“You hired me to sleep with your fiancée. You piece of shit.”
“You murdered your wife,” Bruce said. Then he turned to Chip and said, “Chip, can you call Bob and have him come and deal with this guy before I have to do it myself?”
“Why don’t we let Abigail decide?” Eric said, then turned to Abigail and added, “Whatever you want, I’ll do. If you want me to back off, I will.”
All the men turned intently to Abigail. For a moment she felt dizzy and wondered if she was going to faint, but then it passed, and she just felt exhausted, and sad, her throat aching like she was about to cry. The rain had plastered her hair to her head, and she felt cold.
“I want to go alone,” she said. “Just me. I want off the island.”
Once the words were out, she realized how badly she really wanted that. To be alone on the plane leaving this evil place, Bruce and Eric left behind. “That’s what I really want,” she said aloud. “I want to be alone, and I want to get away from here.”
She looked at the pilot, who seemed to be enjoying the drama.
He shrugged as if to say he’d be happy to take her alone. She nodded toward him. “You ready?” she said.
First the pilot laughed, and then Chip joined in. Abigail, confused, looked around. It was only Eric now who wasn’t laughing, but it looked like he wanted to, his lips pressed together so tightly that they were the pale color of his skin, and then suddenly he laughed as well, an expulsion that came with a spray of spit. The terror that Abigail had been feeling all day ratcheted up a notch, even though she was also confused, wondering if she’d missed a joke somehow.
“Sorry,” Bruce said, now laughing so hard he barely got out the single word. Abigail thought he was addressing her, but he was looking at Eric instead, who’d stopped laughing even though a huge smile still creased his face.
A small voice inside Abigail was speaking, telling them that she was still here, but the voice wouldn’t come out. She was aware that her legs had begun to shake, and that there was a loosening in the lower part of her abdomen. Why were they all laughing?
“Look at her, poor thing,” Eric said. “She has no idea what’s going on.” He turned back to Bruce. “She found your ring, you know. And she recognized it. She’s already been to the sacred place.”
“I think she’s going to faint.” That was Chip, and Abigail felt all the men’s eyes on her at once. Another strong gust of wind blew in, everyone’s hair and clothes rustling, even though no one was moving. It all seemed strangely vivid, almost like slow motion, the faces sharply etched so that every detail seemed equal to every other detail. Bruce’s dark eyebrows, plucked in the middle. Eric’s pale blue eyes. Chip’s white skin, pelted with red hair. Specks of rain and mist in the air. And the pilot’s soft giggle, erupting in little spurts even though you could tell he wanted to stop. They all swam in front of her, and the small voice inside her head told her that her best chance was to turn and run.
It was about fifty yards to the line of trees at the edge of the landing strip. Her legs felt heavy, but she moved them as fast as she could, the men’s laughter still audible, even over the sound of her own frantic running.
She was almost to the woods when something large hit her back and she was dragged down onto the ground, her chin bouncing as she skidded painfully to a stop.
“Got her,” came a yell about a foot from her ear, and then she was flipped forcibly onto her back. It was the pilot, and Abigail reached up, got a handful of hair plus part of the necklace, and pulled as hard as she could, his head jerking down, puka shells scattering, and a hank of hair coming loose in her hand. He gritted his teeth and grunted.
“Bitch,” he said, and punched her in the chin. The world went briefly dark and unfocused and she squeezed her eyes shut.
When she opened them again all of the men—Eric, Chip, Bruce, and the pilot—stood above her looking down. Bruce was grinning, his teeth clenched and his lips wide apart, and Chip was breathing hard, his beard now gleaming with sweat. Eric seemed blank, almost distracted. The pilot had both her arms pinioned to the hard, wet earth. She could feel the cold and damp seeping through her clothes.
“She wet herself,” Bruce said, the words almost casual, like a stray observation, and it took Abigail a moment to realize he was talking about her, and that her jeans were soaked in her own urine.
There was a tapping sound and she swiveled her head. Chip was holding a large syringe, flicking at it with a finger. “Wait,” she said, but the pilot held her tighter as Chip crouched, then pushed the needle deep into her neck.