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ELEVEN
Alan sat down at his desk and opened the bottom drawer, in which he kept the
satellite telephone. It had been provided by John Hammond to use in an
emergency, such as sudden, debilitating illness or serious injury, or some
other unexpected overwhelming, or catastrophic event. He had never had occasion
to use it, and had not even anticipated having to use it at all. It was merely
a lifeline to the outside world in the unlikely event that it should be needed.
He knew that the elderly Scotsman was hoping for periodic progress reports,
details that Alan had not provided and had no intention of providing.
Reaching into the drawer, he picked up the phone and the piece of notebook
paper underneath it containing various phone numbers, including Miguel's
number, Mark Degler's number at the State Department, John Hammond's number,
and that of the Costa Rican coast guard. The phone was kept fully charged, and
ready to be used, yet he hesitated, gazing at it with a reluctance he had not
expected.
Sending Ellie away from that island, away from the danger, was the right thing
to do. She had no business being there. He had not invited her. She had simply
taken it upon herself to join him without seeking his approval. Safely at home,
she would eventually recover enough to remarry and have a family to replace the
one she had lost. She would be better off.
He punched the numbers on the keypad with his forefinger, then immediately
placed his thumb on the "end" button, disconnecting the call before
it went through.
Leaning his elbows on the desk, he stared at the telephone, surprised by the
rush of emotions that had seeped into his conscious mind and had caused him to
terminate the call he knew he should make.
Outside, the wind howled and the rain continued to pound the structure. It was
a sound he was familiar with, for he had endured many such storms since his
arrival on the island. As violent as the storm was, it could not compare with
the storm that was raging inside his heart and within his mind. Sentiments and
emotions he thought had died within him years ago resurfaced with such dizzying
impact that he felt stunned and confused by the depth of his feelings for her.
He could not recall a specific moment when their relationship had started to
come apart. Neither had been unfaithful to the other. There had been no
arguments, only a gradual disconnection that had occurred with little notice by
him. Always wrapped up in his work, he had failed to notice that she was
unhappy with the fact that their relationship was not moving forward. Even when
he finally realized that their relationship was in jeopardy, he had never
actually believed she would leave until the day she had packed her belongings
and boarded a plane bound for
The separation had stretched into a year, but still it had never occurred to
him that she would become involved with someone else until he received a letter
stating that she was getting married, and inviting him to attend. Of course, he
had not been present for the exchanging of vows. He had tried to convince
himself that he was not hurt by her engagement to another man, and he had
graciously sent his congratulations and best wishes along with a nice gift, but
with those sentiments he had included his apologies that he could not get away
to attend the wedding. The unspoken truth was that he could not bear to watch
her exchange vows with someone else. He had spent her wedding day on a dig
site, trying to ignore the sympathetic glances from his students and coworkers
who understood the source of his short temper.
From that day forward, he had thrown himself even more deeply into his work. By
then, the incident in
His experience on the island the previous summer had revealed a new interest in
the living creatures waiting to be studied, and he knew he was the man to
accomplish the task. He had no personal attachments and no distractions to
divert his attention from the work.
Until now.
Ellie's presence would surely complicate things. Her frail condition required
attention. It was certain that he would be unable to persuade her to remain at
the dormitory whenever he was in the field. She would expect, no demand
, to go along, and he knew that she would slow him down. The last thing he
needed was a responsibility that could distract him to the point of endangering
his life or hers.
He sighed, heavily. As much as he tried to convince himself that it wasn't so,
the truth was undeniable: He liked having her there. He enjoyed her company,
her input, and her enthusiasm when he described his work and when she viewed
the animals. He did not want her to leave.
"Dammit."
Annoyed with himself, certain that he was making a serious mistake, he returned
the telephone and the phone number back to the desk drawer and pushed it shut.
He would not be making the phone call that day.
Removing his journal from the corner of the desk, he opened it up and began to
inscribe the day's events, carefully cataloguing everything they had seen and
done, the encounter with the raptors, and the placidness of the Ankylosaurs
during the impending tempest, struggling through the startling crashes of
thunder that occasionally caused him to reflexively jerk his pen across the
paper, marring the appearance of his records. He cursed his own jumpiness.
Storms had never bothered him that much before, and he was forced to admit that
it was not the storm at all. It was Ellie, her nearness, that had so thoroughly
distracted him.
Finally, he gave up on the task altogether. It would keep for another time, a
quieter time when his nerves were not on edge. He closed the journal and set
aside his pen, then rose from his chair and walked down the corridor to the
living room again.
Ellie still occupied the sofa on her left side, facing the backrest, apparently
asleep. For several moments, he stood in the doorway, watching her right side
rise and fall with her steady, even breathing, and as he watched, he had to
resist the urge to go to her and take her into his arms to declare that his
feelings for her had not changed, and to apologize for allowing their relationship
to crumble. He had missed her more than he even wanted to admit, and he
desperately wanted to speak those three simple words that were so difficult for
him to say; I love you!
In the end, he turned away, reminded of the fact that she was another man's
widow, that her husband had died only three months prior. To declare his love
for her would be inappropriate, even if he was able to say those elusive words.
Restlessly, he moved into the kitchen, and stood for several moments in the
middle of the room, trying to find something to do. The breakfast dishes were
still piled in one of the sinks, waiting to be washed, but they would only be
adding the supper dishes to them, soon, so he ignored them.
Well, he supposed he could get supper started. He opened the refrigerator and
looked over the packages of meat she had brought. One of them contained a small
roast, something he had not enjoyed in a long time.
Perfect.
Locating a large, nonstick roasting pan in the storage area beneath the work
table, he placed the roast in it, added a little flour, some water, a packet of
dry onion soup, some additional seasonings and a variety of fresh vegetables
from his garden, covered it with aluminum foil, and put it in the oven. In a
few hours, they would have a tasty, nutritious meal.
~~~
Ellie awakened to the tantalizing aroma of roast beef and vegetables drifting
throughout the building. She rose up on her elbows, her stomach responding
eagerly to the wonderful smells coming from the kitchen as she listened
carefully. The storm had moved on, leaving a steady, garden-variety rain shower
in its wake. Alan had reopened the windows and the front door, allowing the
sounds and cooling effects of the shower to enter the building.
Then, with a twinge in her heart, she suddenly remembered: He had told her he
was going to call Miguel to take her back to the mainland. An overwhelming
sense of dejection fell over her like a dark cloud, wishing he had been more
receptive of her company and her desire to help him in his research. Just when
it seemed he was beginning to warm up to her being there, her frailty had
become an issue and his demeanor had changed in response to it. She knew he was
afraid she would become a hindrance to him, a danger to his life as well as
hers.
She sighed, heavily. Can you really blame him? she asked herself as she
arose from the sofa. If it becomes necessary to run for our lives, there is
no way you could keep up with him. And you know him; he wouldn't leave you
behind!
She stepped into the foyer, pausing to gaze outside through the barred door
that protected her and Alan from predators. The air that was carried inside on
a mild breeze smelled clean and refreshed, and the rain pattered on the front
awning and ran down the drainpipes. The landscape looked stunningly beautiful
in the rain; the foliage seemed greener, and the nodding fronds, heavily laden
with moisture, bowed toward the ground waiting for the shower to cease.
She stood at the door for a long time, just listening to the rain and watching
it as it fell. It was a peaceful, soothing sound that had always calmed her
nerves, but it did nothing to ease the sting of knowing that Alan did not want
her there. She knew he could not physically force her to go. She had permission
to be there. But did she really want to remain where she was not wanted?
You have to stay, she was reminded by that insistent inner voice. He's
in danger.
Moving away from the door, she proceeded down the corridor and entered the
kitchen. She stopped in the doorway and a smile played around the corners of
her mouth at the unexpected sight of seeing the world-renowned paleontologist
bent over the open oven door. Unaware of her presence, he pulled out the rack
and removed the foil from the pot and laid it aside on the countertop.
"Smells good," she said, trying to sound cheerful, even though her
heart wasn't in it.
He turned his head to look at her, pleased to see that she looked revived by
her rest. "Feeling better?" he asked as he reached for the salt and
pepper shakers. She noticed that his voice and demeanor were more pleasant than
before.
Probably because arrangements have been made to get you out of his hair!
"Yes," she replied, ignoring that persistent voice as she watched him
sprinkle salt and pepper over the items in the pot. Should she inform him that
she had no intention of leaving the island; that he would have to tie her up
and carry her if he intended that she would meet the plane at the landing
strip? He seemed in no hurry to bring up the subject, so she moved closer to
the oven. "What are you cooking?"
"Pot roast, along with some home grown vegetables," he said, proudly.
"A steady diet of my fresh vegetables is guaranteed to help get you back
to your former self."
She stared at him, startled, but he avoided her gaze, pretending that nothing
was out of the ordinary. However, she understood that his statement was his own
casual way of letting her know that he had not called Miguel, after all. She
could only marvel at this complex man, wondering why he had changed his mind
when he had been so adamant about sending her away.
Even though he was fully aware of the nature of her thoughts, Alan kept his
expression totally neutral as he gave the salt and pepper dispensers another
shake then, satisfied that they were sufficiently seasoned, he replaced the
foil, pushed the rack back inside the oven, and closed the door. "We'll
let that cook another hour or so," he said. "I'm glad you brought all
that meat with you. It gives us some additional meal options. There's a grill
out back. We'll grill some steaks or hamburgers sometime, or maybe some of
those chicken breasts."
"Mm, sounds good," she said. "We can throw some of those veggies
on the grill, too."
Thunder rumbled in the distance as the storm continued its progression away
from the island, and they listened until the last of it faded away.
"Unfortunately, it looks like we won't be able to enjoy that sunset from
the deck, after all," he told her, regretfully. "Oh, well. There will
be plenty of other sunsets to observe."
Again, there was that reference to her remaining on the island with him. She
wondered why he couldn't just come out and admit that he had decided against
placing that phone call, but she chose to say nothing. Apparently, he was
willing to accept that she would have a few bad moments, but that she would
also be an asset to him if given the chance.
~~~
Because of the weather, they ate supper in the dining room this time, and after
supper was finished, they returned to the kitchen to clean up.
"The water barrel is just outside the back door," Alan told her,
leading the way through the adjacent room where she saw a long bank of washing
machines lining one wall, and dryers lining the other wall. "As you can
see, they thought of everything that would be needed for basic housekeeping.
Obviously, they didn't send their laundry out."
"I've been meaning to ask you," she said. "Since there's no
running water, how do you wash your clothes?"
His smile was sheepish. "I'm afraid that was something I didn't even think
about when I first arrived. Then one day I found myself with no clean clothes,
so I had to decide what to do. I checked out these appliances, and remarkably,
all I had to do the get two of the washers to work was make a few simple
repairs and replace a few parts. Obviously, without running water, you can't
rely on them to automatically fill the tubs with water, so you have to fill
them yourself and turn them on. They go through all their preliminary
functions, like they're trying to fill themselves with water, then they start
agitating. The dryers were more of a problem, but I've got one of them in
working order, so I cleaned it up and checked the exhausts and everything to
make sure it's safe. If it conks out, we'll have to drip dry."
"I have to admit, it's a relief that the washer, at least, works,"
she admitted. "I rather imagined you putting your clothes into a wooden
tub and using Grandma's wash board!"
He laughed. "Well, life here is rather primitive, but it isn't quite
that primitive. Fortunately, everything that requires water, except the
bathroom, is right here at the back door, so I don't have too far to carry
it."
He picked up a plastic two gallon bucket that sat on the drier nearest the
exit, and opened the heavy metal door. Like the front door, a barred outer door
protected the residents from unwanted intruders.
"I feel almost like I'm in prison," he admitted, as he unlocked and
opened the bars. "Seems like there could have been a better way to quarter
the workers, but I don't know what it would be unless they erected a tall
electric fence around the compound, and we know all about the effectiveness of
electric fences!"
Two large barrels stood side by side outside the door. They were covered, but a
drain pipe from the eaves emptied their contents through a small opening in the
lid.
"The drains are covered with mesh to keep leaves and other debris from
getting into it. I have to clean them off every now and then."
He lifted the lid on one of the barrels, and Ellie saw that it was almost
completely full of water. Dipping the bucket into it, he filled it with water
that was surprisingly clean and clear, and carried it back inside.
Once inside, he set the bucket down on the tiled floor and turned back to the
doors to methodically close and lock them again.
"That is the most important thing," he told her. "Making sure
the doors are always locked. No matter what you are doing, even if you're only
going as far as the kitchen to dump the water, always make sure the door is
locked. It's too easy to forget. That is the number one priority."
She nodded her willingness to comply with his rules, understanding that he was
giving her survival instructions. She knew she would hear many more as the days
and weeks progressed.
With the door securely locked again, he picked up the bucket and carried it to
the kitchen, where it was emptied into a large pot on the stove and turned on
the fire beneath it. "I always bring it to a hard boil because of the
possibility of bacteria in the water."
"Too bad there's not a stove upstairs to heat the bath barrel!" she
quipped.
He smiled. "Believe me, that thought has crossed my mind! Dowsing yourself
with water that's been sitting at room temperature is quite a chilling
experience! You get your bath over with really fast!" He chuckled.
"You'll never quite get used to it. I've even carried heated water up a
few times, but it's a nuisance and it's hard to go up the stairs with it. Water
is heavy."
"Have you thought about filling up a tub down here in the kitchen? Surely
there's some kind of tub around here that's big enough to accommodate a human
being, and you wouldn't have to carry it up the stairs," she suggested.
"Yeah, but then you have to empty the tub. It's easier to stand in the
shower stall and let the water be carried away by the drain." He paused,
observing her quietly for a moment, deciding that he would do anything in the
world for her. "However, if it pleases you, I can see if I can find a tub
for you to bathe in down here. I'm sure there's one in the storage shed."
"No, that's okay," she said, quickly, suppressing the urge to
shudder. "I guess I can tolerate it." You've been living in the
lap of luxury while you were married to Mark, admonished her inner voice. You've
grown soft!
While the water heated on the stove, the roast, the vegetables and the broth
were placed in containers and stored in the refrigerator for a future meal.
"I'll see what I can do with the leftovers tomorrow," Ellie said.
"I should be able to make some excellent roast beef sandwiches for
tomorrow's lunch, and I'll make the broth into some gravy to pour over
them."
"Sounds good."
When the water had boiled for a sufficient amount of time to kill any bacteria that
had taken up residence in the water supply, Alan turned off the heat and
emptied the pot into the basins with a cloud of steam. They allowed it to cool
until they could tolerate the temperature, then they worked together to wash,
rinse, and dry the dishes, including the ones they had left from breakfast, and
return them to the cupboards.
With the kitchen chores completed, they went into the living room, and Alan
flipped on one of the small lamps, electing to keep it on the lowest setting. A
radio sat on one of the lamp tables, a method of keeping up with the world
events, but he did not turn it on.
Ellie selected the sofa and sat down, folding one leg beneath her, thinking
that Alan would sit down beside her, but instead, he pulled one of the chairs closer
to her and sat down facing her, crossing his ankles on the coffee table. Idly,
she recalled the time she had put her feet up on the coffee table at home, and
Mark had admonished her severely, declaring that the item was a gift from his
mother and should be properly cared for.
She averted her eyes, pushing the thought from her mind. She did not want to
dwell on the bad parts of her marriage.
For a long time, they sat listening to the night sounds through the open
windows, comfortable with the notion of just being together again after so many
years. Years earlier, Alan would have sat beside her on the sofa or reached out
to hold her hand, or she would have placed her hand on his thigh, just to be
touching him in some way, but of course at this point, it would have been
improper to indulge in that type of intimacy. She wondered if those same
thoughts were on his mind as he leaned back in the chair and folded his hands
across his abdomen. Wearily, he closed his eyes.
The rain had moved away from the island, leaving behind only a few sprinkles.
They could hear it running down the drainpipes, and trickling off the eaves,
peaceful and soothing sounds, as Ellie pondered the events of the day.
In spite of the close call the raptors, she had enjoyed her day with Alan, and
believed that he had enjoyed it, too. The familiarity they had once shared
would return in time, but for now, she was content just to be with him. She
felt a joy in his presence that she had never felt with anyone else, including
Mark, a fact that caused her heart to constrict with guilt. She had loved Mark,
had married him, had borne him two children, yet she could not deny the truth:
She had always been in love with Alan. He was truly the love of her
life. In spite of everything that had happened in their past, she believed
firmly that she and Alan were meant to be together. Buoyed by the fact that he
had not summoned Miguel, she wondered if perhaps he was starting to believe
that too.
Finally, Ellie broke the silence with a question that had been puzzling her all
evening. "Alan, why didn't you call Miguel?"
He opened his eyes and turned his head on the headrest to look at her, but he
did not answer immediately, his silence indicating that it was a complicated
matter for him. When he finally did speak, his answer was spoken quietly,
worried that he had made the wrong decision. "I know sending you back
would have been the right thing to do, but the truth is I didn't want you to
leave."
"Why?" she asked, her surprised voice barely above a whisper.
Again, there was that long pause before speaking, as if he did not want to
reveal his thoughts on the issue. But he did answer, and he answered honestly.
"I've enjoyed your company. I didn't realize just how lonely I really
was."
It was an unexpected confession from him, one that lifted her heart with joy,
but she also felt sympathy for him as she thought about his isolation from the
rest of the world. "Seven months is a long time to be completely
alone."
"I was alone a lot longer than that, Ellie," he sighed. "Even
when I was around other people, I was so obsessed with my work that I kept
everyone I knew at arm's length for a long time, not allowing anyone to get too
close. I had no time for anything except my work. I guess you know that better
than anyone."
She nodded, silently, wishing it had not been so, for it had driven a wedge
between them. "What about that young student? Billy? You seemed to let him
get close to you," she pointed out.
"Not really. I tolerated his presence, but I never really let him get that
close, either. Billy is about as subtle as a foghorn. He understood what was
going on with me, and knew that I was retreating into my work. If I tried to
ignore him, he just kept after me until I took notice. His persistence would
make me furious, but I knew he cared, and that meant a lot, even if I never
could tell him." He shook his head. "It's a pity that our profession
is growing extinct. He would have made a great paleontologist. He's the kind of
student every professor wants to carry on in his place. Well, at least he's
still young enough to change his major. There will be a lot of opportunities
out there for him. He's very smart."
"You care about him a lot," she observed.
He nodded, slowly. "Yeah, I do. I can't even express how angry and
disappointed in him I was when he stole those raptor eggs last summer, but I
know he only did it to fund my dig site. He knew how desperate we were for
money, and he learned a valuable lesson about this place. If he ever comes back
here, he'll know to use more respect when dealing with these animals. He's
probably the only one that I would have trusted to come here, besides
you."
"Do you think he will ever come back to the island?"
He nodded. "If other paleontologists are ever allowed on this island, he
will be at the head of the line."
"Why didn't you invite him to come with you?"
"I preferred to do this on my own, but even if I had considered the idea
of bringing him, when I left he was undergoing some reconstructive surgery. He
was torn up pretty bad by the Pteranodons."
Reminded of the flying creatures that had investigated the plane when she had
first arrived, she said, "Speaking of which, what about them? Are they
likely to leave the island?"
He nodded his head without lifting it from the headrest, and she smiled at the
way it made his hair stood up in back. Fine wispy strands of it clung to the
fabric of the chair. "I don't know why they haven't left yet, but
eventually, yes, I believe they will. Right now, they seem content to roost in
the cliffs near the shore, but one day, one or more of them will make that
flight to the mainland. And all hell will break loose."
"Is there anything that can be done about it?"
He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "To be honest, I have no idea. The
only way to stop them is to kill them or somehow tranquilize and capture them
and return them to the cage. At some point, I guess I'm going to have to go
closer to the coast and observe them for awhile, but the truth is, I'd have no
shelter there, so I don't know what to do about it. It's the same situation as
it would be with the mountains. There are things I need to see, but the risk
factor is too high."
"How did they manage to live inside the cage with no one to feed
them?" she wondered.
"The cage was erected over a large canyon that encompassed a huge stretch
of the river. They probably lived on the fish that they caught and smaller
animals that wandered in through the bars. I tell you, my heart jumped up in my
throat when I first saw them. I just couldn't believe what I was seeing. You
must have seen them from the airplane."
"Yes. One came up close to the plane for a look, but it flew off without
bothering us. Are they a danger to us?"
He nodded. "To some degree. One of them was able to carry Eric Kirby back
to its nest, but it was unable to lift Billy more than a few yards off the
ground. Their body structure is simply too light to carry an adult of normal
weight." He was gazing at her critically, very aware of the fact that she
was severely underweight. "I rarely see them this far inland, so don't
worry about them. I don't think they'll bother us as long as they have a good
food supply." His fist clenched, angrily. "That was the most foolish
thing those geneticists did. Everything they did was foolish, but creating
creatures that could fly was by far the most stupid, irrational thing
imaginable! They had to have known that they couldn't successfully contain them
forever, that eventually one or more would escape!" He drew a deep calming
breath, and released it in a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry. I just get so
frustrated by the stupidity of it all."
"I know. The last thing we need is for the any of the animals to somehow
get off the island."
Again, silence settled over them as they sat listening to the normal sounds of
the night, broken once by the distant cry of an unidentified creature.
Alan turned his head toward the window, recognizing it as a death cry.
"One of the predators is feeding tonight," he remarked, quietly as
the cry faded. It was followed by silence.
Ellie felt suddenly distressed by the knowledge that at that moment, one of the
creatures was dying to sustain the life of another. She lowered her face to
hide her expression from Alan, but he had seen it in spite of her efforts to
conceal her emotions from him.
"I know it's difficult to hear, but it's necessary for population
control," he reminded her in a non-patronizing way.
"I understand that, but it's still sad to know that something has just
died."
He nodded his agreement. "Yeah, I know." He yawned. His eyes were
beginning to grow drowsy, and he soon found himself fighting to stay awake.
Finally, he gave up on the battle and stood up. "I think I'll retire for
the night." He started for the staircase, but paused just inside the
doorway to glance over his shoulder. "Coming?" he asked.
"I'll be up in awhile."
"All right. I'll see you in the morning."
"Good night."
Ellie sat back, listening to the sound of his footsteps as he climbed the
stairs, and wondering what the future held for the two of them. Was this merely
friendship, as she had explained to her mother? Or was this a second chance at
the relationship that had passed them by?
TWELVE
Ellie was awakened by a chorus of parrots and other species of birds singing
and chattering in the treetops near the dormitory, as if welcoming the morning.
Briefly, she thought of Jack, her parrot, wondering how he was adjusting to her
absence, but she knew she didn't worry about him. Her parents would care for
him until her return.
Opening her eyes, she knew instantly that she had overslept. A quick glance at
the clock on the bedside table confirmed that suspicion: Nine-thirty. Typically
an early riser, instances of oversleeping were rare, and she rose up on one
elbow to wipe the sleep from her eyes with the other hand. Alan was also an
early riser, but it did not surprise her that he had not awakened her. He would
have allowed her to sleep, believing that she needed the extra rest, but she
knew that was not really the case. What she needed was exercise and work to
tone up and strengthen her loose muscles.
She yawned contentedly as she sat up on the edge of the bed to allow a moment
for the drowsiness to diminish before actually getting up.
Finally pushing herself into the final commitment of rising, she stretched her
lean body and strolled to the window to look outside through the iron bars. The
glass windows had been left open for the cooling breeze.
It was a beautiful day, more beautiful than any she could remember in recent
history. The morning mists that hung over the valleys were slowly evaporating
under the strong rays of the sun. The air smelled clean and refreshed as she
leaned on the window sill and pressed her forehead against the bars, taking in
as much of the scenery as she could.
Beads of moisture clung to the grass after the previous night's storm, and
water had collected in puddles in low areas. Cirrus clouds decorated the brilliant
blue sky. Humidity was high with traces of ground mist still blanketing the
valley floor with ribbons of wispy fog. The mist and the water puddles would
quickly evaporate under the brightly glowing orb that shown its radiance on the
island. Ellie thought the morning was very picturesque, like a picture out of a
scenic calendar.
From the upstairs window, she was provided a better view of the research
facility across the narrow valley in which the entire compound of buildings was
nestled. The view was obstructed by the large trees occupying the space between
the two buildings, but she could see the dome and the long roof that concealed
untold secrets from the rest of the world. Alan had not yet taken her there to
show her the interior of the structure, but she anticipated that he would do so
soon, for it was an integral part of the entire operation and his research. It
was there that the animals of Jurassic Park had been born.
Turning away from the window, her gaze fell upon the gray fabric wall that separated
her cubical from Alan's, and wondered what role he was playing in her
subconscious mind toward helping her to heal. She could not deny the fact that
even during her marriage, she had craved Alan's companionship, had longed to
caress his ruggedly handsome face again, to gaze into those expressive blue
eyes that could equally be kind and gentle or hard and piercing. Regardless of
what the future held for them, being here with him now was worth all the
dangers from the animals and worth the primitive living conditions.
Opening the dresser drawers, she gathered up the clothing she intended to wear
that day, and pushed back the drape that formed the door.
Her eyes automatically went to Alan's drape, and she noticed with surprise that
it was still closed. Because he typically left the drapes open upon rising, it
was apparent that he had overslept as well.
Moving to his cubical, she quietly pushed back the edge of the drape and saw
that he was still sleeping soundly on his bed. Her heart swelled with love for
him, and she resisted the urge to slip inside to watch him until he awakened.
Instead, she leaned against the edge of the cubical, watching him for several
moments. He lay on his abdomen, his face turned toward her on his pillow. The
sheet was pulled up to his waist, revealing his strong bare back, and one arm
dangled over the edge of the bed.
Finally, unwilling to disturb him, she allowed the curtain to fall back into
place, and padded on bare feet down the corridor to the linen closet to grab a
towel, then proceeded to the bathroom. Her jeans were placed on the countertop
and she hung her blouse on a wall peg.
She had not spent much time in the bathroom the previous two days, so she
looked at it now with critical eyes. Ignoring the urinals, which were of no
consequence to her, she observed the rest of the room, repulsed by what she was
seeing. She knew that Alan had cleaned it up when he had first arrived, but he
had not scrubbed as thoroughly as a woman would have. Mold and other disgusting
bacteria darkened the grouting on the ceramic tiles on the floor and up the
walls to about shoulder height, where the tiles were replaced by painted walls.
A first aid kit was affixed to the wall near the door, and beneath it was a
small refrigerator, which had obviously held perishable drugs, such as
injection penicillin. She did not bother to open it; the power had been out for
years before the generator had been hooked up for Alan, so anything it
contained was ruined anyway. On a shelf beside it was a variety of cleaners and
scrubbers, and she turned the bottles so that she could read the labels and
found them suitable to clean the grout and the toilets. She would do so at her
earliest opportunity.
Next, she moved to the shower stalls. Like the rest of the bathroom floor, it
was surfaced in ceramic tile, and in the center of each stall was a drain to
carry away the water. Reaching out, she dipped her hand in the barrel of water
that stood between the stalls. It was very cool.
She stood for several moments looking at the corner stall, dreading the idea of
using the cool water to bathe with, but she had skipped her morning shower
yesterday, and did not wish to do so today. "May as well get this over
with," she muttered.
She removed the oversized tee-shirt she slept in, draped it over the nearest
rod along with the towel, then stepped over the tile threshold that prevented
water from washing back into the rest of the room, and pulled the shower
curtain closed. A bar of soap was lying in the soap dish that was built into
the wall, so she filled the pot with water, and after a brief hesitation, she
poured it over her head, resisting the urge to yell from the shock.
"Oh, damn that's cold!" she said aloud as gooseflesh popped out on
her skin.
Grabbing the soap, she quickly lathered her lean body, then shampooed her hair.
At last, she dipped the pot in the water again and rinsed herself off. The
shower was completed in what must have been in record time, and she jumped out
of the shower stall, feeling surprisingly invigorated.
Quickly, she toweled off and draped the towel over the rod, then hurried to the
counter and stepped into her jeans and put on her bra, then reached for her can
of deodorant spray on the edge of the countertop.
At that moment, the bathroom door opened, and Alan stepped inside. Instead of
politely turning away and excusing himself, as she had expected him to do upon
walking in on a half-dressed woman, he stopped just inside the doorway, his
eyes staring at her with such intensity that she felt compelled to cover
herself. She looked quickly around, seeking something with which to do just
that, but she had nothing handy. She had hung her blouse and her tee shirt on a
wall peg, and the nearest towel was draped over the rod near the shower stalls.
Lacking anything else, she crossed her arms over her breasts.
"Alan, please!" she protested, annoyed.
His eyes lifted to her face, and she saw shock in his eyes. She realized at
that moment that he had not been staring lustfully at her near-naked torso, a
reaction that would have been out of character for him, even after all this
time alone on the island. Instead, he had been staring at the two scars that
marred the smooth skin of her abdomen, both made visible by her low-rider
jeans.
"My God, Ellie," he exclaimed, horrified. "You were in the
accident, too!"
She nodded, slowly. "Yes."
"I didn't know! I assumed it was just Mark and the kids. I never expected
- I didn't stop to think that you might have been hurt or -" He didn't
complete the sentence. That she could have been killed in the accident was too
painful for him to even contemplate. "I didn't know," he repeated.
Sequestered away on the island, he would not have known about it until he
returned home, or until he decided to contact her for some reason. He knew her
parents might not have passed along the news to him, even if he had been home
at the time of the accident. He had been out of her life for a long time. They
might not have even realized that he would want to know.
She could see that he was greatly distressed by the injuries she had sustained,
but she could only wonder: Was it because he still cared so deeply for her that
the thought of losing her to death was unimaginable, or was he repulsed by the
sight of her scars?
"Alan, I don't want to talk about this right now. If you don't mind, I'm
trying to get dressed."
He seemed to realize for the first time that she was not wearing her blouse and
that she was self-consciously attempting to cover herself. Without another
word, he turned and dodged out of the lavatory. The door drifted slowly closed
behind him.
Ellie stared at the door for a long moment, then turned her attention to the
reflection in the mirror, gazing specifically at the ugly scars on her abdomen.
Her fingers traced each of the pink lines that marred the fair skin, a constant
reminder of the accident that had nearly claimed her life. She had faithfully
applied the scar cream intended to minimize the results of the incisions, and
the doctor had assured her that they would fade over time, but right now they
were a glaring beacon highlighting the surgeries that had been necessary to
save her life.
She glanced at the door again, feeling very self-conscious, wishing that Alan
had never seen them. She had hoped to eventually tell him in her own way, after
she had been given more time to recover and the scars had had time to fade
somewhat, but that privilege had been denied. She could well imagine the shock
he had felt upon finding out in such a brutal way that her smooth, unblemished body
now had permanent scars.
Frustrated, she strode across the tiled floor and snatched her blouse from the
peg and pulled it on over her head, concealing those thin pink lines beneath
the fabric.
Out of sight, out of mind.
No, they would never be out of mind, for they had dramatically changed her
life. Nothing would ever be the same as it had been before.
~~~
When she was fully dressed, she went downstairs to face Alan, knowing that
there would be questions to be answered about a subject she was not yet ready
to discuss.
She found him in the kitchen starting a pot of coffee. He looked up when she
entered the room, and a moment of uncomfortable silence passed between them.
Finally, Alan said, "Ellie, please forgive my rudeness upstairs. I didn't
mean to stare, but . . ." He shrugged. "You never mentioned that you
had been in the car, too, and it just struck me that if you had died, I
wouldn't even have known about it."
"I tried to contact you," she told him. "I left messages for you
at the Museum and the University, but no one at either of them bothered to
inform me that you were no longer there. I spent the last three months
wondering why you never called or even sent a get-well card."
He considered her words for several moments, realizing that even in the
overwhelming grief of her loss, she had thought enough of him to realize that
he would want to know. "I'm sorry, Ellie. If I had known, I would have
come to see you. We didn't tell you where I was because we didn't want you to
worry about me."
Her eyes snapped to his face. "We?"
"Yes. It was a decision that Mark and I made together when we discussed
the final plans." He looked away, refusing to add the discomfort he had
felt under Mark's penetrating gaze as they had sat in his office discussing the
trip and his demands for autonomy. Ellie's husband had been keenly aware that
the paleontologist was his wife's former lover, and Alan had actually wondered
at the time if Mark had hoped he would be eaten by dinosaurs and therefore
taken completely out of the picture. Alan had no intention of interfering with
Ellie's marriage, but during his visit to their house the previous summer, Mark
had apparently noticed the attraction that still existed between them. Alan had
known that her husband did not like it, but at the time he had been gracious
and accommodating, allowing them the time and the space to talk. Later, alone
in Mark's office, he had seen the jealousy that flamed in the other man's eyes
when he had seen Alan gazing at a photograph of Ellie that stood on the
expensive oak desk behind which he worked.
Unaware of his thoughts, Ellie said, angrily, "You should have told me!
Mark should have told me! Someone should have told me! I had the right
to know!"
"We did what we thought best at the time."
"I knew it!" she stated. Irritated, she thumped her fist angrily on
the stainless steel countertop. "I knew he was keeping something
from me, but I never in my wildest dreams ever imagined that it could be
this."
"Ellie, don't think ill of him. He was only thinking of you -"
Her eyes flashed with an accusing stare. "And you! If you had bothered to
check in every once in awhile, you would have found out about the
accident."
"Ellie, it never occurred to me that there would be an accident to find
out about. Things like that happen, but you never expect it to be someone you
know or . . . care about."
Damn it, why can't I just say the word?
Ignoring the frustrated voice inside his head, he continued, "I never
called in because I figured Mark or his supervisors would start wanting
progress reports. Then, if they perceived a willingness on my part to
communicate with them, I would have Hammond asking for my phone number and
calling me, wanting me to check on this or that, and I just didn't want to be
bothered with specifics. This is my research, and I didn't want them
wasting my time with suggestions."
"Kevin, Mark's associate, told me that you demanded complete autonomy, and
that it was granted. Surely they would have respected that."
"Maybe. I wasn't willing to take that chance. Once you get something
started, it's hard to break. And you know how persistent John Hammond is."
"You were very foolish, Alan," she told him. "By not checking
in, no one would have known if something had happened to you until Miguel came
with a load of supplies. And even then, no one would have known exactly what
happened because he refuses to leave the landing strip."
"He has a family."
"I know. He told me, and I can understand that, but when you didn't show
up right after the plane landed, I worried that you might have been injured, or
--- worse."
"Ellie, I'm very careful -"
"Mark was a careful driver, and look what happened to him! It was
thoughtless of you! It was thoughtless of both of you!"
He was growing weary of the debate and her accusations. "I already
apologized for that," he reminded her.
She sighed. Arguing about it was not solving anything. She pressed her hand to
her forehead, a gesture of frustration, then allowed the hand to drop to her
denim covered thigh with a slapping sound. "I know. It's just that . . .
if anything happened to you, too, I don't know what I'd do."
"You're strong, Ellie. You would go on, just like you're doing now."
He paused. "Well, maybe not exactly like you're doing now! Most people who
have survived an accident don't run off to an island inhabited by
dinosaurs!" His lips turned up slightly, indicated that it was an attempt
at levity, but she did not smile in response. Continuing, he said, "The
point it, you would cope. Everyone has to cope with loss."
She shrugged. "I suppose."
The coffee began to pour from the filter into the pot, and Alan reached into
the cabinet for a pair of coffee cups.
Turning abruptly, Ellie opened the pantry door and searched through the array
of packaged goods he had ordered: boxes of cold cereal, a box of cream of
wheat, another box of oatmeal. None of it particularly appetizing at that
moment. "What do you want for breakfast?"
"There are still some eggs and the bacon," he suggested.
"How about an omelet?" she asked. "We can use bacon and cheese.
Do you have any onions in that garden of yours?"
"Yes, I pulled some green onions the other day. They're in the vegetable
drawer with some green peppers."
"Perfect."
"That sounds wonderful," he admitted. "I haven't had an omelet
in years."
She opened the refrigerator door and removed the packages of eggs and bacon
along with the onions and a small green pepper, and carried them to the counter
top. She glanced at the large toaster that was plugged into the wall beneath
the cupboard. "Does this toaster work?"
"Yes."
"How many slices do you want?"
"One." He stood close by, leaning against the work table, watching as
she started breakfast by frying the bacon first. When she saw that he was
standing idle, she opened the utility drawers until she found the knives.
Removing one, she presented it to him. "Make yourself useful."
With a smile, he took the knife and began chopping the onions and the pepper
into fine pieces. "I guess your parents weren't overjoyed when you decided
to come down here," he said while he worked.
"That is an understatement," she admitted, glancing over her shoulder
as the bacon sizzled and popped in the skillet.
"They never did like me much," he concluded, regretfully.
"That isn't true. Mom told me last week that they were always fond of you.
It's just that your work kept us such a long way from them. They weren't
exactly thrilled about us living together, either. They would have supported us
more if we had married. I'm their only child, and they worried about me."
"I bet they're really worried, now. You can't get much farther from
the real world than this."
Her expression became somber. "Yeah, I guess you're probably right about
that. I'm afraid I didn't take their feelings into consideration when I made my
decision. I just knew I had to get here as quickly as possible."
"Why?" he asked, still puzzled that she had come at all. "What
is the real reason? Why was it so important to come here? Regardless of what
you said when you got off that plane, you didn't come here just because you
wanted to work with me again."
She gazed at him for a long moment, impressed with his perception, but it was
difficult to answer his question without sounding like she had completely lost
her mind. She turned back to the skillet. "I did want to work with you.
That part is true, but you're right. There is another reason. I'm just not
sure, yet, exactly what it is, but I know it's valid and profound and that it
will present itself eventually."
His expression was skeptical. "Ellie, you're not making any sense. It
sounds like you're saying that you came all this way on a whim."
"I can't explain it, Alan," she retorted, somewhat defensively.
"It was a feeling, like a premonition or something, but it was so overpowering
that I couldn't ignore it. You can't imagine what it's like to be struck with a
sensation like that."
His brow puckered slightly. "You believe in premonitions?"
"I don't know if I believe in them or not because I've never encountered
one. I only knew I had to come here."
"That really isn't much of a reason, you know," he said, skeptically.
"Just what is it that you think is going to happen?"
"I don't know, exactly." She raised her hand and added quickly,
before he could speak, "I know it sounds crazy, but I had this
overwhelming sensation that you were in danger, and that I could save
you."
The frown deepened, not out of concern for himself, but for her emotional
well-being. She was not making sense. "So you decided to put yourself in
danger as well? Ellie, I'm in danger every time I set foot out the door, but
I'm afraid there really isn't anything you could do to save me, even if the
premonition came true and the worst happened."
She shrugged, staring into the frying pan with the disappointing realization
that he did not believe her. "I don't know. I just felt I had to be
here."
"It's probably a psychological thing: You know, being unable to save your
family, so you focused on me."
That sounded logical, but she was unwilling to accept it as the reason for the
premonition. "Maybe," she replied, doubtfully.
Moved by her willingness to travel halfway around the world and place her in
danger for his sake, he said, "I don't believe in premonitions, Ellie, but
I do appreciate your concern."
She turned around again to look at him, but he did not do the same. With his
back to her, he continued to chop the onions and peppers. "What are we
going to do today?" she asked.
"I thought maybe we'd get you started on some weight training," he
suggested. "We'll have to start you out slowly, gradually working up, but
if you're wanting to get back into shape, that's the place to start.
"Sounds good," she agreed. "When that's done, I'd like to scrub
the bathroom floor. It looks awful!"
He nodded. "I know. I've been meaning to get to that, but haven't found
the time. We'll make time for it today."
"What about your research? I hate to take you away from that."
"The dinosaurs will still be here tomorrow," he said, pleasantly.
"That's the nice thing about confining them to an island. They can't go
anywhere."
At that moment, neither was aware that her premonition would come to pass the
very next day.