Jaden Skye: Death by Honeymoon

the home of gigantic mythical creatures. Enormous limestone boulders were strewn in the shallows, as though giants played there and sat in the sun. The wind swept in relentlessly, the roads were hollowed and palm trees arched backwards, thinned by the howl of the wind.

As she turned off that road, she went deeper into the island, passing along high fields of sugar cane glistening in the setting sun. The fields went on as far as the eye could see, weaving gently back and forth, reaching towards the sky.. Small thatched roof cottages, and simple little houses dotted the fields. It was another world. Cindy was transported. She couldn’t imagine what it would be life actually living here.

As she drove, she turned past the fields into a village, with small houses crowded next to one another, narrow alleys, the sound of voices calling, music playing, streets strewn with cans, bicycles, papers, laundry hanging on wires, and chickens running in the street. Tomale’s house was one of these . It was getting harder to make out one house from another in the dimming light.

Cindy parked her car at the edge of a street and decided to walk. The air was cool and fragrant. A few stray children outside turned and looked at her as she went from house to house.

Finally, she found Tomale’s, went up to the door and knocked.

A small, thin, frazzled man came to the door. Cindy remembered him clearly from the honeymoon. For a moment, he brought back beautiful memories, delicious lunches, long afternoon naps.

Tomale recognized her immediately. For a second, he was happy to see her again.

“Hello, Miss, hello. How are you?” Tomale had taken special notice of her and Clint on the honeymoon, always asking about their day.

Then, suddenly, it was different. “What you want? What you want?” he asked over and over, like a startled bird that had fallen from a tree.

“Can I come in?” Cindy said.

Tomale looked frightened. “Not now, not now.”

“Tomale, please.”

“Tomorrow,” he could barely speak.

“Just for two minutes.”

That soothed him. “Two minutes? Okay.”

Inside, the place was dark, disheveled, heavy with the smell of beer. There were tiny, cracked windows. No one else was there.

“Everyone’s gone,” Tomale said, holding open both hands.

Cindy didn’t know what he meant exactly.

“There’s nothing here,” he continued in a raspy tone.

He must have thought she came to check out his place, see if he was hiding anything.

“Tomale,” Cindy said, “you remember my husband?”

He nodded quickly, overwrought. Then he turned away.

“He’s dead.”

Tomale began quivering. “I know, I know. But I didn’t realize anything. I can’t say anything else.”

“Another person was killed back home too. And my sister was hurt. I could be next, Tomale.”

He gasped. “Please believe me, I didn’t realize anything.”

“I’m not blaming you.”

“Blame me,” his head dropped.

“For what? You can make it all right again if you tell me.”

He seemed to like that.

“I didn’t mean anything, miss.” He turned and faced her, trembly. “My mother was dying. I didn’t know what I was doing. I needed the money they gave me. Now she’s gone anyway. You see,” he motioned to the empty house. “She died two weeks ago.”

“I’m very sorry.”

“What did you do for them to give you the money?” Cindy asked.

“They said it was just to help you sleep. They gave me something to put in the afternoon torte. Just for you, not Mr. Clint.”

“Food poisoning?”

“Not poison, a little something to make you sleep. They said they had to talk to him alone. I thought maybe they’d just rough him up a bit. That’s all. I swear it!”

“Who said it?”

“The men from the U.S. God forgive me, am I making it all right now? Will God forgive me?”

“Tomale, will you come back to the U.S. with me and be a witness? I’ll pay for everything. I’ll give you extra for your family.”

“There’s no more family,” he whimpered, “my mother is gone, everything is gone. When I found out that Mr. Clint was killed, I couldn’t go to work anymore.”

“Killed?” Cindy said. “You found that out?”

It seemed to be getting darker and darker outside, and the air in the house grew mustier as they spoke.

“God forgive me.”

“How?”

“I had nothing to do with it. I promise you. I only found out later.”

“How, Tomale?” she asked again, sweating in the small house.

Tomale shivered. A long silence filled the humid air.

“I heard that they ran over him with a boat. Head cracked open. “

Cindy crunched over in pain.

Suddenly, the sound of police sirens.

Tomale ran to the small window and peered out, petrified.

Cindy looked, too: three police cars were driving up to the house.

He looked over at her, his lip trembling. “Did you go to the police?” he asked her.

“Yes,” she said.

“Oh my God,” he said. “Why!? You have to run! Run away, hide!”

Waves of horror consumed Cindy. She couldn’t move, was glued to the spot, as she watched the police cars stop and a bunch of policemen run up to the house and burst in . One of them grabbed her around the waist. That woke her up. She tossed and turned, trying to loosen his grip. No matter what she did, it didn’t make a difference. He was stronger, tougher. Her body felt frail beside him, like a twig that could snap at any moment. His face, which had sprawling, carved features, looked impassive and resigned. He’d probably done this a thousand times. Was he going to kill her? Now the thought of it made her both angry, and sad.

Was this it? Was she going to die? To her great amazement, she wasn’t frightened. She almost felt ready.

At that moment, Tomale suddenly broke free, ran across the room, and kicked the policemen holding her, hard in the small of his back.

He cried out in pain and released her.

“RUN!” Tomale yelled at her, wide-eyed.

It was the last thing she heard, as she ran out the door. As she did, she saw them pouncing on Tomale in his house.

Under the shade of darkness she saw a motor scooter propped up against Tomale’s picket fence. She jumped on, kicked back the starter, and screeched down the back road, Thank God Clint had taught her how to ride. She knew the U.S. Consulate was a couple of miles straight down. It wasn’t far. She could make it. A huge, unexpected surge of energy filled her, as a loud rumbling sounded from behind.

She looked in the side mirror. Two police cars were on her trail. She revved the gas as far as it would go, and raced on and off the road, slipping between trees, around clumps of sugar cane. They couldn’t follow her there. She slipped off the road and then back on again, over and over, heading straight in the direction of the Embassy.

As she got further, she heard the police cars closer.

Please God, just a little further. This is no way to die, on a back road in Barbados. There’s too much good I can do alive.

Up ahead she could see the Embassy. Then, with one last, enormous push, she swerved off the road, on the road, and then straight through the Consulate gates.

Safe. Protected. On United States territory. The police could not follow her here.

She felt a vibration in her pocket and looked down at her cell phone. One new message. From the coroner. And it had attachments.

When her plane landed at Kennedy airport, the word was out. Cindy was shocked. She was met by a flock of photographers and reporters. Cameras flashed. This was a big news story now.

As photographers flashed their cameras at her, she stood, stupefied, looking for the man supposed to meet her there: FBI Agent Farnell.