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Back so soon? That was quick. He must not be spewin’ as many lies today as usual. Bet he told you how he has that map tucked away in his mind, knows where all the ‘x’s is and what not. Don’t believe it. I fell for it too many times. That man has more crazy notions than anybody you’re ever apt to meet. He’s a lunatic. That’s what I say. And it was his idea to steal the map. I told him of the conversation, but that’s all. He was the one got all worked up and was intent on the theft. Yes, I confess, I went along. I did. How could I not? Somebody’s gotta keep the simpleton out of trouble. Well, I reckon I failed. Yep. I failed. And now here we both are, stuck on this here island. Four years now. At least I believe that’s the amount of time’s gone by. Did he say it was somethin’ different, some other amount of time? That’d be just like him. He gets things all confused in his head. He’s picturin’ the map here, and ‘x’s there and then all over the place. And then it’s “no, no, ‘t ain’t there, it’s on over this way twenty paces . . .” It never ends. It drives me crazy. That’s why I come over to this side of the island. To get away. Seems I can’t ever escape him. And so, as far as the story goes, I was tryin’ to help him, coz at one time we was friends, brothers, one person, more or less. One of us’d have a thought, and t’other would speak the words. From the start of it though, once I heard the conversation, well, then he was all alit with ideas of stealin’ the map. But that’s all it was, see—I just went along to try and keep him from endin’ up with a noose around his neck, and now both of us is here. Stranded.
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“He’s marooned all right,” said Dr. Albright. “In more ways than one.”
“He didn’t talk, the whole distance between the two sides of the island. Then he just changed into another person altogether.” John Berendt just shook his head. “He went from being Ketchum to Steele. Then when we crossed again to this side, he moved back to being Ketchum again. And that’s when he became angry and told me to get away from him, said he didn’t trust me, or you. . .”
“Being stranded on an island for any great length of time can cause strain on a man’s mind, his mental facilities . . .”
“Yeah, but I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like he’s putting us on. Almost as if it is all part of a show.”
“Oh, he’s not play-acting,” said the doctor. “One personality is apparently relegated to only one side of the island, and the other personality is confined to the other. Each personality is ‘marooned’, so to speak, on his own section of island. And there is no telling how many more personalities there are. Oh, not that there would be a whole army of them, but it would be safe to reason that there’s probably one or two more at least.”
“You suppose one of the two names is his real one?”
“Probably. But hard to tell without talking to him some more.”
“And what about these bottles, all lined up and stuck in the sand here along the beach? What do they mean?”
“Well, I had the chance to open and read a few of the notes within. All the notes are written in one hand, except maybe slight variances. Some of them looked as though he might be leaning toward using his left hand—one of the persons, or personalities inside. It’s almost as if a child grew into an adult after being taught to write with one particular hand, but then wasn’t allowed to do so for years; and now that child is trying to write a little. Each note that I read–and I didn’t get a chance to read all of them while the two of you were on the other side of the island, was distinct in tone. Each note, ‘rescue note’, or message in a bottle, expressed a different man. And I imagine the reason the bottles are all still lined up on the beach is because there is confusion, a struggle within. He can’t decide which to send. I expect in the end he’ll realize that he should toss all of them into the ocean. After all, it won’t much matter which of the men’s notes get found, all will be rescued if any of the notes are retrieved from the sea by a passing vessel. Soon enough, he’ll come to realize this. He’s not stupid, his mind’s just in a confused state.”
The two men were standing on the beach looking at each other. The doctor, who was more or less facing seaward, had his back turned to the marooned man, who was a good distance away. The doctor looked at John Berendt seriously. “We best not alarm or frighten him. No telling how violent he could get.”
“Looks harmless enough.”
“What’s he doing now? But when you look, be casual about it. He’s probably growing suspicious. And he’s already a good bit paranoid.” Berendt glanced up and saw the marooned man pacing and glaring. The man, straggly long hair and beard, clothes in tatters, kept eyeing the two men standing on the beach. The glare was growing more and more malevolent with each passing minute. “You’re right, Doc, I can see it in his eyes and the way he’s nervously pacing behind that rock at the edge of the trees. He seems to suspect we’re up to something. Probably thinks we’re after his treasure, that we’re plotting something this very minute.”
“Okay,” said the doctor, “we’ll have to try and find a way to placate him, to win his trust. Wish we had tossed the blow-gun into the boat before we left the other island. You know, the one I use when I want to study–”
“Yeah, the one you use to put the animals to sleep . . .I did throw it in, along with plenty of ‘sleeper darts’. You didn’t see it?”
“Oh, good. No, I didn’t see it. We probably won’t need it, of course, but just in case. One of us should try and distract him while the other goes to the boat for it. Maybe, if we can jus—A-ahh.” The doctor fell forward into Berendt’s arms. Berendt saw the tip of the handmade arrow sticking out of the front of the doctor’s chest.
The arrow had come with such speed and force that the doctor probably hadn’t felt much pain. Blood was now pooling outward onto his shirt around the arrow’s shaft. From the tip of the arrow to where it exited the doctor’s chest was about three inches. The thing appeared to have gone straight through the doctor’s heart, from the back. He was dead, there was no question. John Berendt figured Ketchum couldn’t have planned to hit the doctor’s heart, but it was a damned good and lucky shot all the same. Berendt looked at the man, who was moving in close now, slowly, cautiously.
Ketchum had the bow loaded with another arrow. The bow and arrows must have been resting behind the boulder that he had stood behind. Berendt hadn’t even seen the man bend down. Of course, he had been averting his gaze so as not to be confrontational. That had been a bad idea, obviously. Berendt still held the doctor in his arms. He carefully laid the body down onto the beach. Then he raised his hands slowly. “Now, Mr. Ketchum,” said Berendt. “We mean you no harm—the doctor, he meant you no harm. In fact, he could have helped you. And now you’ve killed him. He was the only man who could have helped you. He was just telling me how he was gonna try and help you.”
The man grinned slowly. “Only need a boat,” he said. “And you got one. That’s all the help that’s needed.” Ketchum paused for a few seconds, studying Berendt closely. It was as though the man was trying to make up his mind. Finally, he continued: “Ketchum’s a fool. The name’s Percy, Tristan Percy. I’ll say this about Ketchum though. He held the secret to where that treasure was buried. He held it tight to hisself. I tried for years now to get it out of him. That’s one thing you helped with. He thought he was rescued now. He reckoned it was safe to reveal its whereabouts. Thinkin’ you was gonna take him away from the island got him to reveal it to me. He wanted me to help ‘im dig it up. But now you can help with that, see. Yep, you sure can help out there . . .”
So there was another one in there, another person, thought Berendt. Doc was right. And a crafty one this one was.
TO BE CONTINUED . . .