mama Tortuga. With its irregular shape, the minting dies off-center, the coin had clearly been struck here in the Americas, a crude version of the currency of Spain made from the bounty they stripped from the lands they conquered.
A tap on the door brought his head up. He dropped the chain over his head and slipped the coin beneath his shirt. "Who is it?"
His voice sounded weak in the gloom, but the side door slid silently open—Devi had oiled the hinges—and she stood just on the other side, not coming through, but making her presence known.
"Hey, Nigel, it's Monty. You still up?"
Casting a glance to Devi, Nigel rose and crossed to the door and removed the chain bar, to open it. A few yellowish bulbs lit the hotel's courtyard, making Monty look particularly dark and sinister. Or handsome, Nigel supposed, if one were so inclined.
"Monty. I'm surprised to see you, but relieved as well." Nigel stepped aside for Monty's passage. "I trust the computer worked well for you?"
"Yeah, it's a good machine. I really appreciate that." Monty looked troubled, his glance darting around, settling on the computer as they spoke, then back to Nigel's face, with a brief smile. Indeed, it reminded him of Devi's own fleeting smiles, as if these people had forgotten how. Or perhaps had never learned. "That's why I came, actually. Gator asked about checking the company server for updates about this other project, and I totally spaced it while I had the computer earlier. Thought I'd see if you were still up, and here you are." He paused. "You said relieved, though. Why so?"
Nigel returned to the table where he'd been sitting, and gestured for Monty to take the other chair. Wearing a plain t-shirt and loose pants Devi strolled in from the other door. She stationed herself—what other word could there be?—to the side, midway between them, not sitting, and shared a nod with Monty. Her timing suggested she wished to make it clear she'd come from the other room, so that Monty wouldn't misconstrue their relationship. Given how she treated Nigel in front of the crew, this hardly seemed necessary, unless she frequently disparaged her lovers to others.
Drawing a deep breath, Nigel said, "I need to talk with you about Joe." Did those dark eyes narrow just a hair?
"Have you seen him?" Monty asked, leaning forward. "That's another reason I came, actually. He went missing after the bonfire—can't find him anywhere. I was hoping he might've come to visit you guys. Seemed like you really hit it off."
Monty's query aligned with Devi's projection about what might have happened, but her expression stayed remote.
"We did, and I'm sorry I haven't better news for you." Nigel swallowed, and Monty's eyes widened.
"What do you mean?" His glance pinged from Nigel to Devi and back again.
"I'm so sorry to be the bearer of such tidings." He drew a deeper breath, then said, "A fisherman brought up his body in a net this afternoon. He looks to have been dead before he entered the water."
Monty shook himself. "Wait, what?" He gripped the edge of the table. "You're telling me that Joe's...dead?"
He sagged a little, looking at a loss. "Flick figured the kid got drunk and maybe got turned around—that he'd come back on his own when he sobered up. I thought he could've followed you, so I was keeping an eye out while I worked, thinking he'd show up here eventually. That's probably why I forgot about the other project I was supposed to check on."
He withdrew into his seat, tucking his balled fists under his arms as he sighed. "Thought about leaving you a note or something, but I didn't want you to worry."
"And Gator prefers to handle things himself," Devi murmured, earning Monty's nod.
"Yeah. If Joe were mad at us for some reason, or just unhappy, then Gator would've wanted to talk with him first, y'know?" Monty rubbed his eyes. "Jesus. I can't believe it."
The man certainly gave a convincing performance, but then, if Nigel's darkest fear might be believed, the crew had all day or more, to prepare their reactions. By Monty's testimony, the lad hadn't been seen since the bonfire. The computer chimed. It had finished uploading the footage. Nigel went still. How wide was the camera's view? What might the video reveal?
The chime roused Monty from his silence, and he glanced over. "Something you need to take care of?"
"Busy work. I couldn't sleep." Nigel closed the laptop. "How could I rest when Joe can't?"
He grew maudlin now, with the lack of sleep atop the fears that coursed through him like mad steeplechasers on the racetrack. "Nothing on my computer is as important as what happened to our friend."
"Yeah, I hear you."
"Do you know his beliefs and preferences around burial? Does he have family we should speak to?"
Blinking a little, Monty said, "I don't know. He talked about his folks a few times. I know he wasn't married or anything. Gator will know more. He'll take care of the arrangements I guess." He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "Where's the body now?"
Throughout the halting conversation, Nigel felt as if he watched though a mirror. For every subdued remark from the apparently stunned version of Monty seated before him, he heard another voice, a distorted echo.
If they had been out searching for Joe, eager to find him, they'd want the body to honor their lost comrade. If they had killed him, they'd want the body to conceal the evidence. But then murder needn't be a shared act. Gator, or one of the others, might've killed Joe on their own—that didn't mean Monty knew what had happened.
Was that caveat just Devi's own protestations arising now in Nigel's mind? Or perhaps an artifact of his desire to be certain she couldn't possibly be taken in by a handsome face who reminded her of a lost love and a life she'd left behind? Not just a mirror world, then, but a maze of mirrors with confusion around every corner.
"Arryo took care of Joe's body," Devi said. "He had a coffin he'd carved as a display piece." She gave a little shrug. "I'm not sure where they put the coffin then. Something like a town crypt I guess."
"Okay, good. Guess in the morning we can talk to them. Wow." Monty shook his head, as if to dispel the truth, and Nigel restrained his hand from an impulse to clasp the other man, to press his arm in some gesture of companionship. Monty smiled faintly. "He was so excited about that pirate ship, y'know? Really hoping he'd get to be part of the discovery."
"It would've been lovely to share it with him." Nigel's hands clasped on the tabletop. "I'm sorry that can't be."
"Makes me want to go find it, not for the money or anything, but just...for his memory." Monty stared at his hands, then said, "Ha. I sound like an idiot. Guess we both need more sleep."
"We've had quite a shock."
After a moment, Monty said, "I should...I need to tell the guys. Gator." He waved vaguely and pushed back his chair. He glanced again at the computer. "I should check that account though." With a little puff of breath, he said, "That sounded really callous, didn't it? Sorry. I'll just go."
Nigel knew what he was meant to do. The urge to refute Monty's self-assessment burned at his breast, the desire to accommodate even a strange request, even late at night. What sort of gentleman, what sort of friend, turned away a simple need that he could readily fill? "Come back in the morning. That should be soon enough, even for a man called Gator."
"Sure. Thanks." Monty started for the door, drawing it open. "We should have a wake, or something, a celebration of life."
"Indeed, we'd like that. Let us know the plans."
"Hey, Jess, can you get me through the gate? I don't want to bother the night attendant again. I think I woke her up." Monty pointed out the door.
"Back in a mo," she told Nigel, and followed Monty through the door, letting it shut quietly behind them.