Chapter 25 #2
Tom pulled the chair out and sat as if he was in no hurry to leave. His pose was relaxed and lazy, his legs stretched out, showing off black-painted toenails. “This is what you have been doing while hiding from me all this time?”
“I wasn’t hiding,” Hunter said. The sweat glistened above his eyebrows and on his temples. He looked more drawn than ten minutes ago. “Sydney and I are trapped here.”
“What is this?” Tom tapped his finger on the journal.
“Just some ideas.” Hunter swallowed. Too visibly.
“We should probably go.” I pulled the rucksack off the top of the bookshelf and set it on the couch, flipping the top open. My mind tried to gauge how to take the coins and gems with us and not leave them behind. “Look at Hunter. He is not well. He needs immediate medical attention.”
As if he didn’t care (which, of course, he didn’t), Tom continued flipping through the notebook, finally stopping at the sheet with a drawing of the coin his uncle found.
Edward’s artistic talent impressed me before, but now I wished he didn’t have it.
Tom sat upright, his undivided focus on the journal in his hands.
“The compass Edward lost to Spencer had numbers on the back. Did you figure them out?”
It became clear that Tom was in the loop about Edward’s treasure hunt. Either he was part of Edward’s crew, which Hunter forgot to mention, or he searched on his own, or he just happened to be present when Edward gambled away the compass to Spencer. Which one was it?
“You know what they are. They are coordinates.” Hunter kept his voice light, but sweat soaked the T-shirt on his back and around his neckline. I was unsure if he too was worried or if he felt unwell again.
“Then why do you have them in the tables with letters? What are these sentences?” He dropped the journal and lifted the smaller notebook.
A coin slipped out and clanged on the floor, spinning.
My breath vanished, and I bet the color of my face matched Hunter’s.
Tom reached down and picked it up, and brought it to his face, his eyes going wide.
“I thought you found nothing?” Tom’s tone was cold, and he shot us a cunning glance.
“It’s Edward’s,” Hunter and I lied in unison.
“Edward gambled the ones he had.” Tom’s fingers curled around the gold.
“I think you both are full of shit, but we can continue this conversation while on our way to Rarotonga.” His face rearranged into a sham of delight.
The tension in my muscles let go (a bit).
He was taking us to the main island. “You don’t look very good, Hunter.
Once you get better, we can search for the gold together.
But I’m keeping this.” Tom pocketed the coin and picked up the journals and notebooks.
“Why are you taking these?” Hunter asked, taking a step to the table.
“You wouldn’t want to leave these here while you are gone, would you?” Tom said, screwing up his features with a mocking concern. “What if the wrong hands get hold of them?” I had a feeling that the wrong hands already held our notes in their iron grip.
“Of course not.” Hunter’s smile was as taut as a string about to snap and hit someone in the eye. Ideally, Tom’s.
“Good. Pack your shit, and I’ll see you at the beach.” Tom quickly exited and descended the stairs.
Hunter made a move to leave, too. “Come on, we don’t need to take anything with us.”
I grabbed Hunter’s arm. “Wait,” I hissed and jerked my head to the pot. “What about that?”
I could offer to stay and let Hunter go, but how safe was it for him to be with Tom in his condition?
How safe was it for me to stay here alone, unarmed?
We were in the wolf, goat, and cabbage brain teaser, only we had to cross an ocean by boat, not a river.
How could we reach safety without Hunter, me, or both of us being eaten?
My heart pounded painfully against my ribs.
Hunter needed medical assistance, and I had no trust in Tom.
Hunter and I must both go. There was no other way around this.
“Fuck,” Hunter muttered, and his eyes darted around the room. “There is no time to hide it.” He took the books off and stuffed the gems and coins into his side pocket. Water soaked the fabric of his shorts, not helping us at all.
“I don’t like your friend,” I said, grabbing my father’s urn from the desk. It was the only item I cared to not lose again.
“He is not my friend,” Hunter said, rising from kneeling and quickly grabbing the table’s edge for balance, but using the wrong hand. “Jesus!” he roared, wincing and clutching his hand to his chest. “Fucking hell, that hurts.”
“How dangerous is he?” I stepped to Hunter and helped him get up. “What if he has guns on his boat?”
Hunter looked me in the eye. “We’ll be okay.”
I wanted to point out that he had avoided answering both of my questions, but we also had no choice. Hunter needed a doctor. I could take the flare gun with us.
The boat’s motor roar sliced through the air. Hunter and I stumbled to the porch.
Tom skidded over the waves toward his sailboat with his back to us. Shit. Shit. Shit. I threw the urn into the bushes and ran to the beach.
“Stop! Please.” I chased after him, waving my hands like an idiot. I was a fool. How stupid of us not to walk with Tom back to his fucking boat. “Come back, you, asshole!” I screamed, dropping to my knees in the water.