The Purgatorium

Chapter Ten

Stan held the tent open for Daphne to step inside. It was too small to stand upright, but not so small as to make her feel uncomfortable. She sat on the opposite end of his sleeping bag from him, shivering.

"What are you doing out here?" He handed her a towel. In his other hand, he held a funny-looking pipe, flat and made of polished wood. Smoke swirled up to the top of the tent where a few insects clung to the canvas.

She wiped her face and arms as she explained what had happened. The thunder rocked the ground.

"You were thrown? Are you hurt?"

She showed him her thigh. He handed her the pipe to hold while he took out a first aid kit and cleaned the wound with an alcohol pad. Then he found a scratch on her back, unprotected by her halter top, and cleaned it as well.

"I can't believe this happened. It's never happened before."

"What?" Daphne asked.

"I've ridden those horses. According to the guide, no one's ever been thrown before."

"I don't suppose you have any water."

He handed her a canteen. "Have as much as you like. I have more." He dabbed ointment on the open skin in both places. "I still can't believe this. You could have been killed."

She drank down several gulps. "Thanks." She gave him back the canteen and the pipe. "So what are you doing out here, besides smoking some strange-smelling stuff?" The smoke smelled a little like ginger.

"This? This is Jimsen Weed. The Chumash used to smoke it during their ceremonies. I'm going for an authentic experience." He smiled and took a puff from the pipe. Then he held it out to her. "Want some?"

"No thanks."

"I was hoping the rains would hold off until later this evening. I didn't get as much work done as I'd expected, so I was planning on staying one more night out here. But if the rain lets up before nightfall, I'll help you back."

"Thanks. I really appreciate it. I didn't know what I was going to do."

"This island's not that big. I'm sure they're searching for you. Maybe they'll find you and I won't have to take you. Not that I'd mind."

"I really appreciate it," she said again, feeling a little woozy from the smoke. She blinked hard.

"You don't need a drag off the pipe to feel the effects of the Jimsen Weed. There's enough smoke here to get you high. Do you feel it?"

"A little. I'm just tired. Sleepy."

"The Chumash used to smoke this and tell their stories about the ghosts of their women wandering the island. But this plant causes hallucinations. They were probably seeing things." He laughed.

"The horse guide seems to believe in ghosts, and Roger, the driver, does, too." Another crack of thunder made her jump. The rain beat at the tent, sounding like dozens of snare drums.

"They say weird shit happens on this side of the island."

"What kind of weird shit?"

"People see things. Strange lights and shadows. A woman in white. Figures chasing them. Once I thought something was chasing me, but it was nothing."

"Were you smoking then?" she teased.

Stan laughed again. "No, actually. But people also hear screams coming from Haunted Bridge." He told her more about the slave trader's wife, adding to what Roger had told her. "She didn't know what her husband had been up to. When she found out, she sank his ship before it could collect more slaves. Since then, lots of sunken boats in the area have been credited to her ghost."