Maybe I would find their bodies.
Maybe I would come upon Wesley and Thelma, and slit their throats.
I had my razor.
I was Rambo.
I was Rambo until I left the beach behind. The moment I waded upstream into the shadows of the jungle— and out of the moonlight—I stopped being Rambo and became Chicken Little. I could see almost nothing, just a few pale speckles and scattered tatters of dim light that somehow made it down through the trees.
I was tempted to turn back. If I went on, I would probably fall in the dark and bust open my face.
I went on, anyway. Taking tiny steps. Hunkering down low so I wouldn’t have so far to fall. Keeping both my arms forward to catch myself.
That way, I made slow progress up the stream.
I fell several times, banging up my hands and knees but not getting hurt in any serious way.
Frequently, I stopped to rest, stand up straight, and stretch to get the kinks out. Then I’d bend over again and continue on my way. In spite of the rest stops, all the bending tired me out and made me ache. I finally decided to take my chances and walk upright.
It felt good, walking tall.
I had farther to fall, and the falls hurt more, but I felt sort of proud of myself. I stayed high and even quickened my pace.
Sometimes, I felt as if Billie, Kimberly and Connie were walking with me through the night. I couldn’t see them, but they were there. In front of me, behind me, wading by my side.
Other times, I felt alone.
Worse than alone. There can be comfort and peace in being truly alone. The bad kind of alone is not when you’re all by yourself, but when your only company is an unseen stranger, imagined or real, creeping toward you in the dark. You have nobody to help you. There’s no safe place to run. All you can do is keep going and hope for the best.
That sort of aloneness gives you goosebumps scurrying up your spine. It makes your scalp crawl. It makes you feel like someone has shoved an icy hand against your crotch.
That’s the way I felt, off and on, while I was making my semi-blind way up the stream last night.
Off and on.
Coldly spooked when I felt the loneliness.
Warm and safe when the women seemed to be with me.
Off and on. I knew it was only my mind playing games, but I couldn’t control it.
Sometimes, I nearly screamed with fright and ran like hell.
Other times, surrounded by my phantom ladies, I loved the darkness and warmth of the night.
I felt the good way as I approached the lagoon.
Raising my eyes, I saw the moonlit slab of rock where Kimberly had stretched herself flat, days ago, to scan the lagoon for signs of Thelma and Wesley. I climbed onto it. I lay down on it, in exactly the place where Kimberly had been. The warmth of the rock seeped through my shirt and shorts.
She was with me. Her heat was in me.
That’s how I felt, anyhow. It was only in my mind, but maybe that’s no great reason to discount it.
Lying there, I slowly scanned the lagoon.
In places, it sparkled with points of silver moonlight. Mostly, though, it looked black.
This was not a forbidding blackness.
The opposite. One look, and I wanted to be in it. Could hardly wait.
I told myself that I hadn’t come up here for a dip in the lagoon; I’d come to look for the women.
To search for them beyond the far side of the lagoon, above the waterfall and farther upstream where we’d last been together. I wouldn’t find them here. Maybe not there, either, but that was the place to start.
To get there, I needed to cross the lagoon.
On my feet, I looked all around. No glow of firelight was anywhere to be seen. Nor did I see a sign of anyone’s presence. I listened. The only sounds were birds and bugs, plus some of the usual jungle shrieks and jibbers (God knows what they came from), and the quiet splashing sounds of the waterfall on the other side of the lagoon.
Bits of moonlight lit the falls. Otherwise, they were black except for a few dim, gray streamers of froth at the bottom.
I wanted to feel the waterfall spilling onto me. I wanted to feel the lagoon and the night air. I wanted to be gliding through the black water, naked.
I took off my shirt and shoes and socks.
Then I took off my shorts. Naked, I crouched and set them down. I pulled the straight razor out of the right front pocket.
Though I wanted complete freedom in the water—nothing to carry—I suddenly found myself reluctant to leave the razor behind. Someone might steal it. Or I might chance upon Wesley or Thelma. Without the razor, how would I defend myself?
After giving the matter some thought, I put on my right sock and slipped the razor down inside it against my ankle.
Which was exactly the same way I’d carried Andrew’s Swiss Army knife up the tree to cut down Keith. I started to remember about that. It was more than a week ago, but seemed like it had just happened. I could feel the tree against my body, see Keith hanging…
“Don’t think about it,” I said. Even though I spoke in a whisper, the sound of my voice unnerved me a little.
Who else might’ve heard it?
Standing up straight, I looked around. I stood motionless and listened. And started to feel very exposed and vulnerable. I began imagining that someone was out there, hidden in the darkness, spying on me, creeping closer.
As fast as I could, I climbed down the rocky bank and eased myself into the water. My legs vanished. A moment later, everything below my waist was gone, as if I’d been sawed in half by a magician.
Right away, I felt safer.
It would be no trick, at all, to disappear entirely.
My chills began to fade. My goosebumps started to go away. My tight muscles relaxed. A pleasant warmth seemed to be spreading through my whole body.
I felt even better as I waded into deeper water. When it reached my neck, I looked down and there was none of me left to see.
I had become invisible.
Except for my head, of course. Even though I couldn’t see it, I knew that it showed.
If anyone was watching.
So I ducked below the surface to make my head invisible.
Now, I was completely gone. Completely safe. I was all alone in the warm water, surrounded by a jungle where my enemies might be lurking… I felt wonderful. I was not only safe, but invincible.
Staying below, I swam. The water flowed along my body, warm and smooth. After a while, my lungs began to ache. I stayed below, anyway. Soon, I heard the shooshing and plottering of the waterfall.
Underneath the falls, I found footing on the rocky bottom. I turned around and came up slowly. The curtain of dropping water pattered on top of my head, ran down the sides of my face, splashed softly into the water still covering my shoulders.
My head was no longer invisible.
I didn’t feel frightened, though—maybe because it would be so easy to disappear again.
I stood up straight.
And shivered as I did it. This was no shiver of fear, though. This was excitement. I felt daring and powerful as more and more of my body came out of the lagoon and into full view of anyone who might be watching.
How different this was from my last time here! Only a couple of days ago, I’d stood battered and aching and desolate beneath these very falls. I’ll have to write about that in more detail. Soon. Not now, though. For now, I
