Gray's Domain: Purgatorium Series, Book Two (10 page)

“I’ll wait for you here,” Bridget said.

Daphne gave her a nervous glance.

“Don’t be scared,” she added. “Just have fun. Oh, and one more thing. The bullets in Stan’s gun are real, so don’t let yourself get shot.”

“Yeah, right,” Daphne said, laughing.

“Seriously.”

Daphne’s mouth dropped open. “Why on earth are there real bullets in his gun?”

“Dr. Gray said blanks would break the illusion. But don’t worry. Stan knows what he’s doing. It’s just occasionally a patient grabs the gun and goes postal on us.”

Daphne’s mouth went dry. “Isn’t that a bit risky?”

“There are only two bullets loaded,” she said. “Your chances of getting a lethal hit from one of them are next to nothing. Plus, it adds to the thrill. Now go on.”

The excitement that had been coursing through her veins was now replaced by legitimate fear as she jogged down the hill toward the bunkhouse. She could have refused to continue, but she wanted to do it. It was crazy, mad, insane, but she was having the time of her life. As she neared the dusty window, alight from the glow of Stan’s lantern inside, Daphne was terrified but grateful to be alive.

A noise behind her made her turn. The little island fox stood five yards away beneath a scrawny tree. Daphne winked at the camera on the end of the fox’s tail and then turned back to the window. She could hear Giovanni talking.

How could she get him to the window? She scoured around the ground until her eyes fell on an overturned metal bucket. She scooped up a handful of pea gravel, and threw the pebbles, one at a time, at the bucket.

It became quiet inside. They were listening. She threw a few more pebbles, her face close to the window. Someone moved toward her. As soon as she saw Giovanni, Daphne ducked around the side of the house. The door opened, and she heard him run out, looking in all directions.

“Who’s there!” he shouted. “Show yourself!”

Daphne pressed her back against the side of the house, breathing rapidly. Giovanni was now between her and the bridge, so she needed to wait for him to return to the house before she could take off for the farmhouse. She held her breath and froze, listening. She nearly wet her pants when Giovanni came around the corner and grabbed her.

“Who are you? And what are you up to?” he demanded.

On the end of his shaky hand, the gun pointed directly at her.

Chapter Eight: Gunshots

“You have to help me,” she said, recalling what Roger and the others had said about improvising. She shook without acting, terrified and excited at the same time.

“Who are you?” he said, unconvinced.

“Daphne.
I came here for therapy. But things…they got out of hand…it became too weird…so I ran away.” She looked to her left and then to her right. “Are you here alone?”

“No. Another guy’s with me.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Don’t know yet. Are you saying I should I trust you?” He squeezed her upper arm so hard that she winced.

“I’m starving. I don’t care if you trust me or not, but I’ll do anything you say for just a bite of food.”

He looked her up and down. “Were you the one screaming on the bridge?”

She wasn’t sure what to say, but she knew if she hesitated too long, he’d lose any trust in her she might have gained. “No. I don’t know what that was, but I don’t believe in ghosts.”

The front door creaked open, and Stan limped around the corner. “What’s going on out here?”

Before either Giovanni or Daphne could reply, the shrill scream blasted through the darkening sky once again from Haunted Bridge. Giovanni took off running for it.

“Stop him,” Stan muttered.

“Why can’t you?”

He pointed to his ankle. “I can’t.”

“Wait!” Daphne called out, running after Giovanni.

She could barely see in the blanket of darkness that had descended on the island, but the moon was bright enough for her to make out Giovanni’s figure stopped about fifty yards from  the ravine, the gun pointed at the ghostly figure of Bridget. Before Daphne could reach him, he fired twice.

“No!” she screamed.

When she caught up to him, he was searching the bottom of the ravine from the bridge. Daphne looked down, unable to see clearly because of the shadows. Her stomach was in knots, her throat pinched closed. She could barely breathe. Where had Bridget gone?

“Why would you fire at something when you didn’t know what it was?” Daphne screamed.

“It was a ghost,” Giovanni said. “I saw her.
The wife of that slave trader. Haven’t you heard the legend?”

“If she’s a ghost, then why shoot her?” Daphne asked. “She’s already dead.”

“It got her to leave, didn’t it?” he said angrily. “What else was I supposed to do?”

Daphne looked all around but saw no trace of Bridget. She only hoped she had made it out safely. Maybe she was in the tunnel on her way to the farmhouse and not at the bottom of the ravine.

As tempted as she was to end the game to discover what had happened to her friend, she remembered the warning the others had given. They had said, no matter what, she wasn’t to break the illusion. Plus, the sooner she lured Giovanni away from here, the sooner a rescue mission, if needed, could commence.

“Let’s get out of here before she comes back,” Daphne said.

She ran toward the bunkhouse and was relieved when Giovanni followed.

As she and Giovanni collapsed on the two wooden chairs, Giovanni said, “What if that was another one of their weird games? What if I shot a real person?”

Daphne glanced across the room at Stan, who turned and limped out to the screened porch to sit in the wooden rocker. He looked too upset to speak.

“It doesn’t matter,” Daphne said, since Stan had said nothing. “Whether it was a real ghost or one of
them
, we have to get off this island. Those people are dangerous.”

“You really think so?” Giovanni asked.

“I was almost killed when a horse bucked me off,” she said, looking him straight in the eye. “What kind of therapy risks people’s lives?”

Giovanni nodded. “This girl named Bridget nearly fell off a cliff,
then my elevator dropped three floors, and now this? I don’t know what to think.”

“I say we head to Scorpion Anchorage first thing in the morning,” Daphne said. “That’s the best way off this island. There are other people over there.
Regular, normal people. Don’t you agree, Stan?”

“You will have to go without me. My ankle’s busted.”

“We can’t leave you behind, man,” Giovanni said.

“I’ve got a horse,” Daphne said. “I found her wandering around.”

“Is she white?” Giovanni asked.

Daphne nodded. “Why?”

“She’s crazy. You can’t trust her.”

“You two go for help,” Stan said. “I’ll hide out here and wait. I’ve got plenty of food and water. I’m too sore to travel.”

“Wait a minute!” Giovanni scrutinized Daphne’s face. “How did you know his name was Stan?”

“You told me.”

“No I didn’t.”

Daphne’s face turned red. “I don’t know. I guess I met him before or something.” She gave Stan an anxious look that said
help me
.

“I thought you looked familiar,” Stan said. “We met on the beach about a week ago. You were with that guy named Cam.”

“Oh, that’s right.”

Giovanni studied her. “Should we get started now, for the east end?”

She lifted her brows in surprise. “Now? Why not wait until morning?”

“They’ll be out looking for me in the morning,” Giovanni said.

Daphne glanced at Stan, who said, “Sounds like a good idea to me.”

She wasn’t ready to run the game alone. She’d already messed up twice—once by getting caught and again by saying Stan’s name. Ugh. Why was Stan encouraging her to go? The only reasonable explanation was that someone else would enter the game and take it over. Maybe it was Daphne’s job to lead Giovanni to him or her.

“Is there a certain path I should take?” Daphne asked Stan.

“Follow the stream in Central Valley,” he said. “It will take you all the way to the naval road. From there, follow the road to Scorpion Anchorage.”

After eating a can of nuts and taking two of Stan’s canteens of water, Daphne and Giovanni crept from the bunkhouse in the dead of night and headed for the east side of the island. Adrenaline ran through Daphne’s veins. As excited as she felt, she had no idea what to expect.

They followed the small circle of her flashlight up the grassy slope from Christy Ranch. The wind chilled Daphne, and she had to admit she was feeling sleepy, not having expected to be traipsing across the island during the night. She was surprised by how loud the crickets and other insects sounded. The island was teeming with bugs, and they were part of a far-reaching orchestra.

“Central Valley should be on the other side of these hills,” she told Giovanni.

“You sound like you know a lot about this island,” he said with what sounded like suspicion.

“I should,” she said. “I’ve been wandering it alone for two days.”

“Then why were you on the west end if you think the east is the way off?”

“I thought I could flag down a boat over at Kinton Point, but I waited several hours yesterday and had no luck.”

Then she added, “Plus I was hungry, so when I saw you and that other guy running to the bunkhouse, I was hoping I could get a bit of food.”

Giovanni didn’t say more as they made their way over the hills and into Central Valley. It was slow moving in the dark, with only the small circle of light to guide them. The stars were brilliant overhead, and the moon helped them to see the outlines of the distant hills and shrubs, and Sierra Blanca to their right and Mount Diablo to their left, but the ground outside of their little light was in shadows. After some time, she heard the soft rush of the stream running over rocks. The smell, too, was unmistakably fresh. She half-skipped and half danced with her arm through Giovanni’s.

“Here it is!” she said. “I was afraid I’d get us lost. Thank God!”

“So now we just follow it to the road?” he asked.

“I guess so.”

They continued walking.

“About how long do you think it will take?” he asked.

“Not sure. Three or four hours, maybe?”

She doubted they would get very far before something new would happen, and because of this, she was jumpy.

“So why are you here?” Giovanni asked, after they’d walked in silence for several minutes.

“Oh, I guess for the same reason most people come here.” She really didn’t want to talk about it. Her therapy was over. He was the one that needed to talk. But he kept
after her until, before she knew it, she was relaying the story about Kara and Joey, and how she had heard and done nothing to save her sister’s life, but how she might not have been able to do anything to stop it anyway. She even told him about the Prozac and the Tylenol, and a bit about Brock.

He asked if she had cancer. This took her by surprise until she realized the scarf probably made him think she had lost her hair to chemotherapy.

“Yes,” she lied.

“Sorry.”

She was surprised by how much he told her when she had finished. As they trudged across rocks, over grass, through shrubbery, and all manner of landscape, he told her about how alone he felt in the universe, where not a single person was truly devoted to him and his well-being.

“Someone must have paid for you to come here,” she said. “Who were you living with before you came to the island?”

“This older, wealthy couple,” he said. “I think they’re helping me because they’re goody two-shoes, not because they really care about
me
. They don’t even know
me
.”

“Maybe
you
have to be the one person in the universe devoted to you and to your well-being,” she said. “Maybe you have to be the first one, anyway. After that, then others will follow.”

He stopped in his tracks. She thought of snakes, lizards, mice, and all kinds of possible reasons.

“What is it?” she asked, heart thumping.

“Nothing,” he said. “Come on, let’s keep moving.”

They hadn’t gone on much farther when, just as the anticipation of something happening had begun to wane and leave Daphne feeling disappointed, something happened. A loud snarl echoed across the hills—from what direction, Daphne couldn’t tell.

“What was that?” she whispered.

“Dunno. Don’t move. Switch off the light.”

Daphne did as he said. If she could know for certain that the snarl was made by a person and not an animal, she might be able to control her trembling. She took Giovanni’s hand.