The Purgatorium

Chapter Twelve

Sometime in the middle of the night, Daphne thought she heard Stan whisper her name, but when she lifted her head and turned to look at him, she found him snoring, his mouth hanging open with a bit of drool on his chin, the gun useless on the chair across from him. A lot of help he was. Keeping watch? Yeah, right.

Then she heard her name whispered again. "Daphne."

She sat up and looked around, but even in the dim light of the moon she could see there was no one else in the bunkhouse with them. Maybe she'd been dreaming. She lay back down close to Stan, but kept her eyes on the room around her, just in case.

"Daphne," the whisper came again.

"Who's there?" she said softly as she slowly sat back up. She waited for many minutes, sitting still as a statue, but, once again, she wondered if she might have imagined it. It might have been the wind brushing something against the house. She reached over Stan for the gun and held it in both hands as she lay back beside him, listening. She lay like that for a long time before she fell asleep.

Sometime later, the sound of a snort woke her. She opened her eyes and listened. She watched Stan, so when the snort came again, she knew it had not come from him.

She sat up.

The porch was in shadows this morning, though the bright sun shined hotly on the beach and water. There was no breeze, only a stiff heat that made her sweat even in her halter top and shorts. She had a funky taste in her mouth and her skin felt sticky. Something was moving on the side of the house. She could hear it through the screened porch.

"Stan," she whispered, shaking him.

When he didn't wake, she picked up the gun. "Stan, wake up."

"Not again," he complained.

"Huh?" she whispered. "What are you talking about?"

"All night long, I kept hearing you whisper my name, and then when I'd say 'what' you wouldn't answer."

Her skin went cold. "I never said a word last night." Could she have spoken in her sleep?

He narrowed his eyes at her.

The snort came again.

"Listen," she whispered, "There's someone outside."

He pulled himself to his feet, but stopped short, leaning on the chair. "My ankle."

Daphne frowned. "I'll go."

She got up and crept to the back door, still chilled by what Stan had said. She was suspicious of yet another exercise. Stan may not be in on it, but that didn't mean they weren't both being played by Hortense and her lot. Softly, she lifted both the hook and the two-by-for latching the door shut. The screen door creaked as she pushed it open. In the morning light, she could see another island across the ocean. Water from the storm clung to everything, including the pea gravel outside the screened porch. Out here there was a gentle breeze, and it lifted her hair as she stepped outside. She heard the snort just as she poked her head around the corner of the side of the house. Pulling up weeds with her reins hanging loose was Pearl.

So as not to scare the mare, Daphne quietly reached for a long tuft of grass and held it out. "Hi there, girl."

Pearl stared at Daphne suspiciously, but kept chewing. Daphne held her breath, sliding the pistol into her pocket to free the hand to reach for the reins. When the mare had pulled and eaten the last of the grass on the side of the house near the white picket fence, she inched toward Daphne.