The Jumbee (37 page)

Esti slowly nodded.

“Steve brought about his own end. Perhaps I hastened it into the light with an anonymous note to the headmaster, but I did nothing wrong. I took thorough steps to ensure that Danielle’s discomfort would be far less than the suffering she caused you over the semester. And then there’s Paul Wilmuth.” Alan slowly approached her. “Shall I tell you how I killed Paul Wilmuth?”

She couldn’t even swallow, her throat paralyzed with fear.

“I saw you practicing that morning. Your first day at Manchicay School. An unexpected miracle from the only man I ever respected; the fulfillment of a dream I didn’t even know I had. For twenty minutes I watched you play Juliet to my empty theater, and I fell in love. And then Paul interrupted you.”

The blue eyes had pinned her, and she couldn’t look away.

“When you left the stage, I came out of hiding and stared at him as he crawled up to the catwalk. I couldn’t comprehend why he would stop you, how he could laugh at you. I
looked
at him, Esti. And when he saw me looking at him, the sight sent him plunging from the catwalk in fear. That’s how I killed him.”

Alan took a deep, controlled breath. “Even you, my beloved Esti, screamed when you saw my face. So please tell me how to enjoy other people’s happiness, when all I am allowed to give is terror.”

Esti couldn’t talk. She felt like he’d punched her in the stomach, like she felt when Mr. Thornton called him Fishface on the telephone. For a moment only the howling wind laughed at Alan’s words, then she heard a sound at the front door.

“Esti, you in there?”

“Rafe!”

Alan grabbed her arm as she lunged toward the door. “My lady allowed him here?” he said in disbelief.

The pounding changed over the wind. Rafe must have heard her, and he threw his body against the bolted door in an attempt to break it down. Alan’s fingers tightened as Esti struggled to pull away.

“Let him in,” she cried. “The storm will kill him.”

“So it will.” Alan’s eyes became expressionless again. “She protects me after all. He won’t find his way back to the caves now. The hurricane is on us.”

“You can’t leave him out there.” Esti was horrified.

“If he’s foolish enough to challenge my lady, he deserves his fate.”

“He’s here to save me.”

“Rafe Solomon is not my responsibility,” Alan said quietly, “even if he finds it necessary to save you from me.”

Esti glared at him. “If he dies, I’ll never forgive you. Never.”

He was still gripping her arm, and as the roar of the wind rose to a new pitch, she grabbed his free hand.

“Open the door,” she begged. “Whatever you want from me, I’ll give it to you.”

For a moment Alan didn’t answer.

“Please!”

He clenched his jaw. “Marry me.”

She felt her heart stop. His obsession shouldn’t have surprised her by now, yet the shock reached all the way through her core.

She looked at his face. Surely she would get used to the sight of him; she would someday be able to look at him without flinching. She had sworn his appearance didn’t matter to her; she’d dreamed of kissing him, before she pulled off his mask. Now his blue eyes dared her to fulfill her rash promises.

The thrashing outside the door had already weakened against the fury of the storm. Esti felt any control she’d ever had over her life yanked away from her and tossed by the catapult into the violent winds. Control meant nothing. She controlled nothing. Life and tragedy were random, their victims chosen on a whim.

Her heart thumped again, slowly and painfully. “Okay,” she said. “I will.”

Alan didn’t hesitate. Pulling away, he strode across the room. He braced himself, holding the door in both hands to unbolt it. Despite his caution, the door ripped away from him, slamming against the wall. Rafe landed on his hands and knees inside the house, his flashlight skittering across the stone floor.

Esti staggered back against the couch from the force of the wind. Alan fought to close the door, and she scrambled forward again to help him. The instant the wind let up, she pushed against the heavy door with all her strength. Alan managed to bolt it again, just as a new gust battered the side of the house with renewed fury.

Esti turned to see Rafe rising to his feet, soaked and exhausted. His filthy clothes trailed leaves and thorny vines. As she took a terrified step toward him, however, Alan stopped her with his hand.

“Don’t touch him,” he commanded. She shrank back against the door.

“You would dare—” Rafe began furiously.

“You’re covered with manchineel.”

Esti stared at Rafe with new fear as Alan reached down with gloved fingers to pick up a small oval leaf from the floor, a single pale vein splitting its length in perfect symmetry.

“I see you got lost after you left the caves,” he said. “If Esti touches you, the toxic sap will be on her as well. Is that what you want?”

Rafe’s face, still swollen from the fight, contorted with anger. “I’ll deal with you, then,” he said. “You’ve earned some manchineel sap.”

“Perhaps I have.” Alan’s bitter laugh knifed into Esti. “Believe me, you can do nothing that my lady hasn’t accomplished a thousandfold. For Esti’s sake, I will spare you the same fate. At the bottom of the stairs”—he pointed—“is a shower. I recommend you wash yourself quickly, before you begin to blister. Esti doesn’t need a second monster vying for her attention.”

He laughed again at Rafe’s expression. “No doubt you didn’t envision your heroic rescue ending like this.”

Rafe turned to Esti in disbelief, and she met his gaze as steadily as she could.

“Go,” she said. “Hurry.”

But he didn’t move. “Has he hurt you?” he demanded. He glanced at Alan again, his eyes narrowing. “Did he
touch
you?”

“Of course not.” The words dropped woodenly from her mouth. If she allowed a single emotion to slip through, she would shatter. “Please wash off the manchineel before it scars you.”

Rafe studied Alan’s scarred, scaly face. “Your skin disease has nothing to do with manchineel,” he finally said. “Esti told me you inherited it.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked across the living room. He slammed his fist against the wall as he started down the steps.

Esti forced herself to look at Alan. Part of her wanted to throw herself at his feet in gratitude for saving Rafe and sparing him from the manchineel. Another part wanted to lash out at Alan for trapping her into a promise she couldn’t believe she’d made. But she was taken aback by the intense gleam in his eyes.

“Exactly what do you know about my skin disease being inherited?” His voice held a strange note she’d never heard before.

She took a shaky breath. “I think it was made worse by manchineel burns you got as a baby. But you told me you were haunted by your own blood, and Edward Thornton said—”

“Edward Thornton?” His voice became brittle.

The expression in his eyes frightened her and she involuntarily stepped back. “When I called Boothsby Hall—”

“How dare you!” He grabbed her arm, his words wrapping around her like a whip. “You have no right to dig up my past. What else did you find out about me?”

“No, how dare
you.
” Esti wrenched away from him, overcome with sudden fury. As she spun back, her arm hit a stack of waterproof boxes. The highest one toppled, Shakespeare posters spilling from the container and crashing against the stone floor. She ignored them, flinging her words at Alan. “You want my future, but you won’t even give me your past. You’re so wrapped up in your selfish misery, you can’t believe anyone might actually care about you.”

She took a furious step toward him. “I’ll tell you the horrible things I found out about you. I discovered that two local teenagers rescued you when your parents died. Ma Harris, I would guess, and her brother, Domino. Twenty-five years ago she gave you your life. She must know you’re not a jumbee, but she lives to protect you. She does everything she can to make sure people stay away from you, everything she can to keep you safe and be your friend.”

Alan stared at her in silence.

“I know my dad tutored you,” she continued, her rage growing again. “My dad gave you hope, you told me, and friendship.” She stabbed her finger at the posters on the floor, and Alan took a step back. “His inscriptions to you are as heartfelt and sincere as anything he ever wrote to me. He respected you, and it’s possible he also feared you; I can only guess. But he brought you back here, to your home. He clearly loved you.”

Alan shook his head, and Esti moved closer to him.

“I discovered other things,” she said. “I know Manchineel Cay marked you as her own when you were a baby. I don’t know if she fears you, but if an island is capable of vengeance, then why not fear? Why not love? Your lady cay must love you desperately, Alan. She long ago guaranteed you would come back to live your life with her, alone.”

Esti narrowed her eyes. “And I found out one last horrible thing. I realized I’m capable of doing almost anything for you. I’ve learned to lie and steal and sneak around in the dark, keeping secrets and breaking promises and feeling guilty for everything I do. My love for you has driven me to hurt everyone I know.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Aurora and Rafe. Carmen, Lucia and her mom. Even Rodney and Frederick have suffered because of me. Because of you.”

She followed him as he shrank away from her.

“You’ve destroyed people for me,” she continued in a softer voice, “so yes, I am afraid of you. It’s not because of your face, Alan. You’ve caused me pain I could never have imagined. But you’ve also given me beauty like I never dreamed of, and I would do anything in my power to make your life happy.”

She studied the terrible face in front of her. Alan had backed into the wall of boulders, his expression close to panic. This is it, she thought. The most challenging role I’ll ever play. Forgive me, Rafe.

“If this were a fairy tale,” she said, “and I could turn the jumbee into a handsome prince with a kiss, don’t you know I would do it?”

She leaned forward and kissed him, her heart pounding with anger and fear as her lips met his. An unnamed longing swept through her, aching for something that could never be. He didn’t respond, still frozen against the wall as she pulled away.

“Unfortunately,” she continued, her voice shaking, “it’s not that easy. The people you allowed near have all respected you, yet you look for rejection. That’s all you want, even from me. Your threats might earn you pity and a desperate promise, but they destroy everything else. I will always be your friend, but I can’t heal your misery for you.”

The wind roared past the house like a fighter jet close overhead. Alan stared at her with haunted eyes that widened at a sudden violent banging from the kitchen upstairs. He hesitated, his desperation evident. As the banging became more urgent, he turned toward the stairs, swearing bitterly under his breath.

Act Three. Scene Seven.

Esti shoved her dad’s Shakespeare posters back in their waterproof box, then raced up the steps behind Alan. One of the big shutters had come loose, banging against the side of the house. As Alan tried to grab it, it ripped free and disappeared into the grasp of the storm. A dishtowel on the table followed, sucked out the window by the careening wind.

Swearing, Alan pushed past Esti and leaped back down the steps. She huddled against the far wall, peering out through the window. The wind shifted for an instant. Rain blasted through the opening almost horizontally, spraying Esti with water and leaves. Her ears popped with the change in pressure. She lunged against the counter, but the wind abruptly turned and pulled the debris back out.

Alan reappeared, carrying a toolbox and a piece of plywood larger than the window. He dropped the toolbox on the floor and yanked out a hammer. With a grimace, he lifted the plywood to cover the opening, wincing as it pinned his gloved fingers against the frame with the suction of the wind. Esti reached up to hold the wood in place for him, and he glanced at her, startled. He obviously hadn’t expected help. They both staggered back as the wind changed again for an instant, then Esti braced herself against the table. Alan began nailing the plywood to the window frame as quickly as he could. Another gust of wind battered it, and Esti suppressed a shriek as her feet slipped.

The plywood steadied as Rafe appeared beside her, his clothes dripping clean water on the floor. As they forced the wood back against the opening, Alan gave him a blank look. Rafe just glared and Alan started again, moving with desperate efficiency. They didn’t relax until the plywood was firmly in place with a dozen nails.

“These nails won’t hold for long if the wind—” Rafe began, but Alan was already nodding.

Without a word, he disappeared down the steps.

Rafe finally looked at Esti, and she forced herself to meet his eyes. Before she could protest, his arms were around her. He felt wonderful—so strong and loving and protective—and she nestled hopelessly against him, gasping as he pressed his lips to her tangled hair. By the time the hurricane passed, either her betrayal of Alan would be complete, or Rafe would discover she’d promised . . .

She couldn’t let herself think about it.

“Are you okay?” He spoke into her ear.

She nodded, holding her breath. “What happened to Greg?”

“He woke up with a headache. Your jumbee was a lot nicer to him than he was to me.”

She sagged in relief. “How did you get here?”

“Everyone told me I’d have to wait until after the storm passed. I said to hell with ’em all and swam here with my scuba gear.”

“You’re crazy,” she said, holding him more tightly.

They heard a crash against the stairs. Esti pulled away from Rafe and leaned over the railing to look. Alan had moved one of the empty bookcases to the base of the steps and was starting up, pushing it ahead of him.