Gray's Domain: Purgatorium Series, Book Two (27 page)

“Come away,” he said.

When she stood up, she noticed Joey was as white as a sheet.

“Are you okay?” she asked him.

“You called her Kara,” he said.

“I know.” Tears flowed from her eyes. “I know. I’m sorry. I was in shock. I wasn’t thinking properly.”

“There’s no such thing,” he said.

“No such thing as what?” she asked.

“As thinking properly,” he replied. “There’s just thinking and not thinking.”

“Then I wasn’t thinking,” Daphne corrected. “I was reacting and not thinking.”

Joey nodded and the three of them went back to their seats by the fire where Daphne fought to rein in the unending tears.

Soon the adults arrived—Hortense, Arturo, Lee, and Philip. They made the kids return to their rooms. Brock stayed over with Daphne, but even in his comforting arms, she could find no sleep.

The next day, they held a memorial service on the beach for Emma after breakfast. Daphne wondered what had happened to the remains. There was a rumor that Dr. Gray had burned them on the bonfire last night, and when Daphne asked Cam about it in low whispers during the service, he said Emma had no family. Emma’s mother had turned custody over to Dr. Gray.

Daphne also wondered why Greg hadn’t shown up for the service. Was he crying his eyes out alone in his room, or would his body be the next to wash up on the shore?

Most of the adults had said their goodbyes to Daphne and her family after the memorial service, but Dr. Gray and Roger had come along to Prisoners Harbor, as had most of the regulars and Giovanni.

Dr. Gray shook each of their hands and reminded Daphne’s parents that she would see them in two months. Her parents thanked the doctor over and over, both of them with tears in their eyes. Daphne thanked her, too.

Dr. Gray stepped aside so Roger could follow suit, shaking their hands and telling them it was a pleasure to meet them. “Come back again and we’ll look for some more birds,” he said.

Then Daphne was surrounded by the regulars, each offering her a hug—all but Emma (of course) and Gregory. Cam asked her again to come back as a volunteer, and she promised to think about it.

When, last of all, Giovanni came up for a hug, he whispered in her ear, “Come back for me. Please don’t leave me here.”

Daphne frowned and said simply, “Goodbye, Giovanni.”

Dragging their rolling bags behind them, Daphne, Brock, and her family walked across the wooden slats to the catamaran waiting to take them home. They waved again once they were settled and pulling away from the pier. As they rounded the eastern side of the island, Daphne was overwhelmed with mixed emotions. She hated that island, and she loved it, too.

They made one more stop—at Scorpion Anchorage—to pick up a few more passengers, mostly men with huge backpacks. Once they were loaded, the boat eased away from the pier and headed out to open sea toward the mainland.

Brock held her waist as they watched the dolphins swimming alongside the boat. Daphne’s parents and brother all wore thoughtful expressions on their faces. They looked happy. Daphne smiled and believed that she, too, was happy.
Completely
happy.

After they had reached the port at Ventura and had exited the boat, one of the men with the huge backpacks from Scorpion Anchorage sidled up to Daphne.

“Are you Daphne?” he asked her.

She bent her brows in surprise. The man didn’t look at all familiar to her.

“Who are you?” Brock asked.

“Coming, Daphne?” her mother called from the end of the pier.

“Someone asked me to give this to you,” the man thrust a folded piece of paper into Daphne’s good hand and walked away without looking back.

“What is it?” Brock asked her.

“Our shuttle is here,” Joe called out to them.

Daphne and Brock rushed to the end of the pier and along the sidewalk to the shuttle. Once their bags had been taken and stored in back, Daphne sat in a seat beside Brock and opened the paper. Inside, scrawled in pencil, she read:

Daphne,

You’ve got to help me. Please come back with the FBI and help me and Emma get away from my deranged parents. They won’t let us leave. I have a trust fund from my father. I will give you whatever you want.

Yours,

Greg

Daphne looked up at Brock. “Oh my God.”

“You don’t think it’s another exercise,” Brock said.

“I don’t know what to think.” Either Greg didn’t know Emma had died, or he had written this note before it had happened. “I think we’re going to have to go back to the island.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said.

But she wasn’t kidding. And, surprisingly, the thought of returning filled her with relief. She had never felt more alive than she had felt at the Purgatorium. Her heart raced with the thrill of anticipation. She didn’t want it to be over.

“Living art,” she murmured, piecing something together. “That’s what Dr. Gray meant about living art.”

“What are you talking about?”

“When a book ends, the story is over, dead. Same thing when the curtain closes, when the lights come on in the movies, or when a song ends. Art in a painting is dead. It’s frozen. But this island, this therapy gives you an experience that stays alive as long as you want it to. It’s not real—it’s art.
Living art.”

“Wait a minute,” Brock said. “Are you for or against Dr. Gray?”

“I don’t know yet. It depends on what I find out.”

“Are we going to tell the FBI?” he asked her.

“Not yet,” she said. “I don’t want to get everyone in trouble if Greg’s just pissed at his mom and if Emma’s death was really a suicide.”

“We?” he asked.

“You’re coming with me aren’t you?” she asked.

“I’ve got to go back to work,” he said. “I can’t afford to take off any more days. And I really don’t like the idea of you going back without the FBI.”

Daphne reread the letter over and over. Somehow, some way, she would get Brock to understand and convince her parents to let her return. She had to get back to the island and discover the rest of the story.

THE END