Chapter 28 Helena
Helena
The boy’s rambling explanation wasn’t the easiest to follow, but in the end, they deduced that nobody had seen Helena for a number of hours.
“Mamma Rosalía’s very worried,” Diego concluded, frowning. “She’s afraid the Docampos have kidnapped her.”
“That’s all we needed,” said Antía. “Where the hell can that stupid girl have gotten to?”
“I think I have an idea,” said Roberto, standing up. “I’ll go and look for her.”
“Don’t be foolish.” She turned toward him. “I’ve just done a reduction on your dislocated shoulder. You’re not going anywhere. Anyway, how are you going to find her?”
Roberto bit his tongue. He had to tell Antía about the relationship between Helena and Tristán, but he didn’t want to say anything in front of Diego. He wasn’t sure the kid had much concept of keeping a secret.
“You have to trust me.” He took her hands in his. “If I’m right, I’ll bring her back soon.”
“And if the Docampos have her? What are you going to do all on your own?” She went pale as another possibility occurred to her. “And if she’s . . . ? Oh God . . .”
“Don’t think about that. I’m sure she’s fine, but I have to go right now. I’ll explain later, I promise.”
They left the room and, as they passed the living room where the improvised arsenal was being prepared, Antía stopped.
“Wait a moment,” she said. She returned with something wrapped in a cloth. “Here, take this.” She handed him the package.
Roberto unwrapped it to reveal an old Walther P38, a pistol that had no doubt once belonged to a German officer—another souvenir from Orlando Freire’s little adventure eight decades earlier.
“I can’t take it.” He shook his head and handed it back. “I’m not using a gun.”
“Are you crazy?” She looked at him, horrified. “You need to be able to defend yourself!”
“I already told you; I’m not going to hurt anybody. Ever again. And that includes the Docampos, however cruel they may be. I’ve got out of worse scrapes, believe me,” Roberto replied, trying to convey a tranquility he didn’t feel. “Give me an hour.”
“Please be careful.” Antía squeezed his hand. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Roberto took his parka from the stand in the hallway and went back outside. It was no longer raining, and even the wind had died down a little. But the sky was still full of gloomy black clouds. The break in the weather wouldn’t last long.
He was almost certain that Helena had gone to meet Tristán in their secret hideaway, not just because that was what he would have done if he’d been a lovestruck teenager in the middle of such chaos but also because of his request to meet Tristán there.
The girl, surely unaware of how dangerous the island paths had become, had unwittingly put herself in peril.
It took him far longer than expected to reach the little huddle of houses.
All his senses on alert, he trod carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible, checking behind every bush and tree, imagining potential ambushes every few yards.
But he didn’t meet a single soul. Wherever the Docampos or the lighthouse keepers might be—assuming that the latter were searching for him—nobody was around in this part of the island.
When he reached the house, he tried the door but this time found it locked. He knocked impatiently, glancing nervously over his shoulder. He heard cautious footsteps inside.
“Who’s there?” Tristán Docampo’s voice sounded scared.
“It’s me!” he growled, his nerves shot. “Roberto Lobeira! Open the goddamn door!”
The handle turned, and Roberto stepped inside.
“At least you’re fully dressed this time,” he snorted. “That’s something. Can I ask what the hell you’re doing here? Do you have any idea what’s going on around you?”
“We needed to see each other,” said Helena shyly. “I was going crazy. The phones don’t work, and I was afraid something had happened to Tristán.”
“Anyway, you’re the one who asked to meet,” Tristán added reasonably.
“I know, I know!” said Roberto. “But not when Ons was about to turn into Jonestown, for Christ’s sake!”
“Jones what?” asked Helena in confusion, staring at him across the cultural abyss that separates the young from the old.
“It doesn’t matter.” He waved his hand dismissively. “We just have to get out of here. You both need to go home, and you have to promise to put the romance on hold until all this is over. Is that clear?”
The two young people looked at each other and nodded in a way that didn’t exactly fill Roberto with confidence.
“Okay,” he said. “Helena, I’m going to accompany you. Tristán, you head straight home but keep your head down, and if you see any of the Freires or the lighthouse keepers or a stranger, try to hide. All right?”
“The lighthouse keepers?” Tristán looked puzzled. “What have the lighthouse keepers got to do with all this? And what do you mean, a stranger? I know everyone on the island.”
“I don’t have time to explain just now. Please, just do as I say.”
“Hang on!” the boy said. “Do you mean there might be someone else on the island, an outsider? And that they could have killed Ricardo?”
“I don’t know.” Roberto closed his eyes in exhaustion. “Yes, maybe.”
Personally, I’d kill for another painkiller.
“That means it wasn’t the Freires!” exclaimed Tristán.
“I told you,” Helena reproached him. “Nobody in my family would have done something like this.”
“Right now, your respective families are preparing for something far worse,” interrupted Roberto as he opened the door. “The sooner we get out of here, the better our chances of preventing it. Come on, let’s get going.”
“Hang on! I almost forgot!” exclaimed Tristán, opening his canvas backpack. “Here. What you asked me to get.”
Roberto was overcome by such a sense of relief that his knees almost buckled. The boy was holding a clear plastic bag, inside which was a hammer with remnants of blood and hair on the head.
“Thanks so much, Tristán,” he said as he took it with shaky hands. “You’ve just saved my life.”
“You can’t imagine how hard it was to find,” the boy explained. “It was in my grandfather’s study, in a drawer in his desk. He almost caught me! I just about crapped myself.”
“You did a great job.” Roberto patted him on the shoulder. “Now let’s get out of here.”
He had to wait for what felt like an eternity as the two youngsters said goodbye to each other, with kisses, hugs, and whispered promises of undying love. Roberto impatiently shifted his weight from one foot to the other, worried that somebody would show up.
Despite the urgency, he felt a lot better.
With the hammer finally in his possession, the Docampos had no way of implicating him in Pampín’s death.
Without that card to play, and with the money safely tucked away in the graveyard, the balance of power had unexpectedly tipped back in his favor.
Of course, there was also the problem of the psychopath roaming the island, but if he managed to stop the Docampos and the Freires from annihilating each other, time would be on his side.
As soon as the storm abated, communication with the mainland would be restored, the park rangers would return to the island and, with them, sanity.
When Tristán left them, Roberto turned to Helena.
“Right, let’s get going—” He stopped mid-sentence and stared at the girl. “What the hell is that?”
“Nothing,” she reassured him as she zipped her coat all the way up, looking shifty.
“What do you mean, ‘nothing’? Let me see!”
Helena Freire unzipped her coat to reveal a huge hickey on her neck.
“Just what we needed! How are you going to explain that at home, young lady?” he grumbled. “How do you hope to keep your little secret if you turn up branded like a colt?”
“We didn’t mean to,” she said, blushing to the roots of her hair. “We got a bit carried away . . .”
“It looks like you’ve been bitten by Count Dracula, for Christ’s sake,” Roberto groaned. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Try to make sure nobody sees it, and find yourself a nice scarf. The last thing we need now is for your mother to start asking questions.”
They set off for El Cucorno in silence, Roberto annoyed by the teenagers’ carelessness, Helena somewhat sheepish.
When they finally reached the path that led to the Freire place, he let out a sigh of relief.
They had made it without incident. Things were finally looking up. They stopped and looked at each other.
“We’re here,” whispered Roberto. “Now we need to decide what you’re going to say when they ask you where you were.”
“We can’t tell them I was with Tristán!” the girl declared. “You promised that if we did what you asked, you wouldn’t say anything!”
“And I plan to keep my promise,” he replied, “but we still need a good excuse to explain your little excursion.”
“I’ve already thought about that,” she said, smiling triumphantly. “Look.”
She opened her shoulder bag and showed him the contents. It was full of medicines, mainly painkillers and antibiotics, most of them in opened packets. Roberto was tempted to grab some for himself, but he resisted the urge. It was better to endure the pain in his shoulder and keep his head clear.
“Lots of tourists leave them behind when they go home at the end of the summer,” explained Helena.
“I’ll tell them I checked a few of the houses for leftover medicines.
That I thought we might need them, and, because I was sure they wouldn’t let me leave, I snuck out.
They’ll be angry, but once they’ve had time to think about it, they’ll come around. You’ll see.”
“You’re one smart cookie.” Roberto shook his head and smiled at the girl’s cunning.
“Tristán and I owe you one,” she replied.
“I try to do the right thing, that’s all. And you don’t owe me anything. The only thing I need is for you not to do anything foolish, at least not for a few days.”
“We won’t cause any trouble, I promise.” The girl flashed him a dazzling smile. “Thanks so much!” She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight.
Roberto—taken completely by surprise—limited himself to patting her on the back.
It was an innocent gesture.
But fate had other ideas.
The Freire lookout had alerted people to their arrival. Just then, the door of El Cucorno opened, and the stout figure of Rosalía Freire came rushing out. When she saw Roberto and Helena hugging, she stopped sharp. They let go of each other, but it was already too late.
Rosalía Freire looked suspiciously from one to the other, and eventually her eyes came to rest on Helena’s neck. An expression of surprise gave way to one of indignation.
“You son of a bitch.” Her voice was ice-cold. “How dare you!”
“It isn’t what it seems.”
“I don’t want your explanations,” the woman replied. “I’ve got eyes in my head; I’m no fool. I know what I see.”
“If you’d just let me explain—”
“What is there to explain?” she shouted. “That you’ve seduced a young girl? She’s barely eighteen years old!”
Roberto felt as if the ground had opened up beneath his feet. It was just a stupid misunderstanding, but the woman was far too angry to listen to his explanations.
“Helena, please.” He turned to the girl, who was as pale as death and in a state of shock. “Tell your mother that it’s not what she’s thinking. Please.”
But Helena just stared at them, unable to utter a single word, caught on the horns of a dilemma to which there was no solution.
“Mom, I didn’t . . .” she stuttered. “I didn’t . . .”
“Don’t say another word,” Rosalía commanded. “Go inside. We’ll talk later. You’re a disgrace to the family.”
“Mom . . .” Helena groaned as the tears welled up in her eyes. She looked from Roberto to her mother with the desperation of a caged animal.
“I said go inside!” roared her mother. “Now!”
With a sob, Helena ran inside, her shoulders slumped and her heart broken. Roberto remained rooted to the spot.
“I trusted you,” Rosalía spat. “I let you into my home, offered you my hospitality, welcomed you into my family, and this is how you repay us.”
“There’s been a mistake,” Roberto stammered. “You’ve got it wrong.”
“I got it wrong when I offered you our friendship,” she interrupted. “It won’t happen again.”
Roberto’s mind was buzzing. If he told her the truth, she’d refuse to believe him, refuse to accept that her daughter was in love with the son of her worst enemies, the ones who were about to mount a murderous attack on them.
And in the unlikely event that she did believe him, it would only make things worse because it would be obvious that he had covered up for them. It was a hellish situation.
“Don’t ever darken the doors of El Cucorno again,” she said. “Don’t even think of trying to talk to any of my family—not Antía, not Diego, and certainly not Helena. For the Freires, you’re a dead man. Is that clear?”
“Please let me explain,” he begged.
“The time for explanations is over.” She spat at his feet. “We’re done here.”
Rosalía turned and went back into the house. A key turned in the lock, and Roberto was left staring impotently at the front of the building, trying to understand what had just happened. Then he heard a sound, and he looked up. A ball of ice the size of a cannonball formed in his stomach.
From one of the windows above, Antía was looking down. Roberto had no idea how long she had been there, what she had seen or heard, but the expression on her face left little doubt.
Her eyes were full of confusion, anger, and disappointment—but above all, pain.
“Antía, wait!” he shouted but too late.
Antía slammed the window shut, and Roberto Lobeira—bestselling author, intrepid reporter, man of the world—was left standing all on his own in front of El Cucorno, feeling like the unluckiest man in the world.
It had started to rain again, and it felt like another downpour was on the way. Roberto stood like a half-wit for a couple of minutes, his brain short-circuited, trying to understand how everything could have gone to pot in such short order.
He’d lost Antía’s trust in the stupidest way imaginable, and the thought of it broke his heart. But that wasn’t the worst of it.
The last chance of preventing what was about to happen had vanished. The Freires had rejected him, their honor offended. He had become just one more of their enemies.
For their part, as soon as the Docampos discovered that the money was no longer in the church and that the hammer had disappeared, they would be after him.
And as if that weren’t enough, Ibaibarriaga and the other lighthouse keepers were on his trail.
Finally, to complicate the situation even further, the mysterious murderer was still out there somewhere, searching for his next victim.
Roberto realized that he didn’t have a single ally, and that he was alone on an island that was both completely cut off from the world and about to explode.