CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Greg rubbed blood-shot eyes with one hand while the other marked another territory off the map—nother territory they had searched for Sidney and came up empty. He flung the marker across the table, inciting curious glances from Rachel and Tom who were working nearby.
He needed air.
Outside, the blinding sun only worsened his squint. The headache was almost as constant a companion as the whiskey had become and since sleep was nearly impossible, sickness rode on the back of his shoulders like a stowaway waiting to be discovered.
The last few days had been absolute horror lived out. Sleeping with Rachel had only worsened his mindset. Along with hopelessness, now he also fought against shame.
He’d made the dreaded call to Pat, Sidney’s mother. He could still hear the hysterical cries from the other end of the line as she yelled and sobbed the same words Greg had given her. “Sidney is missing.”
He endured a long, berating conversation from his future mother-in-law, falling even lower than he thought possible.
Then he’d seen it. Late one night on the TV they kept in the medical hut, the news had reached the national level.
Sidney’s picture flashed across the screen, along with several board members of the Hallston International Mission, and horrific pictures of some of the more primal tribes in Papua New Guinea.
Anything to sensationalize a story. But Greg had to admit, his own imagination of what had happened to Sidney didn’t need any help from overzealous news reporters.
It was doing just fine on its own, running all possible scenarios of where she was, if she was still alive, and what he would do if they found her dead, or alive.
He was losing track of what were dreams, and what was reality.
His phone had blown up after the news story, receiving messages from family, co-workers, and friends sending their condolences and concerns. He read between the lines of every message. How could you let this happen? Now everyone knew what a failure he was.
The statement the news channel shared from the mission’s board of directors was seared in his mind as one of the most falsified pieces of bullshit he’d ever seen.
“We will not stop until we discover what has happened to our missing teammate.”
The email, sent from the same man, to Greg and the new team that came to help search for Sidney, gave them one week.
One week to search, and then they were pulling the plug.
That was two days ago. Sidney had already been missing for over a week and the probability that they would find her dropped with each passing hour.
What would he tell Patricia if he couldn’t find her only remaining child?
How could he leave the island without Sidney by his side?
His anger boiled within him until he let it out in a rage-filled growl, kicking a porch stool across the deck.
He wanted to leave this all behind and return to his life like nothing happened, but he couldn’t do that, either. He didn’t have time for this!
Of course, he understood the board’s decision to a small, detached extent.
As a member of the mission, he knew the funds just weren’t there for an unplanned, extended search party.
Choices about money and how it affected people’s lives were much easier to make when there was a level of detachment.
Being on the other end of those choices gave him a paradigm shift from which he’d never recover.
How could they not bend over backwards and do everything in their power to help find Sidney and bring her home?
He needed someone to blame. Somewhere to channel the full force of his anger.
He’d written an email of his raw thoughts of the board’s decision a dozen times, and a dozen times deleted it before sending.
Did that make him a coward? Possibly. But it would do no good to burn bridges.
If they hadn’t found her by the time the mission’s team pulled out, he would simply stay on his own dime, looking for Sidney. He could not come home a failure.
One of the mission’s Rovers came rumbling through the yard, kicking up dirt in its wake.
Alec, the new team’s lead and one of Greg and Sidney’s friends from the mission, climbed out.
With him, the small search party Alec had taken out that morning—two Makian’s from Greg’s host family, and two colleagues from the mission, Roger and Camille.
“Anything?”
By the look on Alec’s face, he knew the answer. At what point had he stopped living on hope and started living in desperation? How long could one live in desperation before it killed them?
“You look like shit,” Alec said, coming up the steps. “Did you get any sleep like I told you to this morning?” Greg waved him away as Roger and Camille passed him going into the hut, patting their apologies on his back.
“We’ll go out again this afternoon,” Camille said.
Alec sat on the bench, dusting dirt off his Indiana Jones hat.
“You’ll be no good to the mission sick, Greg. You’ve gotta get some rest.”
“How can I rest, Alec?” His razor-edged question filled the space, “I close my eyes—Sid’s dead in a ditch. I open my eyes—she’s…” he couldn’t even say it. There were, after all, some things a lot worse than death.
“I hate to bring it up, but have you thought about what you will do if we don’t find—”
“I’m staying,” Greg said, his back to Alec. He stared off into the village bustling with the day-to-day life of the Makian’s without seeing it.
Alec sighed, “Well, let’s hope we hear something soon. I’ll check the coordinates for the next territory and area tribes, but as you know, no one is very talkative.”
Greg heard Alec enter the hut, but stood motionless another ten minutes when a group of young Makian warriors caught his eye. Their body tattoos made them look fierce to an untrained eye, but Greg knew most of these young men were only in their teens and twenties.
He recognized one of them as the young man who shared his dream with their group at dinner the first night Sidney arrived. He’d said he was hunting men with a gun and an odd thought passed through Greg’s mind.
Before he had the chance to analyze it, he was walking down the steps of the porch and across the dirt yard, approaching the group.
“Hai,” Greg waved, and the group of boys surrounded him, each asking questions and giving their condolences for his waitpela meri white lady.
He pulled the young man away, shooing the rest.
“What is your name? Name bilong you?” Greg stumbled over the questions.
“Manoi,” the young man said, “And you, Greg,” he seemed pleased with the English he was able to speak. Greg rested his hand on Manoi’s shoulder and asked as best he could in his broken Tok Pisin if the young man had found firearms. With a look of surprise, Manoi said he hadn’t.
Like watching someone else ask the question, Greg asked, “Where can we find guns?” Manoi explained no one had the money to purchase the guns, but he knew someone who could get them, for a price.
The mission kept petty cash on hand for things that arose in the culture that might help the team get past roadblocks.
Papua New Guinea was a corrupt country with weak governance, high crime, and economic inequality.
Though the communities and more civilized tribes were close-knit and friendly, everyone looked for ways they could make extra money or receive services, even if it was to the exploitation of their fellow man—especially to the exploitation of foreigners.
Nothing was free here. The people were hard-trenched in a you-rub-my-back, I’ll-rub-yours-mentality.
Thoughts of how Sidney might be on the receiving end of that exploiting nature fueled his decision, and before he realized it, he was in the hut rifling through the petty cash and pocketing several thousand dollars while the rest of the team ate lunch in the boardroom.
He gave the cash to the young man and told him to let him know when the deed was done.
Dusk settled over the village and Greg tasted bile in his mouth. What had he just done? He was prepared to do anything to find Sidney and if no one around the island was willing to talk, maybe a little persuasion would help convince them otherwise. Desperation can make a man do crazy things.
Alec had asked if he’d thought of what he would do if they didn’t find her in time. He guessed he had. He was taking matters into his own hands, and if the team decided to leave in five days time, there would be no one here who would stop him.