CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
[21]
song: cherry by lana del rey
Cassie thought it best not to make any further eye contact with the gunmen that sat in the back of the truck with her. But there were also moments where she thought maybe provoking them would be the better choice. Sitting here, helpless, was only delaying the inevitable. If they were to just shoot her here, it'd probably be quicker and less painless than whatever Ward had planned.
The truck moved fast, and with little care to the fact that Cassie was injured. Every bump they hit, she was reminded of the little shards of glass the remained in her back.
When it came to a slow, Cassie was hesitant to look up and see who was approaching the truck. "Alright, let them in." He spoke, as Cassie kept her eyes on the police dog sniffing the perimeters of the car she sat in.
She heard the squeak of a gate opening, and reflexively her eyes lifted to see where it was she was being taken. Ahead of her, down a primly trimmed field, sat a large house, separated from the rest of the public by tall walls, and armed guards.
Cassie looked at one of the gunmen who waved the truck through the gate, hoping he'd realize she was just a teenager. That something was really wrong here, that they'd made a mistake. He was only a few years older than her, yet there was no sign of humanity in his eyes, as the truck took Cassie closer and closer to what was assumedly her demise.
"Come on." Someone ordered, their hand out for Cassie's arm after they opened up the back truck door.
She hadn't even realized they'd stopped and gotten out, too busy looking up and around at the mansion in front of her. Enclosed with more gates, and shrubbery, she had an inkling that not many people knew what went on within these walls. It felt as if there was a man with a big gun and a bullet proof vest every five feet. All standing there, lifeless and stoic, all ready to do their job if someone acted out of pocket.
A man latched onto her arm, and after unhooking her cuff from the truck, he dragged her out until she was on her feet. It's be stupid of her to think that this was her chance to run. Not with the mile long strip of gunmen that patrolled the field they just drove through. She'd do whatever they'd say, or she'd be killed.
She thought maybe her time in the truck was enough to let her collect herself, to gather her thoughts and get all of her worries out of the way. She'd be calm, and ready for whatever was thrown at her. But when the man pulled her up to the front of the house, her preconceived notions on what exactly she was about to face felt less and less likely.
She looked at the man who held her arm as he took her to the front porch, a last attempt at reaching anyone's sense of right and wrong before the door swung open in front of her.
She jumped, not yet at all prepared to face Ward, but she relaxed when it was just a woman, dressed in a black maid's dress with a white apron, her hair pulled back in a tight bun.
Cassie was shoved inside, and she felt the woman's eyes glue to her as she looked around.
Inside smelled of burning incense. Old, creaking wooden floors that were freshly polished to match the perfection of the rest of the house. Antique, extravagant lighting structures, hand-painted wallpapers. Tropical plants sat in every corner, and on every table, were glass-enclosed artifacts that one would typically find at a museum.
Helmets from past wars, jewelry and necklaces that were probably worth more than everything Cassie owned combined. Small, golden sculptures that she'd never seen anything like before.
"Take her upstairs," The woman spoke. "The Orinoco Room."
Cassie wasn't sure why she expected the woman who shoved her inside to be kind. But she spook with such sternness that it made Cassie freeze in place, afraid of what that meant, as she looked up at the gunmen who sat in front of the large wooden staircase.
Her heart plummeted into her stomach when he grabbed her arm again, yanking her up towards the stairs. She couldn't find her footing, couldn't adjust to her surroundings quick enough before she was being dragged along again.
She found herself continuing to glance back at the woman, desperate for someone to put a stop to this. She thought if anyone would recognize this was wrong, it'd be another girl, but she didn't seem fazed by Cassie's obvious terror at all.
When they reached the hallway at the top of the room, the man on her arm swung open a door and shoved her inside so hard she about fell to her knees. "Inside." She heard him say.
Cassie wasn't expecting a bedroom. She was expecting a cell, something dark, and freezing. Something better suited to the situation considering all the gunmen they thought necessary to bring her here.
But this was just a bedroom. A nice one, with big bright windows, and nice furniture, and clean linens which she could smell from where she stood.
"Dinner at eight." The man spoke. "I'd clean up." And then he was gone.
"Wait—" It fell from her lips before she could stop herself, as she turned back around to the door he'd just slammed, and locked. Her hands went for the handle, which inevitably didn't budge no matter how hard she twisted it.
She started to bring her hands up to pound on the door, but thought against it. Angering these people was something she definitely did not want to do.
Her feet quickly carried her to the other side of the room, where she pushed white lace curtains out of the way of the windows. Instinctively, her hands went to the window locks, only one switch away from what she naïvely thought would mean freedom, until she saw all of the gunmen that monitored the porch just below her.
It was like all of these feelings she'd worked so hard to push down all came rushing back at once. So helpless and afraid. Her hands went to her throat, rubbing at her skin as if that would loosen the tightening feeling as she started to panic. No idea where she was, no idea if her friends were alive or dead, no way out.
She caught glance of herself in an old mirror sat in the corner of the bedroom, and she audibly gasped as she made her way towards it for a better look.
She hadn't seen her reflection in weeks. Hadn't realized how banged up she truly was. She'd lost a lot of weight, too much. You could see her ribs poking out from beneath her skin, her cheeks and eyes sunken in. Her legs were covered in bruises from nights slept on a cave floor, or the plane crash. Lips pale, skin burnt. Her hair was dirty, her skin dirtier, and blood dried to the massive cut down her arm.
She turned around, trying to get a better look at the cuts on her back too, from where she drug Jimmy Portis from the plane. Something that if she didn't do, she wouldn't be here.
Only little tiny scratches, but tons of them, where microscopic shards of glass probably stuck into her flesh. She brought a hand to her mouth, rubbing her pursed lips as she tried to stay as calm as she could, though her shaky exhales weren't convincing anyone.
In the reflection of the mirror was another door, and she turned around and creaked it open slowly. First afraid of what might be behind it, like she'd be opening a door she wasn't meant to. But it was only a bathroom, and she realized she'd never been so relieved to see a bathroom in her life.
She about toppled over into the sink, turning on the faucet and ducking her head under the stream. She choked the water down, hoping it would soothe this constant cramping in her kidneys even just a little. When she leaned back up, she realized there was a shower too.
She didn't care that she was being held hostage, or whatever was happening. Or that there were men all around this room with massive guns, or that she had absolutely no idea how long they'd keep her here. All that she cared about right now was taking a warm shower.
It burned against her raw skin, and she cried. Not because it hurt, she actually wasn't entirely sure why she was crying, but she needed to get it out of her system.
Blood flowed down her arm and into the drain, clumps of loose hair, and brown water piled at her feet. She hadn't realized how bad it was out there. No one did.
She sought to put on her old clothes when she was done. But now that she was clean, she realized the dirty bra and torn up denim shorts reeked of the outdoors.
There were no clothes in the closets she sifted through. All of the cabinets were completely empty. Wearing this towel around herself sounded more desirable than ever touching those clothes again.
But there was a dresser in the bedroom, its big wooden doors had been propped open this whole time and she'd been too distracted to realized. Stepping closer, she realized four identical red dresses were hung up, and attached to a hanger, a note; 'pick your size' it read.
Cassie felt a twitch at her upper lip, as this indescribable feeling of disgust and confusion mixed in her system. Ward had planned this out perfectly, down to preparing her with clothes.
But on the piece of paper she held, she noticed an embossed crest in the corner of the page with the initials C.S.
She didn't pay much attention to it. Too flustered, too anxious. Her hands shook as she took a dress off the hanger, and as she slipped it on, she wondered if this would be the dress she died in.
In the process of getting dressed, her already barely-healed wound had opened up again, and had started to spill blood back down her arm.
Amidst her trembling hands, and her weak attempts at remaining calm, she fled back to the bathroom where she used toilet paper to wrap her arm, the only thing available.
It just kept bleeding through, and then she had to restart. Wrapping her arm, taking it right back off when the red started to seep, then wrapping her arm again. Until there was none left.
She sat against the bathroom door for a long time, against the cold marble tiles, listening to the buzz of the bugs outside, trying to decipher how this was what her life had turned into.
She thought Kitty Hawk was the worst it could get. She thought that it could only go up from there. But now she'd almost been choked to death, jumped from a cargo ship into the middle of the ocean, lived on a deserted island for over a month, survived a plane crash. And now she was trapped in a mansion, awaiting some mysterious dinner at eight, surrounded by people who wouldn't hesitate to shoot her if she stepped out of place.
All because she loved someone she shouldn't have.
But Cassie wasn't sure that's what it was. Her mind was so out of control, whatever she'd convinced herself about Rafe Cameron had to be far from the truth. She knew it was. He didn't care about her, he never did, he proved that to her when he left her in his father's arms.
She was in a haze. A drug-induced haze. And anything and everything she once felt for Rafe Cameron couldn't have been real.
After what felt like hours of silence, of no footsteps, or voices, and after Cassie felt like she was alone in this house all together, there were three loud knocks at her door.
She stood from the bathroom door quickly, her heart, which had finally returned to a resting rate, spiked right back up as she looked at the clock on the table.
Dinner, eight o'clock.
She was starving, but the thought of eating, here and now, felt impossible. Her palms were clammy, her breathing staggered and her legs trembling. Getting food down was not in the cards, no matter how good it sounded.
The maid from earlier opened the door, nodding at Cassie. "He's ready." She spoke.
Cassie was moving on reflexes. "He's gonna kill me, please—" She whispered, moving towards the woman with desperate eyes. "Please, help me."
The woman looked at Cassie, bewildered by the girl's suddenness. "Please head downstairs." She spoke anyway, stepping out of the doorway, and putting a hand out, instructing Cassie on where to go.
Cassie wanted to grab her and shake her like a doll. Ask her how much the Cameron's were paying her. But she just moved out the door, slowly beginning to accept there was no way out of this.
Maybe if she never came back to the Outerbanks. Maybe if she never relapsed. Maybe if she never saved Jimmy Portis. Maybe if she never got involved with Rafe. Maybe then she wouldn't be in this situation.
She pulled the dress up, its neckline much lower on her chest than she was comfortable with, it sat on her waist too tight, and she felt ridiculous. Especially given her lack of makeup, curly air-dried hair, and the open wound on her arm. What was the point of all these formalities?
She could hear the sound of wind-chimes on the porch, and on top of that, the smell of the food could've almost tricked her into thinking she was in for a nice evening.
But as she was lead to the bottom of the stairs, and redirected into the dining room, that looming feeling of inevitable circumstances just came flooding right back.
At the opposite end of the room, stood a man in a suit, his back to her, pouring a drink. Cassie turned around, back to the doorway she was just shuffled in from, her brain trying to think up another excuse as to why she shouldn't be here. 'I don't feel good','I need to use the restroom', they wouldn't care.
Cassie opened her mouth to speak, to get the attention of whoever it was she was here to meet, but he'd already turned around.
And she just stood there, stunned.
It wasn't Ward, and it wasn't some stranger, it was Rafe.
She felt her mouth drop open, and the muscles of her limbs twitch. Her first reaction was confusion. Like if it really was him standing ahead of her. He looked so different, his hair was buzzed, his shoulders were bigger, skin was tanner.
Then she was scared, scared that she had to face him again, scared that she had to speak to him and more likely, beg to be spared.
She took an instinctive step back, taking in a deep inhale which would be her last for a while, as she already felt the chaos about to ensue.
"Cas?"
She moved, spinning completely on her heel until she was back out the door way she'd just entered. All of her fears had bubbled up and spilled over at once, and as she bumped into the chest of a gunmen who stood in her way of leaving, panic did too.
"No, no— you don't understand, I can't—" Cassie was begging, begging for this man to let her go.
"Cassie, what are you doing here?"
She heard him coming closer, she heard him set his drink down and walk over to where she stood in the doorway.
"Back up." The gunmen spoke sternly, raising his voice slightly.
Cassie did as she was told, taking a step back, though she didn't turn around to face Rafe again.
"I wondered if your little reunion would cause sparks." She heard.
But it wasn't Rafe, it was someone else, someone in the opposite corner of the room. She turned to find a man by the window, his back to both Cassie and Rafe.
Slowly, he turned around, and Cassie didn't recognize him at all. He wore gold, shiny jewelry on his fingers, and a perfectly fitted suit. He moved about like he was the owner of this house, and as Cassie came to adjust to what was happening, she realized he probably was.
"Who are you?" Rafe asked.
None of this was anything Cassie had assumed she'd be walking into.
"Me?" The man asks, chuckling to himself. "My name is Carlos Singh." He puts his hands in his pockets. "It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Cameron."
Cassie didn't like how long it took for him to talk, to answer questions. Her heart was pounding so hard, and if things weren't going to start making sense soon she'd probably pass out.
"And Miss Maybank. I do apologize in the rough tactics in bringing you here."
Cassie felt Rafe's eyes on her, but she wouldn't meet them.
"But please, come. Come sit down." Mr. Singh continued, gesturing over to the sitting area. When no one moved, he spoke again. "Come now, I don't bite."
He spoke like Ward did. Or maybe, that was just how all rich men spoke. With formalities, over-politeness. Masking whatever manipulation tactics they were pulling on you at the same time.
Cassie kept her eyes on Mr. Singh, who had made his way over to the living room area, though she could see Rafe had turned completely in her direction out of the corner of her eye. "What are you doing here?" He asked again, quieter this time.
She couldn't tell if it was concern, or if he was just as angry to see her as she was to see him.
Cassie couldn't look at him, let alone speak to him, and so her only choice was to follow Mr. Singh over to the other end of the room.
"Rough tactics, what about me?" Rafe asked, as Cassie went and sat on one of the chairs. She specifically didn't sit on any of the sofas, as to not let anyone sit beside her.
"Yes, Mr. Cameron. False pretenses." Mr. Singh pours himself a drink. "But, the ends justify the means, I'm afraid. Sit down, we have a lot to talk about."
Cassie kept her eyes glued on the rug in front of her, though she could sense Rafe's annoyance with his every move, like it radiated off of him. He let out a huff as he sat down in the chair opposite her, and she tensed when she felt his eyes on her again.
"Why did you bring us here?" Cassie eventually speaks up, looking at Mr. Singh who was still standing, a glass in his hand.
"Well, Miss Maybank, Mr. Cameron. We share certain interests, you know. Objectives." He says.
"Is this not about the cross?" Rafe asks, flexing his hands impatiently.
Cassie couldn't help but letting out a quiet scoff at the reminder of where Rafe's priorities were, which in turn, earned glances from both him and Mr. Singh.
"It is." Mr. Singh points at him after a moment. "Tangentially, it is about the cross, but it's also about something much much bigger than the cross. By orders of magnitude. The completion of a grand quest." He lets out a sigh. "You see, the story goes that 450 years ago, a Spanish soldier came out of the Orinoco basin with a few gold beads. And when they asked the Spanish soldier where the beads came from, he said he got them from a peaceful Indigenous tribe who lived in a city of gold. El Dorado. And for the next 450 years, people tried to find that gold, you know." He pauses. "And it falls to me now, it falls to me to complete the task."
Cassie wasn't listening, and she assumed Rafe wasn't either. He was rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes strained forward as he was quickly realizing whatever it was he thought he was getting out of this, he wasn't.
"To bring full circle a quest that has gone on for almost 500 years. Perhaps... perhaps the greatest quest in the history of the western hemisphere."
But Cassie, however, was beginning to relax. Starting to come to her own conclusions that Ward had nothing to do with any of this. Rafe clearly had no idea what was going on either. She'd found a book on El Dorado in Jimmy Portis' plane, this was all Carlos Singh's plan the entire time.
And while Singh was scary, this entire house was scary, at least it wasn't Ward.
"And you two..." Mr. Singh points to Cassie and Rafe. "You two are going to play a part in that."
Cassie narrowed her eyebrows, reflex leading her to look at Rafe to see if he understood anything of what he was saying. But he just looked around, nodding along like Mr. Singh was crazy.
"What about you, Miss Maybank?" Mr. Singh starts to take a seat. "Are you interested in history?"
Cassie looks at him steadily, trying to gage what answer he wanted to hear. Nodding slightly, she spoke. "A little."
"Yeah, I didn't listen to a word you said, okay?" Rafe pinches bridge of his nose as he speaks. "How much are you gonna keep philosophizing?"
"You are direct, aren't you Mr. Cameron?" Mr. Singh laughs. "I've come to believe that you and your friends have come into possession of something that can help me get what I want." As he spoke, he turned to Cassie and she realized he was referring to her and her friends.
"What?" She asked.
"An old manuscript." He responded. "A diary, actually."
Cassie blinked a few times, taking a moment to think. "I—" she, again, reflexively looked at Rafe for some sort of back up, before turning back to Mr. Singh. "I don't think we have a diary."
"But how else could you have learned that the cross was on The Royal Merchant?" Mr. Singh pries further.
"I don't—" Cassie started shaking her head. "You've got the wrong person for this. I want to help you, but— I know just as much as you do."
"I was hoping you wouldn't say that, you know." He responded. "Because unfortunately, I don't believe you."
His shift in stature made her blood run cold, as he narrowed his eyes forward at her. She was quickly reminded of all of the gunmen surrounding this house.
"You and your friend here couldn't have found the cross without it."
"Look, this is ridiculous." Rafe stands up quickly. "Okay? I'm out."
"Rafe, sit down." Cassie spoke sternly. His mouth was going to get them both shot.
"—I don't know anything about a diary, so—" He tried to step out into the hallway, but a gunmen came around and blocked him from leaving.
"Do I look like a fool to you, Mr. Cameron?" Mr. Singh says, standing from his seat.
Rafe stood in front of the gunmen, unfazed, and if Cassie could see correctly, he was smiling.
"Rafe, sit down." Cassie repeated, feeling the tensions in the room building quickly.
"Do I look like a fool?" Mr. Singh asked him again. Rafe turned around and shrugged. "You have the cross. She helped you get the cross. So, one of you has the diary."
Rafe looks at Cassie, and she quickly averts her eyes.
"And if you really don't know, then I suggest you convince your friend to tell me." Singh continues.
She looks back up quickly, to Singh, then to Rafe, whose eyes were still steady on her, as he weighed his options.
"Once I have the diary, you'll be free to leave." Singh adds happily.
Cassie stood from her chair, fidgeting with her hands, trying to find the most calm and convincing way to get this across. "Sir— I really don't know what diary you're— referring to but, I can try and—" When Singh nodded towards Cassie, and one of the guards came into the room, she closed her mouth.
"What are you—" She heard Rafe say, as one of the guards latched onto her arms again, and started pulling her out of the room. "Hey, hey!" Rafe continued, as one of the guards grabbed onto him too.
They pulled her forward and out of the room, and while Rafe hadn't caught on to it yet, she chose not to fight against the strong hold on her arms, as they pushed her back up the stairs. Singh led them both back to the room she was in earlier.
"Enjoy the grounds during your stay." He spoke, turning around to face the two as the guards drug them into the room behind him. "But I must warn you, I'm not a man of infinite patience. You have one day." He nods. "Go to the window for a little demonstration."
Singh looked at Cassie and Rafe, his eyes saying more than all of his previous threats. He wasn't messing around. As he walked past the two, he pat Rafe on the back. "I think you'll enjoy it, you know."
As he left, a guard shut the door behind him, and as they heard the lock click shut from the other side, both Cassie and Rafe rushed over to it.
"Hey!" Rafe yelled, pounding his fists on the door. "You're just done talking?!"
Cassie went for the door knob, another unsuccessful attempt at checking to see if it was really locked. The sound of Rafe slamming his fists on the door again made her jump. "It's locked." She got out, moving away from him.
He remained by the door, as Cassie went over to the window like Singh said. She moved the curtain out of the way, and looked around for whatever it was he wanted them to see.
When Rafe joined her at her side, her body tensed, and she couldn't help but take a slight step away. Noticing, he looked at her with narrowed eyes. "Relax." He got out, redirecting his attention out the window.
There were a few yells from down below, and then movement, as the guards drug a guy onto the porch. "Who the hell is that?" Rafe asked.
Cassie leaned forward, trying to make sure she saw it right. Jimmy Portis. "That's— he rescued us from the island, but— he was working for Singh. I don't..." Cassie trailed off, confused, watching as they moved him farther down the porch.
Singh came out next, turning around and looking up, directly at Rafe and Cassie who watched from the window, before he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a gun.
Cassie couldn't move, she could barely begin to comprehend what was happening as Singh walked down the porch where they'd just taken Portis. She brought her hands up to the window, beginning to hit the glass. "Wait, wait!" She shouted frantically.
"Shh, stop!" Rafe pulled her arms down and pushed her back from the window, just seconds before a gunshot echoed throughout the property, making them both jump.
Her hand clasped over her mouth as she got out her last shaky exhale, before she found herself holding her breath, too afraid to move.
Rafe held her, backed up from the window just enough to where neither of them saw anything. When the initial shock of it all wore off, he pulled away from her quickly, and spoke. "This diary— no bullshit— don't bullshit me, okay?"
Cassie's gaze was frozen to the ground.
"Do you have it? Cas?" Rafe spoke, urgent, but slow enough to ensure that she was getting it all.
She looked up at Rafe, and shook her head. "No."