Trophies And Dead Things

Behind me Ross gasped. She tried to push around me, but I held her back. Briefly I closed my eyes, bracing myself for what could easily be the worst discovery of my entire life. Then I stepped across the rocks to the child.

Mia didn't stir as I approached her. I squatted beside her, touched her arm. Her flesh felt cold and clammy. A gust of wind ruffled her fine black hair.

And then I heard her suck in her breath-a quick tremulous intake that was filled with grief and terror.

Relief washed over me. I placed my hand on her head, smoothed her hair, touched her neck. Her artery pulsed strongly. I said, 'Mia, it's okay now. Libby and I are here.'

'Sharon?' Ross called.

'She's alive. Go back to the boat and get those blankets.'

Ross's footsteps moved swiftly away over the rocks.

Mia began to whimper. I started to move her-carefully, in case any bones were broken. She didn't cry out or wince; once I had her in my arms, she coiled her body even more tightly.

'Daddy,' she said.

'Mia, what happened to your daddy? And Davey?'

'Gone.' Her voice was muffled against me. 'Daddy let go of my hand. I fell. I called him, but he didn't hear. Davey screamed for him to stop. But they went away and left me.'

D.A. probably hadn't even noticed he'd let go of her. Too drunk or stoned to realize or care that she was gone. Anger flared within me, and I held Mia more tightly.

Ross returned with the blankets. We wrapped the little girl in them. I said, 'Take her to the boat. I'll go after D.A. and Davey.'

'You'd better not-'

'For God's sake, Libby, you can't leave her alone in that condition! I'll be okay.'

Without a word Ross hefted the swaddled child. I stood, focused my torch on the trail, and set out alone.

After a few minutes I was reasonably sure I'd found the trail that would take me to D.A.'s flat rock at the top of the island. It zigzagged steadily upward, around trees and jagged outcroppings, past deep declivities. The wind grew stronger as I climbed; fog drifted in and out of the encroaching branches. Silence lay heavy all around me, but I knew it was deceptive; there was danger in the void that held an unbalanced man with a gun. Soon my ungloved fingers began to stiffen from the chill; I flexed them. My throat was scratchy, and I kept swallowing to relieve it. I'd lost my bearings, didn't know which side of the island I was on now, or how far I'd traveled toward the top.

Finally the trail came out onto a ledge. I stopped, breathing hard. Through rents in the fog I could see the eastern shore of the bay-faint lights winking here and there on the hillsides, others strung out along the water. I checked my watch, was surprised to find I'd only been climbing a little over ten minutes. I'd lost my sense of time, too.

After I went a few more yards, the trail split. I took the arm to my left, but soon found it was descending. I retraced my steps, took the other arm uphill. The terrain quickly became more rugged, the vegetation sparser. I came up against a rock ledge, raised my flash, and realized I'd come to the 'giant steps'-three feet or more in height, set one atop the other. A light glowed beyond the highest step; I was very close to the place where Taylor liked to lie and imagine the tranquility of death.

My heart beat faster. I stood still, strained to hear. No sound up there but the wind.

I began climbing the steps, boosting myself up, remembering the old schoolyard game of Mother, May I?

Mother, may I take a baby step? A banana step? A giant step?

One more giant step. Then another. Light glowing brighter now. One last step, higher than the others. Rest before you climb it.

I looked up, saw a ring of eucalypti faintly illuminated by the lantern rays. Their branches and ragged, curling bark were etched against a high-drifting fog. Nothing else moved up there. No one spoke. Did anyone still breathe?

A sick dread of what I might find filled me. And then I heard a sound… a sob. Davey.

A soothing voice said, 'Hush.' Then it began to sing. The voice was D.A.'s, the words in another language. Miwok? The cadence was that of a lullaby.

Slowly I pulled myself over the last step. The ground above it sloped upward; my sight was blocked by a fallen tree. I flattened, wriggled forward on my stomach. Peered over the tree trunk.

The slab of rock sat in the middle of the clearing. The lantern stood at its far side. Taylor lay on his back, one denim-covered knee bent upward, his left arm flung, over his eyes. His right arm-the one closest to me-encircled Davey. The pajama-clad little boy lay with his head on his father's shoulder. He'd stopped crying, but his dark eyes darted around the clearing. I saw no gun, no other weapon.

Cautiously I raised myself above the tree trunk. Davey spotted me instantly, and his eyes flashed with recognition.

I shook my head. Pantomimed that he should pretend to sleep. For a moment he looked confused. Then he shut his eyes.

Taylor's singing trailed off in a minute or two. Resumed. Trailed off again. He sighed deeply, and then his chest moved up and down in a regular rhythm. After a bit his mouth sagged open and he began to snore.

Davey opened his eyes, looking at me. I shook my head, waited another couple of minutes before I motioned for him to come to me.

He sat slowly, watching his father. Slipped away from his encircling arm. Stood and moved quietly across the clearing. I pulled him down beside me on the other side of the tree trunk.

Putting my lips close to his ear, I whispered, 'Everything's going to be okay now. Mia's down on the beach with Libby. Can you get back there on your own?'

'… If I have a light.'

'Come on, then.'

We wriggled back to the first giant step, and I boosted him over it. Handed him my torch. He glanced around at the encroaching blackness, but when he looked at me again, his gaze was steady, resolute. In it I recognized the strength and pride his father had possessed so long ago.

'Be careful,' I whispered. 'Tell Libby I said to take you and Mia home. Then she can come back for your daddy and me.'

For a moment he looked longingly upward, to the misty light coming from the clearing where his father slept. Then he turned and let himself down the next step.

I remained where I was, giving him a five-minute head start before I went to rouse D.A.

Taylor took a great deal of rousing. He thrashed and mumbled and jerked violently away from my outstretched hand. I got a firm grip on his shoulders and hauled him to a sitting position. He hunched over, black hair down in his eyes. For a moment his emaciated frame shuddered. Then he looked up at me.

Beneath the shaggy fringe of hair his eyes were as burnt-out as the first time I'd looked into them. He stared at me without recognition.

I said, 'D.A., it's time to go home now.'

He didn't reply, merely moved the focus of his gaze to the lantern and then around the clearing. He put a hand on the smooth rock and stroked it.

'Do you know where we are?' I asked.

'I know.'

'Do you remember coming here?'

He considered, shook his head. 'I often do.'

'You brought your children with you this time.'

'My children.'

'Mia and Davey-'

'I know who my children are.' Now a puzzled expression crossed his face. He continued to look around the clearing. 'I was singing to them… Where are they?'

'On their way home.'

He nodded, as if he'd suspected as much.