CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
A dream wakes me. In the gray of dawn the details quickly evaporate and I’m left with a feeling of impending doom. Something bad is going to happen soon.
I’m on my side, Blue curled into the curve of my legs. His head rises and then lands on my hip; his eyes focus on my face. I turn to him and lay a hand on his head. “Just a dream,” I say.
At the sound of my voice Frank pops up from where he’d been sleeping on the floor. His tongue is out and he is ready for whatever adventure the day will bring.
“How about a walk?” I suggest.
Nila trots over to the bedroom door, just as ready as her brother, even if she doesn’t express herself with the same exuberance. I make a pot of coffee, fill a cup, and head out to the beach, taking the path through the jungle with my dogs padding behind me—Blue’s nose rhythmically tapping my hip.
There is a storm on the horizon—an angry shade of gray —close enough that it looks like the world is small. A figure sits on the beach, short brown hair fluttering in the wind. It’s Rebecca, Dan’s second-in-command.
She turns as we approach and lifts her coffee cup in greeting.
“Hey,” I say. “Mind if I join you?”
Rebecca’s brows raise in mild surprise but she nods. “Sure.”
I settle on the sand, Blue and Nila sitting next to me while Frank flops down beside Rebecca, rolling onto his back, and staring at her with pleading eyes. She laughs and pets his belly with her free hand.
We don’t speak for a long time. The sun rises up behind us, lighting the sky like watercolor paint stains paper and illuminating the looming storm, transforming the wall of gray into a swirl of bruise colors—purples, lingering greens and yellows.
My fingers rise to my neck, to the latest bruises to haunt my skin. They are almost gone now. Healed like so many others. I have not even dreamed of the terrorist who put them there. That is how callous I have become to violence. Or maybe that is what my dream was about and I just can’t remember.
Faces in the final moments of their lives flash through my mind’s eye, as quick and fierce as lightning. “You okay?” Rebecca asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Not really,” I answer. Both of us seem surprised by my honesty. We’ve never really spoken, and admitting to not being fine isn’t a thing near-strangers do. But I just did. Add it to the list of ways I’m not normal.
“What’s up?” she asks, shifting a little to better face me.
I smile. “So much,” I admit. “I want to completely change society and can’t see how.”
She nods, as if she’s had that thought. Which makes sense. We are sitting on the beach of a private island owned by a vigilante network that wants to dismantle the organizations that harm the defenseless. She’s dedicated her life to Joyful Justice as much as me—maybe even more. After all, I never made a conscious choice to sign up…I’ve just followed my blood lust and it landed me here.
“I have a theory,” Rebecca says.
“About how to burn it all down?”
“Yeah. If you want to upend society, completely render it—melt all the fat—then you’ve got to turn up the heat. So that is what Mother Earth is doing. We are all basically passengers on a flaming plane headed straight for the ocean. The fire will be put out, but we’ll all die in the process.”
“Wow, you’re a real downer,” I say with a smile.
She coughs a laugh. “Yeah, I guess I am. But I’m also just reading the writing on the wall. This planet is fucked. Dan and I are talking about selling the island—storms are getting worse. When the original owner bought this place as the ultimate safe harbor, he wasn’t expecting climate change, I guess.”
“But when I think about this situation,” she goes on, “I don’t get sad. I get motivated. I want to grab the fire extinguisher and blast the flames.”
“So while I’m looking for a way to start a fire, you’re trying to put one out?” I smile.
She grins. “This is the trouble with metaphors.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“There is no way to avoid this outcome without massive shifts in how we create and use energy. I think new technology is the only thing that can save us. And maybe not even that. But the suffering on the way down…”
“Yeah…” I say, picking up on her thoughts. Silence falls between us. We sip our coffee. The sun climbs higher, the cool mist of morning recedes, but the heat of the day hasn’t arrived.
Mulberry is coming today. That fact has circled me like a carrion bird circles a dying animal. And it’s not alone. I sigh.
“You’ll figure it out,” Rebecca says.
I turn to look at her. “You think?” I ask.
She nods. “Sure. Don’t you always?”
I chuckle. “More like never. I’m not someone who figures stuff out.”
“I thought you were a detective.”
“Hardly.” I shake my head. “I worked as a private eye for a few years, but I was never great at solving puzzles. I’m good at punching people in the throat.” I nod toward Blue. “He’s good at taking bad guys down to the ground and scaring the shit out of them.”
Rebecca narrows her eyes, looking at me. “You may not be giving yourself enough credit.”
“I think other people give me way too much.”
“You’re a hero, Sydney, to everyone on this island, every member of Joyful Justice. People all over the world look up to you.”
