The mail-boat rolled on the choppy waves, but the crew seemed unconcerned. Max constantly looked skyward in trepidation. He wasn’t sure which was worse: Justin being on board frightened the life out of him, but the crew regaling him with stories of real ‘horror storms’ they had survived made him tremble. They had been at sea more than three-quarters of an hour after delivering the mail to the islands, and it was coming up to eight o’clock. The sky was already pitch black when the rain started. Thankfully it was not heavy. One old man smiled at Max, said the worst was over, but it didn’t make him feel any better.
Justin sat hunched at the stern. He had ignored Max from the moment he had come aboard. He knew the boy was constantly looking at him, knew he was afraid of him, but he wasn’t interested, not yet. He had no desire even to speak to him. His face was set in an expressionless stare looking out to sea. He had taken money and his passport, but wasn’t sure what he intended to do after he had completed his new mission. He was a little ashamed of having taken off in the way he had, but William had unwittingly touched a raw nerve that had made him act on impulse... he had felt the terror rise, the memories of his anguish. Only Laura had dried his tears. Then came the shame he felt when they had taken tiny Laura into their room, not him. He had covered his ears when he heard her calling for him. Later that first night, he had crawled in beside her, bathed her tiny bruised body. Then they had clung to each other, night after night, waiting with fear for their bedroom door to creak open.
‘Come with Mummy, Laura.’
‘Come to Daddy, Justin.’
They had been subjected to such perversion, such pain, and threatened with more if they whispered to a soul what had happened to them. The devil would eat them alive if they ever told anyone about their mummy and daddy’s games. They were special secrets, and they would die if they ever told them. They would be buried alive — and to make sure they understood, they had been forced to watch the burial of their pets, forced to watch the earth cover a tiny canary’s feathered chest, a pet spaniel tied by his paws. They had waited to dig him up and seen the maggots and bugs filling his mouth, his ears and his eyes. They reburied him, more afraid than ever. So they kept the hideous secret until Laura lit the candle and held the flame to her mother’s sheets. Then they had another secret to hide, and another, and another...
Justin had had no option but to get away. He had been afraid of what he might do to William. Seeing Laura regress yet again had not helped: it had made him feel wretched, even though he had seen it many times. He knew she had come out of them before. Sometimes it had taken days, months, but Justin was certain that, whatever happened to him, William would care for Laura. He had never entrusted her to anyone but himself and Marta, but knowing their old nurse would soon be arriving had made his leaving easier to bear. He blamed Max for Laura’s collapse, and now he would make him pay. He would be the last, he swore to himself. After Max there would be no more.
Like a dark shadow, the island disappeared from view. How he had loved it, built it with such dedication and care. Never before had he been so content or happy in a place. He knew every flowering bush, every tree and every cove. He would have liked to spend the rest of his life there because it was his paradise. In his heart, it had become his the moment he had stepped ashore for the first time. That was where he could find peace, forget the horrors that tormented him. Now he was leaving it and he didn’t know or care where he was going to. He would not let his mind drift back to William, who loved the island as much as Justin. If only William had been honest, if only he could just have offered to love and nothing more, but he hadn’t. Instead he had used the hated word ‘father’, which had cut through Justin’s heart and turned him back to the madness that lurked just beneath his beautiful exterior.
William had touched a raw nerve in the hope of gaining some understanding. How could he know he had pressed the button that made Justin want to kill? He turned to face Max, and their eyes locked.
‘They say the storm’s passing over,’ Max said, as justification for speaking to Justin. Their proximity had given him the confidence that no harm would come to him, but he saw Justin flinch. ‘How much longer do you think it’s going to last?’ he asked.
‘As long as it takes, Max.’ Justin’s voice was low, and his eyes bored into the boy’s fearful face. He wondered if it would appear too much of a coincidence if Max were to drown like Matlock. But the crew were everywhere. He would have to think of some other way, but he felt so tired.
He watched Max slither back to the shelter of the little cabin. Maybe the storm would toss the boy overboard without any assistance from him: it was not blowing over by any means. The rain had only just started to fall and would come down much heavier. The distant booms of thunder would soon return seaward.
Max hovered close to the cabin door, and was told to go below deck. But he preferred to cling to the guard rail. ‘It seems to be getting rougher,’ he said, and was frightened by the seamen’s looks as they dragged on their rain capes and hooked safety harnesses to their belts.
‘You go below when we tell you, son,’ one man shouted.
‘Isn’t the storm over?’ Max shouted.
‘No,’ came the reply.
Justin focused on the mounting angry waves. He wondered how long it would take to drown and be really free. How would it feel?
William wore a cape and sou’wester. The rain dripped off him as the speedboat cut through the swell. They had made radio contact and discovered the route the mail-boat would now be taking. William planned to overtake it. He hoped he had not misjudged the journey. He had no intention of trying to get aboard mid-way, sure that Max would be safe until they had landed. He just hoped to God he would get there in time.
The storm was at its zenith when William landed on Tortola. He stood at the quayside waiting for the first sighting of the mail-boat. He knew he had overtaken it, but worried now that perhaps it had anchored in one of the inlets until the storm blew over. It was almost ten o’clock. He bought a bottle of brandy from the Harbour Bar. He felt stiff and cold. It had been the longest day and night of his life. Nothing he had ever been through had made him so emotionally drained yet so positive. He was there for Justin and he hoped to God that Max had come to no harm.
Max clung to the sides of the cabin as the boat thudded and rolled, the waves crashing over the deck. He was now wearing a cape and a safety harness hooked to the guard rail. He had gone below for a moment, but had started to vomit so had returned to the deck. Tears of fright mingled with the relentless rain; he could see nothing but blackness. The crew had started pumping out the bilges — they had taken in a lot of water. Using a rope and hook to edge along the railings of the deck, one of the crew made his way to the stern. He was shouting for Justin. There was no reply. He called again, screaming against the wind.
Then, to his horror, Max saw him, balanced like a trapeze artist outside the rails, arms raised, face tilted back.
‘Justin! Justin!’ Max’s voice, too, was lost in the howling gale.
Justin remained upright for a few seconds. Then the boat banged against a twenty-foot wave and Justin sailed into the air, as if he was flying. His body lifted above the boat then dropped into the churning sea.