Seeders: A Novel (15 page)

Jules was happy, reaching into the cold pit, but a shadow moved over him as if clouds were covering the whole world. He felt cold, grainy hands on his neck. The hands squeezed tighter and he was terrified. With great force they pushed his head down, mashing his face in the pile of dirt, and all the while there was laughter.

He was drowning in soil that filled his nostrils and his mouth until he couldn’t take a single breath. He tried to get loose but his arms wouldn’t move, and he tried to scream but his mouth was stuffed. A shrill voice echoed in his head.

Repeat! Repeat! Repeat!

Jules awoke in the woods with his face in the dirt, snorting soil from his nose. His body was trembling, his heart pounding, and some terrible thing still lurked in his mind. But he barely remembered the dream.

The golden sunlight between the trees had turned dark red. He had no idea how long he was passed out. Jules tried his best to stand on weak legs and finally got his ground. He started toward the path. A bird cawed in the distance and he wasn’t so frightened anymore.

Then he remembered the body and turned around. The doll head was dangling in the last bit of light. One white eye twinkled over red smiling lips.

Jules hurried back to the house.

CHAPTER 14

ISABELLE WAS ANXIOUSLY WAITING
in the laboratory, drinking a third cup of coffee, when Jules entered the house looking pale and disheveled. He slid closed the glass doors behind him, and Isabelle forgot all the questions stored up in her head.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said.

“What do you expect? I just buried a body.”

“Of course,” she said, shaking her head. “Sorry.”

“The radio—has it cleared?”

“No. Luke is trying to fix it.”

He took hurried steps. “I’m going to my room.”

“Wait,” she begged. “I must speak to you.”

Jules stopped and looked at Isabelle. He already knew what she was going to ask him. “You’re wondering if George killed Hodges.”

She didn’t answer, but he knew from her expression he guessed right.

“I think it’s possible.” He nodded. “Are you familiar with ergot?”

“It’s some kind of plant fungus. Why?”

He reminded Isabelle that the Canadian police had arrested George for growing ergot on the island. “The fungus is used to make LSD. George had grown it in the field of ryegrass in front of the house, in order to create his own more potent versions of the drug.” He took a breath. “We cannot rule out the possibility that George killed Hodges in a drug-induced state. According to Mr. Bonacelli, he had access to a rifle and wasn’t afraid to use it.”

“No, I won’t believe it.”

The idea that she might be the daughter of a drug addict, a dealer, and now a murderer to boot was more than Isabelle could bear.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice.

She picked up the ivy leaf Sean found. “You’re saying this fungus could produce a psychedelic drug.”

“It’s not just the ivy.” Jules rushed to the basket of specimens he’d collected. “I found the same fungus all over the woods. Trees. Grass. Ferns. Pine needles.”

He was getting excited and Isabelle sensed a thread of anger in his voice.

“It seems to have infected every plant on this island.”

“Is that possible?”

“No. Ergot only grows on grasses. This could be something … worse.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know!” he shouted, and his expression changed dramatically.

Isabelle flinched.

“I had a feeling something like this could happen.” He wrung his fists. “Don’t ask me how I knew, but all those years on the island, I could feel it.”

“What are you talking about? Why are you getting so angry?”

He stepped to the window and peered into the night sky filled with stars and a bright full moon. “There’s something in those woods.
That fungus
.”

“What can it be?”

He shook his head. “I need to study it.”

“There are microscopes in the cabinet. We’ll have to find the key.”

“
The key,
” he hissed and fury returned to his face. “Why in God’s name would he lock a cabinet when he’s all alone on an island?”

In one sweeping motion, Jules picked up a heavy metal stool and smashed it through the door of the mahogany display cabinet, sending shards of glass flying across the room. Two microscopes crashed to the floor. The stool dropped with a loud clang.

Isabelle stared in astonishment.

The room fell silent, except for Jules’s heavy breaths. He wiped a sleeve across his damp face and said, “I need to know what we’re dealing with.”

*   *   *

It was nearly midnight and Luke lay on his bed, staring at the flickering light on the ceiling that came from the fireplace across the room. The fire had a pleasant smoky aroma and cast dancing shadows over the hunter-green walls and heavy tapestry curtains.

Luke was thinking about the dead body, the swim at the beach—and Monica.

He should have been shaken after the day’s events and finding a rotting corpse, but nothing could penetrate the memory of her warm slender hand in his own, the smell of her damp hair against his shoulder, or the look in her eyes when she turned to him for protection. It was the best feeling in the world. A smile caught his lips when he recalled the smooth white curve of her buttocks, how they jiggled as she ran toward the woods. He closed his eyes in a fantasy of that same fleshy backside squirming in his lap as they made passionate love. He moaned and threw a pillow over his thighs, sliding it back and forth.

There was a knock on the door and Luke bolted up in bed, holding the pillow down firmly and trying to remember if he locked the door. “Wait—I’ll be right there!” he said and stood up slowly, focusing his mind on calming his erection.

Ginny … think of Ginny … blue veins … wrinkled mouth … baggy stockings.

“Luke?” It was Monica.

He took a deep breath and opened the door, one hand bracing the pillow.

She was standing alone in the hall, wearing pink shorts and an oversized Yankees sweatshirt. Without makeup her face was hardly recognizable. Gone were the black liner, white powder, and dark lipstick. She was more beautiful with peachy flawless skin and blond lashes over the lightest green eyes.

“I can’t sleep.” Her arms folded defensively.

“Me neither,” he told her. “You want to come in?”

Monica slid past him into the room and Luke caught a whiff of alcohol. He closed the door and sat with her on the edge of the bed, no longer needing the pillow.

She pulled out a vodka bottle hidden under her sweatshirt and unscrewed the cap.

Luke realized why her suitcase was so heavy. He noticed the bottle was nearly empty and wondered how long she’d been drinking.

“You want some?” she asked.

“Sure.” He took the bottle and chugged a mouthful. It burned down his throat and set off a hacking cough. Monica didn’t seem to notice, her eyes fixed blankly on the wall.

“I can’t stop thinking about that body.”

Luke cleared his throat and took a smaller sip, speaking in a deep voice. “It wasn’t so bad.”

Monica crawled backward on the bed and eased against the pillows, and Luke crept up beside her. They sat on the flowery bedspread like an old married couple, staring at their feet and passing the bottle back and forth, not speaking for a long moment.

“Damn thing has me freaked,” she uttered.

Luke thought this was his chance. Maybe if she felt really helpless, she’d need the comfort of a man. “Yeah, he was pretty creepy. And who knows if the killer is still out there.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed. “You think so?”

Luke sensed her fear. “No.”

She seemed relieved.

“But if he were out there, you can bet I wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.” He saw an expression of doubt on her face. “I
would
. I mean, if he tried to hurt you.”

Monica put the bottle on the nightstand and slid closer to him, so their hips were touching. She rolled onto her side and lightly touched his shoulders, staring at him drunkenly, while her fingers traced a line down his arm.

Luke felt his face pulse with heat. Chaos swirled in his brain, trying to process the sudden flood of information while struggling to ignore the sensations in his body so he could focus on what to do next. It wasn’t necessary because instinct took over. He rolled forward and pressed his mouth against her full lips. Instead of pushing him away, she kissed him back.

Oh God,
he thought. After so much waiting and nearly giving up, suddenly it was happening.
Bam!

Every part of his body was electrified. The urge was maddening and he grabbed a fistful of her hair and thrust his body against her. He thought he might explode.

Then Monica pulled away, leaving him weightless and tingling all over.

He stared at her lips and his cheeks flushed with desire. Her hair was disheveled and a glimpse of her tummy was exposed.

She reached for the bottle of vodka and took a long drink, passed it back to him.

Without moving his gaze from her face, he took only a sip. He didn’t want to numb the feeling of kissing her again.

But Monica looked like she was going to cry. “I don’t…”

“What?” Luke wondered if he was doing it wrong.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Oh.”

“Also, my mom’s a prostitute.”

“Oh.”

“
I’m
not. You know that, right?”

Luke nodded. More than anything, he wanted to get back to kissing. “Of course you’re not. You’re like … a goddess.”

She took another chug. “Goddess.
Right
.”

Luke moved in closer but she turned away. “No one at your school likes me. No one talks to me.” Her expression hardened and she sniffed back tears. “I don’t care really, I’m used to it. Every school I’ve ever been to sucks.”

“I like you.”

“’Cause you’re a dork.”

It was like a dagger to his heart, but then she smiled warmly.

“Chill. You’re not
really
a dork. You’re just trying to impress your parents so you pretend to be this perfect son, all studious and sweet. Inside, you’re actually this very cool”—her face moved inches from him—“hot … brave kind of guy. Smart, but sexy smart.”

Luke tried to kiss her again, but she turned her head with an audible sigh. It seemed she still wanted to talk.

“I hate sponging off other people like I can’t take care of myself. I can, you know. As soon as we get back to Brooklyn I’m getting a job and an apartment. Save enough money to go to Paris.”

“Maybe I’ll come with you. I’ve got a couple thousand in the bank.”

“Really? You’d come with me?”

“Of course.”

She looked like she might start bawling again, but instead started chugging vodka like water. She wiped her mouth. “My shrink was right. Being tough is just a stupid act, keeping me from a normal life. Rick, that’s my shrink—at least he was before I keyed his car and stole his stupid ashtray. He said it was silver. Yeah, right. Anyway, he said I could turn my whole life around in a second. All it takes is a different way of thinking. Pretty much the opposite of how I think now. What’s good is bad, what’s bad is good. God, I want that kind of life. Like you have.”

Luke’s heart quickened. Seeing her so vulnerable was exciting and unbearable at the same time. He could feel it, they had a connection. She was an outcast and wanted to change her life, be more like him. He was an outcast who wanted to toughen up, like her. He couldn’t stand it any longer. He kissed her hard on the lips. His tongue found the inside of her mouth, causing a pang of pleasure that shot a lightning bolt from the back of his throat to his stomach and kept on going south. She didn’t resist when Luke reached inside the back of her sweatshirt. Her body felt so slight and smooth, and she wasn’t wearing a bra.

Please don’t stop me.

He opened his hand wide, sliding it around the block, and gently cupped her breast. It felt larger than expected, a handful, but soft as a cloud and he felt himself losing control. When his thumb rubbed across her nipple the dam burst open, an almost painful shot of pleasure. A tiny moan came from his mouth and he reached for his lap. He could already feel the dampness on his thigh against his pajama pants.

He sat up, flushed with embarrassment.

“Did you just…?”

His eyes closed.

“It’s okay.” She had a sly smile and climbed over him, slipping off the bed and adjusting her clothing. “I better go.”

Luke’s head fell back against the wall.

Monica turned from the door. “Hey, you’re a good kisser.”

His mouth wouldn’t work so he just gave a quick nod.

“Good night, Luke.”

She closed the door behind her and Luke decided right then, he was in love with Monica. No doubt about it, he would have to tell her.

Tomorrow for sure.

CHAPTER 15

IT WAS A DREARY MORNING
and cold drizzle pelted the windows. Isabelle awoke in the damp bedroom feeling shaken from a bad dream she couldn’t remember. She gazed over her childhood possessions, realizing the happy memories had vanished from this place. The death of her father overshadowed the house and every inch of the island.

With a sigh, she left the warmth of the bed and dressed in a white cable-knit sweater and wool trousers. She went downstairs to find the kitchen deserted, so she tried the radio for a while with no success. Then she made a pot of oatmeal and a pitcher of orange juice for the kids, and poured a steaming mug of coffee. She carried it to the laboratory, hoping to find Jules at work.

He was standing in front of a large bay window, staring toward the woods in a trancelike state. Isabelle approached him, and he seemed oblivious to her presence. She cleared her throat, placing the coffee mug on the desk beside him, and he turned around.

“Isabelle, I didn’t hear you.” His eyes were dark and bloodshot.

She glanced down at the desk full of scribbled papers, microscopes, and various tools of science. Plastic cups held a dozen plant species, all infected with the fungus. Their leaves were pinched with metal clips and wires that led to an oscilloscope.