The Forgotten Island

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE:

MOM (PART ONE)

-Maria-

I sat at my small kitchen island in the house that used to be a home, haunted now by the missing presence of my daughter. A cup of coffee grew cold in my hands as I turned it back and forth and stared at nothing. For a year Arya has been missing, and all those they had yet to find from the fatal accident have been pronounced dead. They held a memorial for all the missing children at the high school they had attended, pictures of their smiling faces aglow from hundreds of lit candles in the night.

I had refused to add Arya’s picture to the mix of deceased, my presence there was only out of respect for the other children who would never return home. Laina’s parents had been there as well, though they were avoiding me like I was loco; which I am sure they believed I was. I had tried to convince them in the beginning, that our daughters were still alive, and they humored me for a while. After months of the same story however, they began to stop taking my calls, no longer able to accept what they believed to be my denial. They had made peace with the so-called death of their daughter. I knew the truth: they lived.

My daughter was alive, therefore so was Laina: those two would protect each other until the end, of that, I was sure. I just wish Laina’s parents believed me. No matter, if they chose to give up then so be it, it was time to take matters into my own hands.

My eldest daughter, Renee, had moved home from college a few months after the accident. She claimed it was to help me, but the reality was that we both needed each other. Arya’s ghost left a shadow behind both our eyes. For months we had been combing the libraries and the internet, looking for ways to communicate with my youngest daughter. And for months, we have unearthed nothing useful. Well, I have had enough of shadows and the black hole of Google, we would have to find our answers elsewhere.

I was raised in a very small town of primarily earth-borns, located in a small region of western New Zealand; to my knowledge one of the few of its kind left in existence. My great grand-parents had immigrated there from Bolivia during the War of the Pacific, looking for quiet life away from the conflict. My great grandmother took an apprenticeship at an apothecary and blossomed as a town healer while my great grandfather made a name for himself in dairy farming. The town hadn’t changed much as generations came and went, seemingly locked in a time warp of the past. My entire childhood there had held whispers of witches and covens, all dedicated to enhancing the gifts we were born with. Ways to channel energy, ground ourselves, and surpass the average elemental abilities; secrets that were guarded heavily by the town elders.

It was my home, and I had always felt I would find my way back there eventually, though not like this. I would beseech the elders of the community to help me, I wouldn’t take no for an answer.

I was taking Renee there this weekend, a one-way trip as far as I was concerned. I had put in a resignation at work and got in touch with an agent to list my home as an Air BnB year-round. I would see what Renee thought of staying there once we had settled in and she got a feel for the town. Once her shift at the local credit union this afternoon was done, we would be on our way to the airport; our bags were already packed and waiting by the door.

And so here I sat, the proof of Arya’s life laying on the counter beside my arm. The rose she had created for me before she departed on that cursed ship; still very much alive. If my daughter was dead, the rose would have withered at the absence of her unique energy which kept it alive.

A sharp knock at the door drew me from my ministrations. Who could that be, I wondered? I hadn’t had guests in what felt like ages. Passing through the living room I opened the front door to what seemed like the cover of GQ magazine. Before me were two men, both were at least six feet tall and under the age of 30, and they both had more muscles than seemed reasonable. The one who appeared the youngest leaned against the door jamb like we were old friends, and he regarded me with a warm smile as him muscles threatened to burst open the sleeves of his white t-shirt. Behind him, standing with his arms crossed was the second young man, who looked like he would rather be anywhere else but here. His irritated gaze met mine as I looked him over, and the hair on my arms stood up in warning. I had been through enough to trust my gut; these men were dangerous.

The younger man gave me a predators smile as he spoke, his canines a little sharper than they should have been “Hello there, we are looking for Arya.” His eyes flicked to the suitcases just inside the doorway “Going somewhere?”