The sacrifice, p.14
The Sacrifice, page 14
“All right,” someone else says. “Rolling in three. Two. And.”
“Grandma,” the translator says formally, speaking in Tagalog. “Can you please state your name for our viewers?”
“My name is Katrina Teresa Bantay. I have lived in Barásoain for close to seventy-four years.”
“You told us that your daughter was sacrificed by the cultists at Kisapmata many years ago.”
A series of gasps erupt from the crew around me. Chase’s mouth drops open. “They found her,” he whispers, awed. Hemslock sits by, looking smug.
“Yes.” The old woman doesn’t look upset or anguished by the revelation. She talks as if she is reciting from memory, albeit an unpleasant one. “God has already punished those who were responsible.”
“And by God, do you mean the one that supposedly sleeps within the Godseye?”
“Yes. I remember as a child, making offerings to the island. When our beloved pets die, we would bury them there, ask Him for His blessing. They used to bury people there too, until the local government sixty, sixty-five years ago decided it was bad for tourism. Times have changed. But time has no meaning with Him.”
“Can you tell us what happened when you first realized your daughter was missing?”
“Oh. So, so terrible. We searched for hours. And then she—the American—arrived at our house. Our daughter’s body was with her. ‘I am sorry,’ she said. ‘Forgive me.’ Over and over.” Mournfully the old woman shakes her head. “As if that could bring my child back to me.
“Then the American died,” she continues, with a quiet, bone-chilling finality. “We saw balete roots encircle her legs, wrap around her waist. It took her. The ground opened and the balete took her down, down, underneath the soil. They killed my daughter for nothing. Those people—your people—killed for nothing. All you do is take, take, take.”
“Do you know what happened to the other cultists?”
“I heard rumors that some escaped Kisapmata. They had guns, the American told us. Guns were the reason the Diwata could not protect us from the Spaniards or the Americans or the Japanese, my great-grandmother said. She lived long enough to see them all.”
“Hear that?” Hemslock says triumphantly, pausing the video. “Whatever supernatural shit is on this island, bullets are effective. And I have more than enough to spare. We’re as prepared as we can be until we reestablish communication with the mainland.”
This seems to satisfy the rest of the crew but not Gries. “But how did you know to bring all these guns in the first place?” he asks, suspicious, after the others had left the hall to await contact from Leyte. “And bringing this many bodyguards is no coincidence, either. There’s something about the Godseye you haven’t told us.”
Hemslock smiles disarmingly. “You know me, Leo. I’m a regular Boy Scout. I like to come prepared. You should be grateful that I planned ahead.”
“What do you know about this island, Reuben?”
“Enough for me to take the lead on this one. So sit your ass down and let me do what I gotta do.”
Leo turns without another word and leaves the mess hall. Chase and I follow him. Askal trots beside me as Gries reaches the cabin he shares with Chase.
“He’s hiding something,” he says abruptly, striding toward his desk and opening his laptop. “I have the shared password to the files on our server. I want to take another look at the videos he showed us. There’s a reason he didn’t play them all the way through.”
He finds the first recording and clicks on it. We stand behind him to watch. Askal claims the rug again.
“She sent someone care packages all the time,” the museum curator says. “The police already questioned us about it—I believe it was to a PO Box, but it was all done under her name, and they couldn’t trace who received them.” She also talks at some length about the Cortes’s journal but doesn’t say anything that we didn’t already know. Gries switches to another video.
“I don’t think they found any bodies on the island,” the mayor says, exasperated. “It isn’t about covering up any evidence. Yes, the villagers here are protective of each other, especially of the family involved, but my predecessor couldn’t have made any arrests if there wasn’t anyone to—”
Another video.
“—She was the true death the Diwata wanted,” the old grandmother was saying. “As punishment for taking my daughter’s life, it is she who suffers. The poor woman.”
“How do you know this, grandmother?”
“How do I know?” For the first time since the interview started, the woman grows passionate, angry. “A mother knows. My family worships the Diwata. Most of us here still do. We know He is just, and that He punishes the guilty. When He took the American woman, we started hearing of strange things on the island—things that were always crying, always suffering. That is her punishment. She is not the only sufferer there. We can do nothing but pray.”
She stares off into space for a few minutes. When she speaks again, her voice is wistful. “The Diwata knows. He knows all who come to his shores. He remembers us after we die.”
“What do you mean that ‘he remembers’?”
She laughs. “He sees into the heart of those who enter his domain. He can create dreams and nightmares to show you what lies there. My daughter is not the only one who has found bliss in His mercy. Over the years, He has given many sanctuary. Fishermen and travelers who did not survive our worst storms have found eternal sanctuary with Him. They are different from the sacrifices he demands. They are loved.”
“The legends state that the god will create a new world when he awakens.”
The old woman only smiles.
“Have you ever dreamt of him before?”
“I dreamt once of a plane that fell from the sky, how some of those poor souls found their way to His shores. And then I woke and saw what they say in the news.”
Gries makes a strangled sound.
“Do you think He was responsible for the plane crashing?” the interviewer asks intently.
“No. He is not a vengeful God. The passengers were unfortunate. He gave them peace.” She leans forward, her eyes on the camera. “You do not understand,” she says, more urgently. “Because of that American woman, the Diwata knows there is still too much cruelty in the world. He sleeps, but He is no longer lenient. He is—angry. He wishes to awaken.”
“I understand, grandmother,” the translator says, undeterred by her warnings, “that this is the first time you’ve chosen to speak of this. Many have come asking questions over the years, but you refused to talk with them. Why speak to us now?”
The woman gazes steadily at the interviewer until the latter repeats the question. “I want to pray for you,” she says gently. “You do not understand, hijo. We want him to wake. But he is hungry. He will need food. There is food on the island now.”
The video ends and Gries sits back, dazed.
“If the Diwata didn’t cause the plane to crash, then why all the wreckage on the island?” Chase asks his father, though his eyes are on me.
“Because he believes I’m a sinner,” Gries says. “This—this is my punishment.” He stands and pulls on a thicker jacket, picks up a safety helmet.
“Where are you going?” Chase asks, alarmed.
“Hemslock isn’t telling us everything, but that doesn’t matter. I’m going to help him look for Karl again.”
“Dad, no. After everything, you’re still going to—?”
“If there’s anything to learn about your mother here on the Godseye, then I’m going to find it. And if this god feels like he has to punish me first to know the truth, then—” He looks back at her pleadingly. “Please understand, Chase. I have to.”
Chase turns away angrily. “Yeah, sure. Do whatever the hell you want.”
“Chase, I—”
But it’s too late. The slam of the door tells us that he’s gone into his room. Askal lifts an inquiring head up from the rug, then flops down with a small grunt, quickly losing interest.
Gries turns back to me. “Are you going to risk returning to your family?”
“No. My father is being cared for. This is more serious.”
He clasps my shoulder. “I know I’m asking too much of you again, but I need you to promise that you’ll stay with him while I’m gone. Keep a weapon near.”
I know nothing I can say will change his mind. “I’d do that even without you asking me, sir,” I say quietly. “Come back quickly, for his sake. He doesn’t deserve this.”
Gries laughs—a hurt, painful sound. “No,” he agrees. “Chase doesn’t, but I do. That’s what you’re not saying. And I agree.”
Fifteen
The Cabin
“How long are you going to stay in there and sulk?” I ask.
No answer. I rap on the door. Still nothing.
I sit on the couch and survey the rest of the room, placing my small machete on the table by the door. The living room had been commandeered for Leo Gries’s use; there is paperwork in small piles on the table and another area that has been allocated for his study, as neat as any clutter could manage. His laptop had been left open in his haste to leave.
I move toward it.
It’s confusing. There are emails: conversations between Leo and other staff, other producers of the show. There are discussions regarding how long they expect to stay on the island before filming wraps, the associated costs and expenses, along with bullet point presentations of how they expect to plot the show. I search for the emails that specify the Kisapmata and the Godseye, and find a thread dated four months ago.
Hemslock’s emails make up over half of the discourse; arguments over which parts of the island to focus on filming, the documentation and research they have for each episode, conjecture to make up for gaps in their knowledge.
“The Godseye is the real key,” Hemslock wrote. “There’s more than just treasure in that cave. If there’s any truth to what these myths say, then maybe we can figure out what they mean. There’s an eternity within a dream in there.”
“Surely you can’t believe these things?” one of the producers—Heussman, ironically—wrote back.
“We’re not ever sure of much in this world,” Hemslock responded. “And I’ve got bigger dreams beyond the treasure you’re all interested in. More than the supposed gold and trinkets that Cortes stole from the natives.”
“What are you doing?”
I turn. Chase stands in the doorway with his arms folded, frowning at me.
“Are you snooping through my dad’s stuff?” He marches over and shuts the laptop. “You know you’ll have to sign more than an NDA to read those, right?”
“I’m sorry. I was curious.”
“I’m not angry,” Chase says, sounding exactly that. “I just—I want to get off this freaking island, but everything’s conspiring to keep us here. Including Dad. Are they back?”
I glance at the time. “There’s another hour before sunset. I can get you an early dinner.”
“I’m not hungry. You don’t have to wait on me hand and foot.”
“I told your father I’d stay with you.”
“You didn’t tell him you would look through his stuff, and you did. I won’t tell if you won’t.”
“Are you trying to blackmail me?”
Chase turns back to me, fury on his face, and then the ire leaches out of him. “I’m not trying to do anything,” he says wearily. “I just—I just want to go home. Home where I can post some clown shit on my socials and not care about anything else. I want all of us to go home.”
He stares down at his phone and then thumbs through the gallery of photos he’d saved there. “You see this?” He waves it at me, and I see the image Rory sent him with that dark figure in the background watching us. Except now it’s an abstract blotch in the scenery. The background is inconclusive now, though it had been so clear the first time we saw the photo.
“Why is it stalking me? I haven’t had any visions like the others. Why is it toying with me? Didn’t you say the Diwata won’t harm the innocent? Am I guilty of something?”
“Absolutely not—”
“Hey!” He turns and shouts at nothing in the room. “Are you here? Do you want to kill me?” He pauses as if expecting an answer. “Then stop fucking around and say that to my face!”
“Chase!” I say sharply.
“I’m tired. I’m tired of Dad chasing after Mom’s ghost, him never having time for me. And I’m scared. I’m beginning to think that maybe Dad has more to do with all this than I thought he did. Am I going to be punished for being his son?”
“No,” I say, with a fierceness that surprises even me. “The balete creatures aren’t haunting you because you’re next. They’re haunting you because of me.”
He looks at me, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
After a pause, I make my decision and share. “They’re curious about you.”
“Curious?”
“I’m the only human this island has a longstanding connection with. When you arrived, it wanted to know more about you. Because of me.”
“Are you saying that the island is jealous of me?”
I gape at him, then surprise myself by laughing. “No. Maybe. I don’t think it’s capable of those kinds of emotions, but it can mimic them. It doesn’t understand personal boundaries the way you and I do.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Have you seen hallucinations of your ex on the island?”
He shakes his head.
“If He thought you were guilty, He would have used your conscience against you. What we’ve been seeing—they are manifestations of the god. I see them all the time. They can feel invasive if you’re not used to it.” I set my jaw. “I won’t let Him do that to you.”
“You’re a good person, ya know?” Chase says quietly.
I look away, not sure how to answer that. “I don’t know if I can claim that.”
“We’re here trashing your island, and you still want to keep us safe. I’m not used to that, you know? In California everyone just gets…caught up. We don’t think much beyond how we want people to see us, like us. I guess that’s what got me into posting videos. I just wanna be validated, you know? But being on this island’s got me thinking about a lot. My friends tell me Riley’s always been shallow—but maybe we got together because I’m also shallow.”
The boy’s starting to get a little weepy. I’m not sure what to do.
“You’re—you’re gonna laugh at me. But after saying this? My immediate thought is Hey, that would make an awesome caption for my next photo. I’m living my life to make goddamn posts on social media so I can get engagements for advertisers to pay me more. If I die, is that all people will remember of me? Some dude who got ‘hot boy summer’ trending that one time? Is that my biggest achievement?”
Askal, far better at offering comfort, pushes his nose into Chase’s arm. The boy lets out a choked, teary laugh, and then reaches down to pat him.
“It’s all right. S’alright. Saying it out loud kinda helps me feel better, you know? You’ve been helping from the very first day. You could have gone back to your dad and left us all here to die.” He hugs Askal with one arm. His other hand reaches out to pull me into a hug. “Thanks. I really, really appreciate it.”
I pat him on the back. He chuckles. “You’re not used to this, either, huh?”
“I don’t have many friends.”
“Can we be friends? Like, if everything here is done, I still wanna hang out with you. I can come here easier than you can fly to America, plus we’ve got the internet to connect. Do you have any social media yourself? I don’t mind emails or telephone calls. You can charge them to me.”
I don’t know why that makes me laugh, but it does. “I can find a way to stay in touch with you. But I promised your dad that I was gonna get you dinner.”
His arms tighten around me. “Rory was right. He said you sounded like the perfect package, and now that I think about it—”
His voice goes husky, deepens. “Now that I think about it—”
I don’t know what happens next. Only that he feels warmer to the touch. His thumb moves across my shoulder, and something inside me sparks electric at the friction. His face is close. Then he shifts and draws nearer.
“Alon, I—”
I shove at him.
Stunned, he falls over backward, flat on his butt.
“I’m going to go get your dinner,” I say brusquely, marching toward the door. Askal lies back on the rug and huffs.
“Alon wait, I—”
But I’m already outside and into the night, the door slamming behind me.
***
The dinner table is nearly deserted when I arrive. Most of the crew has chosen to retire early, and only a few linger in the mess hall, half-heartedly picking at their plates. Straw Hat is still at his workstation, going through the film footage and trying to make sense of the last few days. Melissa is behind him, studying the screen with a puzzled frown. Hawaiian Shirt is there too, and he gives me a miserable nod when I enter.
“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say this show is as good as dead,” he says. “I don’t care what Hemslock thinks. It’s been nothing but one disaster after another. Lamarr’s looking through what we have—maybe we can scrape together enough for an hour, two-hour feature. Try to salvage something out of this.”
“We still got cameras out there rolling,” Straw Hat says despondently. “Gonna take them down when rescue comes. Still no contact with the Leyte team, but from the reports they sent before communication went down, the storm’s due to clear tomorrow afternoon. A rescue team should be on its way as soon as it lets up. We gotta wing it till then.”
“I’m not getting paid for any of this,” Melissa says miserably. She’s been carrying around a thick piece of driftwood for protection. The others have armed themselves with similar makeshift weapons. She had also taken to carrying her mace “because assholes always turn up at the most unexpected places,” she says, and it sounds like she says this from experience.
