Duma Key(189)

Suddenly the places she'd taken me began to come back: hell's own tour. The path to Shade Beach that Adriana Eastlake had called (much to her father's fury) Drunkard's Boulevard. The beach itself, and the horrible things that had happened there. The pool. The cistern.

"His eyes are open," Jack said. "Thank God. Edgar, do you hear me?"

"Yes," I said. My voice was hoarse from screaming. I wanted food, but first I wanted to pour something down my burning throat. "Thirsty can you help a brother out?"

Wireman handed me one of the big bottles of Evian water. I shook my head. "Pepsi."

"You sure, muchacho? Water might be-"

"Pepsi. Caffeine." That wasn't the only reason, but it would do.

Wireman put the Evian back and gave me a Pepsi. It was warm, but I chugged half of it, burped, then drank again. I looked around and saw only my friends and a length of dirty hallway. That was not good. In fact, it was terrible. My hand I was definitely back to one again was stiff and throbbing, as if I had been using it steadily for at least two hours, so where were the drawings? I was terrified that without the drawings, everything would fade the way dreams do upon waking. And I had risked more than my life for that information. I had risked my sanity.

I struggled, trying to get to my feet. A bolt of pain went through my head where I'd bumped it against the wall. "Where are the pictures? Please tell me there are pictures!"

"Relax, muchacho, right here." Wireman stepped aside and showed me a semi-tidy stack of Artisan sheets. "You were drawing like a madman, tearing them off your pad as you went. I took em and stacked em up."

"All right. Good. I need to eat. I'm starving." And this felt like the literal truth.

Jack looked around uneasily. The front corridor, which had been filled with afternoon light when I took Noveen from Jack and went bye-bye down a black hole, was now dimmer. Not dark not yet, and when I looked up I could see the sky overhead was still blue but it was clear that the afternoon was either gone or almost gone.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"Quarter past five," Wireman said. He didn't have to glance at his watch, which told me he'd been keeping close track. "Sunset's still a couple of hours away. Give or take. So if they only come out at night-"

"I think they do. That's enough time, and I still need to eat. We can get out of this ruin. We're done with the house. We may need a ladder, though."

Wireman raised his eyebrows but didn't ask; he only said, "If there is one, it's probably in the barn. Which seems to have stood up to Father Time pretty well, actually."

"What about the doll?" Jack asked. "Noveen?"

"Put her back in Elizabeth's heart-box and bring her along," I said. "She deserves a place at El Palacio, with the rest of Elizabeth's things."

"What's our next stop, Edgar?" Wireman asked.

"I'll show you, but one thing first." I pointed to the gun in his belt. "That thing's still loaded, right?"

"Absolutely. Fresh clip."

"If the heron comes back, I still want you to shoot it. Make it a priority."

"Why?"

"Because it's her," I said. "Perse's been using it to watch us."

ii

We left the ruin the way we'd entered it and found a Florida early evening full of clear light. The sky above was cloudless. The sun cast a brilliant silver sheen across the Gulf. In another hour or so that track would begin to tarnish and turn to gold, but not yet.

We trudged along the remains of Drunkard's Boulevard, Jack carrying the picnic basket, Wireman the bag containing the food and the Artisan pads. I had my drawings. Sea oats whispered at our pants legs. Our shadows trailed long behind us toward the wreck of the mansion. Far ahead, a pelican saw a fish, folded its wings, and dropped like a dive-bomber. We did not see the heron, nor were we visited by Charley the Lawn Jockey. But when we reached the crest of the ridge, where the path had once sloped down along dunes that were now eroded and steep, we saw something else.

We saw the Perse.

She lay at anchor three hundred yards out. Her spotless sails were furled. She rolled from side to side on the swell, ticking like a clock. From here we could read the entire name painted on her starboard side: Persephone. She appeared deserted, and I was sure she was in the daytime, the dead stayed dead. But Perse wasn't dead. Worse luck for us.

"My God, it could have sailed right out of your paintings," Jack breathed. There was a stone bench to the right of the path, barely visible for the bushes growing around it and the vines snaking over its flat seat. He dropped onto it, gaping out at the boat.

"No," I said. "I painted the truth. You're seeing the mask it wears in the daytime."

Wireman stood beside Jack, shading his eyes against the sun. Then he turned to me. "Do they see it over on Don Pedro? They don't, do they?"

"Maybe some do," I said. "The terminally ill, the schizos currently ditching their medicine..." That made me think of Tom. "But it's here for us, not them. We're meant to leave Duma Key on it tonight. The road will be closed to us once the sun goes down. The living dead may all be out there on Persephone, but there are things in the jungle. Some like the lawn jockey are things that Elizabeth created as a little girl. There are others that have come since Perse woke up again." I paused. I didn't like to say the rest, but I did. I had to. "I imagine I'm responsible for some of those. Every man has his nightmares."