Unseen Messages

  His red finger had switched to a swollen arm. The tourniquet hadn’t worked, allowing devilish scarlet tendrils to chase up his skin and paint his flesh with infection and worry. Pus seeped from his fingernail where the splinter had poisoned him and he no longer needed the fire.

  He was the fire.

  His temperature raged until he mumbled in tongues, garbled nonsense, saw hallucinations. He spoke to Conner some hours, to his mother in others. He conversed with the dead as if they were living...as if he’d already joined them.

  I’d tried everything.

  I’d steeped his hand in hot, hot water. I’d crushed and applied the leaves Pippa had found helped with inflammation. I mashed coconut flesh and fish into a paste and washed it down his throat with rainwater.

  I did everything I could, used everything at my disposal to break his fever and bring him back to me.

  But nothing worked.

  Finally, on the morning of the fourth day...mere hours from when he’d hurt himself, Galloway opened his eyes and wrenched my tortured heart from my xylophone-stark ribcage.

  “I’m dying, Stel.”

  I convulsed with the need to cry. I was desperate to cry. To find some avenue from the over-cooked pressure inside me.

  But I couldn’t.

  I billowed and swelled until I was tight and achy with tears. But I couldn’t let go. If I did, who would be there to catch me? Who would be there to drag Galloway back to life?

  Wild, tangled hair slid over my shoulders as I shook my head. “No. No, you’re not. You’ll be fine.” I stroked his forehead, wiped the sweat from his cheekbones, and avoided looking at his blistering red arm. “You’re fine, see. You’re talking. That’s an improvement. You’re talking to me, G. You’re on the mend. See...you’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. I can’t tell you how much you’ll be fine.”

  Stop saying fine.

  I couldn’t.

  “Please, G. Believe it. You’ll be fine. So, so fine.”

  His smile crumpled my soul into dust. “Estelle, baby...stop.”

  Baby.

  He’d never called me baby. Never given me a nickname other than Stel or Stelly. Now, he called me baby. Right before he decided to leave me?

  He’s not leaving me.

  I won’t let him.

  Anger replaced my tears. “Don’t baby me, G. You’re going to get better. You hear me. You’re not allowed to leave me.”

  Pippa appeared from the house, holding Coconut with tears streaking down their faces.

  They’d heard us.

  They knew yet another soul would be gone soon. And then, it would just be us.

  Three females.

  Alone.

  All masculine energy and bravery...gone.

  No!

  I glowered at my adoptive daughter, wanting her gone with her pessimism and useless grief. “Go! Leave. Don’t stare at him as if he’s already dead!”

  Pippa gasped.

  For a moment, rebellion illustrated her face with war colours, but then she turned on her heel and dashed away, carrying Coconut with her.

  Good.

  Good riddance.

  I didn’t need them if they didn’t believe in miracles.

  Galloway will be okay.

  You’ll see.

  Everyone will see.

  He’s not allowed to leave me.

  The tears did flow then. Undammed and unwanted, they waterfalled down my cheeks despite my rage at them falling.

  Galloway moaned, reaching for me.

  I folded into him, placing my head on his chest, listening to his infected racing heart...doing its best to keep him alive just a little longer.

  “Estelle, I need to tell you something. I need you to grant me absolution. Will you do that?”

  I could only nod and hold him tighter, whimpering and sobbing, drenching his overheated body with my over-hot tears.

  He took a while to form a sentence, to mull over the words he wanted because this was it. The final conversation we would ever have.

  I knew that.

  He knew that.

  The damn forsaken world knew that.

  Death’s cold laughter existed on the breeze as my one and true love, the husband of my heart and father to my daughter, gathered his strength for salvation.

  “I—I killed a man.” He breathed rather than spoke; his confession barely audible. But it slithered into my chest, churning like butter, like sour milk, like fermented cream until I wanted to vomit such a sentence and pretend he was the good, hardworking man I’d given my heart to.

  But I couldn’t refuse him.

  I couldn’t ask questions or demand answers.

  I could only listen and forgive so he could go to his grave one soul lighter, and hopefully, find Heaven after fearing Hell.

  “I wish I could say it was an accident. I wish I could fabricate a tale of a ruined boy who made a terrible mistake. But I can’t.” He sucked in a rattling breath. “I can’t lie to you like I lied to myself for so many years. I willingly bought an unlicensed gun. I caught the train to his house. I knocked on his door. And I hit him over and over again for what he’d done to my mother, to my father, to me. And then...once he’d paid for his crimes, I shot him.”

  No, no, no.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay. Murder is never okay. And I don’t pretend to think I did the world a favour. But he was a killer, too, Stel. You have to believe me. His toll was much higher than mine. I couldn’t save the patients he’d destroyed, but I could save the families left behind. He can’t hurt another, and I’m willing to take that price with me.”

  Don’t, don’t, don’t.

  “I forgive you. I believe you’ve paid enough for your sins, Galloway.”

  He kissed me with blazing lips. “Only you could trust me so blindly, Stel. Only you could overlook a prison sentence and corrupted past and see what’s good inside me.”

  Please, please, please.

  “You are only good, G. So, so, so good.”

  “I love you, Estelle.”

  “G...”

  “Tell me you love me, too.”

  I want to.

  I do.

  But something prevented me.

  As if those three little words would be the defibrillator to stop his heart. As if he only clung to life to hear them. Was it wrong of me to want him to remain in pain so I never had to say goodbye?

  Yes, it’s wrong.

  Don’t let him go.

  You love him.

  Tell him.

  He deserved to hear such a thing before leaving.

  I sat up.

  I stared into his eyes.

  I parted my lips.

  And then Pippa’s scream tore everything apart.

  Chapter Sixty

  ...............................................

  G A L L O W A Y

  ......

  I HURT.

  There was no other way to describe it.

  I was dying.

  There was no point denying it.

  My fingers had become terrorists, my arm a prosecuting enemy, and my body a murderer.

  I’d done this to another.

  Now, my body did this to me.

  I’m dying.

  I didn’t know how I knew, but I did.

  I was almost gone.

  Trading blood and bone for phantom and wraith.

  For days, I’d clung to strength, doing my best to fight against the ever-darkening shadow and heavy, heavy sickness. But now...now, I had nothing left, and somehow, I knew I had mere hours, maybe only minutes left.

  Confessing to Estelle.

  That had been my last spurt of energy.

  I’d saved it.

  I’d hoarded it.

  Unwilling to waste my one chance at absolution.

  I thought I’d be angrier. More terrified. More hurt that after so long of being unhappy, I had to leave so much sooner than I wanted.

  An
d I was all of those things.

  I hated leaving Estelle.

  I hated letting her down.

  I hated the thought of her staying on this island with no one to shoulder the burdens and hold her late at night.

  There would be no voyage.

  No returning to society.

  Not for me, at least.

  My time was up.

  I hated that goodbye was such an ugly, ugly word, but I had no choice but to speak it.

  Pippa’s scream came again, wrenching through our sad farewell.

  Estelle’s leaking eyes flared with indecision, torn apart with love.

  I tried to move, to seek Pippa and the reason for her anguish, but my body no longer obeyed my orders. It had a new master now. Death itself.

  My racing heart (smoking with wear and tear from the infection), sprinted faster. “She’s in trouble. You have to go to her.”

  Estelle gritted her teeth, her soul ruptured between Pippa’s scream and my imminent departure.

  We wouldn’t be leaving together, after all.

  But I would wait for her.

  I would wait for eternity until I could kiss her again.

  “Estelle...”

  She sucked in a sob, anger mixing with her tears. “Don’t make me choose, Galloway. Do. Not. Make. Me. Choose.”

  A seismic fissure cracked through my chest.

  What an unfair situation to be in. Having to choose. Having to decide who deserved comfort when you yourself needed comfort most of all.

  A heat wave resembling the surface of the sun roasted my already roasted body. “Go, baby. You have to.”

  Baby.

  I’d never been one to use nicknames. I hated all form of generic endearment that could be transferred to another. But in this instance, it worked. Because, this time, I’d transfused the simple word with all the magic of love.

  When I called her baby.

  I was really telling her I loved her.

  So, so much.

  She was the mother of my child. The keeper of my heart and guardian of my soul, and if that didn’t make her my baby, my wife...then I would die never knowing the meaning of what did.

  Estelle threw herself onto my chest, her tears tickling my naked skin. I swore my flesh incinerated those salty droplets like a hot tin roof in a summer’s rain.

  “I can’t. I can’t leave you.”

  “You have to.”

  “No!”

  I wanted so much to hug her but every inch of me screamed with pain. The most I could do was lay my hand on her head. “Baby, you must. She needs you. She has Coco. What if they’re dying? Would you let them go over me?”

  She stilled.

  Don’t answer that.

  I didn’t want the curse of making her verbally admit that somehow, through all my sins and failures, I’d done enough good to deserve her love over any other thing...including our own daughter.

  It wasn’t right.

  It wasn’t going to happen.

  My voice tinged with anger. “Estelle, go to our children.”

  Her shoulders wracked with sobs.

  Her hands clutched me harder.

  “Go.”

  “No! I won’t leave you.”

  Tangling my hands in her hair, I pulled her eyes to mine. “You don’t understand.” Tears filled my own gaze, wavering her beautiful face. “I’m leaving you. And you can’t abandon them when I’ve already abandoned you.”

  “Don’t say that! Take it back. God, please...take it back.”

  For a moment, I swore my heart stopped, as if testing to see how ready I was to die.

  I wasn’t ready.

  I would never be ready.

  But Conner would be there. We’d find each other again. I’d see my mother. And who knew...maybe even my father if he’d died of heartbreak after almost four years of me missing.

  Will she die of heartbreak?

  Fear electrocuted my nervous system, giving me a few more minutes. “Estelle.” Her name became my rosary beads for my final prayer. “Promise me, you’ll look after them. No matter what happens. Promise me, you won’t give up.”

  Her sobs quietened as she slowly, terribly, scooped up her grief and tucked it back into her soul. “You’re truly leaving me.”

  I wished I could say any other word than “Yes...”

  I tensed against another refusal, but this time...she accepted. Curtains swished across her eyes, blocking out life-light. The steely acknowledgement and power she’d always had blanketed her sorrow and weakness.

  I’d fallen in love with this woman because of her many facets and capabilities. I’d loved her every way a man could love his girl. And now, I had to commit the most cardinal sin of all...leave her behind.

  Death was a divorce. The most bitter, awful divorce.

  Pippa screamed again. Louder. Stronger.

  And that was the end.

  Estelle bent over me, her eyes locking onto mine, giving me an anchor to return to time and time again as a ghost once my immortal soul was free.

  Her lips sought mine, neither moving nor kissing. Just breathing and loving and reliving everything we’d been through, every year we’d loved, every night we’d slept, every day we’d lived.

  And then, she was gone.

  She flew to her feet.

  She vanished into the forest.

  And I closed my eyes for the final time.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  ...............................................

  E S T E L L E

  ......

  “PIPPA!”

  Don’t think.

  Don’t think.

  Don’t remember.

  My fists couldn’t stop clenching, shaking, shuddering. My heart couldn’t find its normal rhythm as I left it with Galloway as he lay dying alone on our beach.

  Alone.

  He’s all alone.

  He’s left me.

  The shards of my soul clinked like shattered porcelain, rattling in my hollow, hollow chest.

  “Stel! Help!”

  Pippa’s voice helped me focus. I’d made a promise. Galloway had left me. But Pippa and Coconut would not.

  I forbid it.

  A man’s baritone echoed through the trees as I charged toward my daughters.

  A man?

  That wasn’t possible.

  Unless Galloway had died and his ghost now haunted me.

  Haunt me forever.

  Never leave me.

  If I could only have him in plasma form, I would take it. I was greedy enough to stay in love with a hallucination.

  Coco’s cries turned to screams as another man’s voice rose.

  My feet switched from running to tearing and I burst through the palms and flaxes right onto a scene I never thought would come true.

  My daughters.

  In the arms of two men.

  Strange men.

  On our island of only five.

  Conner.

  Galloway.

  Three.

  On our island of only three.

  The man fighting with Pippa looked up. His startled green eyes bugged and everyone froze.

  The man holding Coco mimicked our standoff, looking at his colleague, dressed in the same grey slacks and shirt with a royal blue wave on the breast pocket.

  My attention to detail went into overdrive.

  I noticed e..ve..ry..thing.

  I observed the sweat on their temples.

  I saw the crinkles around their eyes.

  I counted every strand on their dirty blond heads.

  I catalogued their similar jawlines and aquiline noses.

  I cursed every breath they took.

  Every breath Galloway would never take.

  Every breath Conner would never have.

  They left me.

  He left me.

  I’m alone.

  And that was when I snapped.

  These animals were hurting my children—the only people I had left in the world.


  I didn’t care how they came to be on our island. I didn’t care if they were here to rescue us or how they’d found us.

  I don’t care.

  I don’t care.

  I don’t care!

  They’re dead.

  All I cared about was protecting my family.

  Galloway had left me.

  He’d made me choose.

  He’d given me no choice.

  I wouldn’t let anyone else make decisions for me.

  No more.

  No way.

  Not with my family.

  “Let. Go. Of. My. Children.” I took a step forward. “Now!”

  My grief snarled into a nasty, nasty thing, wanting to lash out and maul. I wanted blood. I wanted pain. I wanted to hurt and hurt and hurt until the hurting stopped inside. Until I could breathe without wanting to die. Until I could exist without him by my side.

  The men flinched but didn’t obey.

  So I did the only logical thing.

  I lost it.

  I lost myself to tears and fears.

  I charged.

  I hit.

  I struck.

  I bit.

  I screamed.

  I hurt them.

  I fought them.

  I destroyed them for taking what was mine.

  And through it all, I was no longer a wife or mother.

  I was a monster.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  ...............................................

  E S T E L L E

  ......

  “ONE DAY, YOU’RE going to be a big fancy singer, and I’m going to be the one scrubbing your back in an overfilled bubble bath.”

  I threw my sour lolly at my sister, Gail. “Wrong. You’ll be scrubbing my back in a spa on some cruise sailing the Tahitian sea.”

  Madeline giggled. “You’re both wrong. You’ll be scrubbing my back as I’ll be the manager of said success and skim all your royalties for my own.”

  I rolled my eyes at my seventeen-year-old friend.

  As an only child, Madi didn’t have a bestie like I did with Gail. We’d met on the first day of primary school, and I’d adopted her. Gail (who was two years older) adopted her, too.

  If there was mischief to be had, we were the ones to meddle in it.

  “You’re all morons.” I laughed. “I won’t be the one singing; I’ll be the one writing for others. I’m terrified of microphones and crowds...remember?”

  Madi slung her arm over me, staring at our reflection as we added the finishing touches to our makeup. We were heading to a party to celebrate the end of school. She’d made me swear I would attend back in middle school, seeing as I never went to social functions.