Lies That Bind Us(55)

Marcus looked very slightly pissed off, but he glanced away so they wouldn’t see.

“OK,” said Simon. “Back at the car at five. If we get done sooner, I’ll text you.”

In town we had a decent signal, and everyone had been glued to their phones for the first ten minutes of our visit. It felt like some cautionary meme about the decline of Western civilization—the six of us huddled over, blind to the ancient beauty of the town around us.

I reached over and gave Mel a parting squeeze, and she smiled gratefully.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Have fun.”



We bumped into a group of Americans outside the imposing entrance to the fort—college students, perhaps, or just graduated.

“Christ,” said Kristen. “It’s us, five years ago.”

It kind of was. You could spot the couples, the shining ones who ran the pride, the quiet ones who followed after . . .

“Oh my God!” exclaimed one of them, a girl in a top cut almost to her navel. She was staring at Kristen, and for a split second I thought we were going to be the target of another arbitrary attack. “You look exactly like Kar Gohen!”

That was her character’s name. I was amazed. I had almost forgotten that Kristen was a star and didn’t think anyone would recognize her behind those massive Sophia Loren sunglasses. She raised them, smiling, and said simply, “Hiya.”

The group broke into raptures, grinning like kids, all fighting to announce how awesome she was, telling her she had short hair—in case she might not have noticed—and listing their favorite End Times episodes. It was quite endearing, watching them geek out, and I confess that some of her glamour seemed to coalesce around the rest of us, like we must be amazingly cool to be hanging out with her. Several of them eyed us cagily, as if trying to figure out if we were castmates or actors from other shows. Their eyes lingered particularly on Simon, who might easily have been a movie star or the kind of basketball player who got invited to the same parties.

“I know you’re on vacation and all,” said one of them, “but if we could maybe get a picture with you . . . ?”

“Absolutely!” said Kristen, as if they were doing her the favor. “Brilliant.”

“Her English accent gets stronger when she’s talking to fans, have you noticed?” whispered Marcus to me.

I grinned at him, but his gaze was still on her and it was thoughtful.

“What?” I asked.

He shrugged.

“Nothing,” he said, though I didn’t believe him. Kristen was smiling for cameras and signing hastily produced notebooks, showing no trace of the silent irritation that had clung to her since Brad had stormed off. “Tell you one thing,” Marcus added. “She’s a better actress than I thought she was.”

It hadn’t been long since I thought the same thing, and for a second I wondered how much of the real Kristen I had ever really seen. Not much, I suspected.

I confess I had rather hoped to have some time alone with Marcus, if only to solidify our newfound friendship, though I also still wanted to ask him about the cave of Zeus. There had definitely been an odd vibe when Kristen had mentioned our trip there, and I felt sure that there was something I was missing, probably something I had missed five years ago as well. Whether Marcus would know more than me or not, I couldn’t say, and it seemed odd that he had never mentioned it if he did, but then maybe the strangeness of whatever the cave meant involved him somehow. It had, after all, been the beginning of our unraveling, though maybe that had been an accident of timing. I couldn’t imagine what might have occurred at some random tourist outing that made him like me less than he had the day before, but with Kristen and Simon on hand, I wasn’t about to ask him about it now.

I had expected the fortress to be more compact, like the castles in The Lord of the Rings or Game of Thrones, with rings of walls and towers with the occasional Disney spire and Hogwarts decor, but it was more like Fort Sumter: big and open, with lots of ramps and platforms for guns. There were no towers at all to speak of, though the perimeter wall was dotted with little turrets that bulged out over nothing but the long drop to the shore, where turquoise water deepened fast. There was a single domed mosque and, close by, some rusted cannons overgrown with weeds, where a solitary tortoise nestled. On the lower level was a long, dark tunnel with a barrel roof, iron gates, and heavy wooden doors leading into storage rooms, barracks, or cells. It gave us a nice break from the sun—the top side of the fort was almost entirely without shade—but I was glad when we left. It was starting to give me the willies.

The place was largely deserted. When Marcus and Simon wandered off to inspect the gift shop, I found Kristen on the main platform, gazing out over the coast.

“You OK?” I asked Kristen.

“Yeah,” she said. She smiled wanly, then shook her head. “Not really.”

“Brad will be fine,” I said. “Just one of those things.”

She nodded but looked unconvinced and a moment later said, “These things happen a lot lately.” She backtracked immediately, as if keen to make sure I didn’t get the wrong impression. “I mean, he’s fine,” she said. “Just stressed. Really stressed.”

“Work?” I said.

Again the silent nod, and this time the silence was longer and deeper. Out over the sea a pair of gulls rolled and dived, screaming at each other. Eventually she gave me a sideways look, took her shades off, and slipped them into her purse.