Paradise

You wake up in a dream. It doesn’t seem like it could even be real. The warm air, the sun, the view out of your window. This place is paradise, quite possibly the most perfect place you’ve ever been. But of course it is. They built this resort to have that exact effect on people, over time you have learned the angles, the effects used. You have to admit that the people who built this place did a good job. You sit up and let out a sigh. You wake up in this place and your thoughts are about how the architecture is designed to manipulate your feelings.

You might be jaded; you have to admit it. Being around the business because of Maisie you have learned the planning side of luxury resorts, the amount of work that goes into making the most people feel the most happy about the view, the layout of the room, the shape of the pool. All carefully calculated and designed to make you happy enough to spend a few more dollars than you otherwise would have. You’d like to shut that part of your brain off, after all, a paradise designed to improve the stock portfolio of billionaire investors is still paradise. And you aren’t even spending any money, everything is free for Maisie and you.

She set this all up months ago, some convoluted meeting over a partnership with a cruise line. The real reason you are here has been carefully kept secret through the entire planning phase and even the past two days. At this point you've had enough lounging around, hiking beautiful trails and soaking in perfectly temperatured water. You just want to get to the real reason the two of you are in Jamaica and go home.

“Bored in Paradise.” You say to yourself as you lay back down. Reality is you just miss Maisie and Claire. Maisie is fulfilling the business side of this trip, the cover story. Claire is with Maisie’s parents and her “Aunt” Holly back in North Carolina, and for good reason. Not that you are expecting anything bad happening on this trip, but you don’t want a newly eight-year-old girl beside you when you go looking for a witch in the non-resort parts of Jamaica. Besides Claire loves Aunty Holls, always has. Sometimes it feels like Claire subconsciously knows who her real mom is, even as Holly insists that Claire not be told yet. Holly might be Claire’s favorite person in the world. It breaks your heart that she doesn’t know the truth, but it isn’t your decision. You agreed Holly could tell her when she was ready.

Dammit, you just really miss your daughter. You've been inseparable since you got your voice back, and honestly, she'd love it here. For a second you have a flash of a thought. Holly and Claire here at the resort with you. The three of you at the pool, Holly in that swimsuit she wore almost 9 years ago now.

“Shit.” You say. You get up, walk to the bathroom and splash water on your face. It was only three days, and it was nine years ago. You are happy with Maisie. You wouldn’t trade the life you have now for anything. But damn, that weekend, it stays with you. You had even used different names. Scott and Laney in Mexico. It was supposed to give some separation between what happened there and the rest of your lives, but it was just a weak lie. The passion between you lasted beyond that weekend, not that you ever did anything together, in fact you have purposefully avoided being around each other ever since.

You head to get some breakfast, you need a walk. You can’t be messed up in your head like this. You understand why you are like this. Today you go meet with the lady Maisie tracked down, the lady who practices some variation of Obeah, who from all the research the lady Maisie hired could gather, was seriously legit. The logic was simple. If magic is real, then there have to be other people who practice it. You find one that specifically only does good magic, see if there is a way to protect Holly or Claire from the curse. If not, the lady has a grandson who is in his 20s that helps her. If his grandma can’t help Holly, try to get the grandson to take control of Holly. He wouldn’t even need to know where she was or anything other than the curse is real and she is cursed. He writes a letter; you have Holly read it and he becomes her master.

And if you are honest with yourself, that’s what is messing with you. You already protect Maisie, you are her master, as long as you live no one else can use her curse against her. Trusting someone, choosing someone to give that kind of power over Laney. . .

“Fuck.” It slips out in your frustration. You apologize to the people you were walking past, keep moving. There’s no Laney, Laney doesn’t exist. She’s Holly, she's your sister-in-law. She isn't yours. You’d like to think your issue is that Maisie intends to do this without even asking Holly. Putting Holly under someone’s control without her consent, but that isn’t it at all. Someone else being her master, someone else being the man who protects Holly, it tears at you.

You pick out some incredible looking pastries from the display, take an aggressive bite out of something incredible light and fluffy. Something that deserves to be savored, not torn apart and devoured. You don’t have the patience to order a proper breakfast so you grab a second pastry and a glass of water. No need for coffee when you are this agitated. You walk toward some open seats by the pool as you chomp on the delicacy in your hand. You are ashamed of your feelings, Holly’s safety isn’t less important than your ego. You know that, you believe it and you’ll act on it. But you don’t feel it. You feel like. . .

Dammit you feel like she is yours, that you are hers, just like you’ve felt since the first day the two of you spent in Mexico. The day you realized the mistake you were making. When you knew that the chemistry between Scott and Laney, between you and Holly wasn’t going to stay in Mexico when you returned to your regular lives. Besides, as much as Maisie had been a mother to Claire, you knew the truth. When Claire was a baby it wasn't hard. But as she's grown, more and more you see Holly’s eyes when Claire smiles. Maisie and her sister looked enough alike that people see Maisie in Claire, but you can tell the difference. She's only eight but she looks more like her mother all the time. That's not a problem except that every time you looked at Claire, you are reminded of that weekend. Reminded of Laney, of the fire of passion that burned between the two of you. It also reminded you that Holly was still out there. Still single, still avoiding you because that fire hasn't faded for her either. Both of you scared to see what that fire would do to her sister, to your wife.

“Babe, you okay?” Maisie’s voice cut through your thoughts. She was back.

You aren’t. You feel like shit. You feel like a failure as a man and as a husband.

“I’ll survive.” There’s no point in lying to Maisie about how you feel, she knows you far too well.

“I know you don’t like us doing this behind Holly’s back. . .” Maisie started.

“It’s okay, Em. She’d never agree to it. And you are right, she deserves protection.” The logic stands, and you agree with it. You just don’t like it, and you hope your wife never fully knows why. And that’s why you feel awful.

You go back to your room with Maisie, she contacts your guide. Manuel works for a local casino Maisie has some connection to. The way Maisie described his role he sounds like someone out of a spy movie. He’s the guy that knows everyone, can get you anything, and can go anywhere on the island without trouble. Half an hour later he arrives, and he looks the part. T-shirt and suit coat, shades and expensive shoes. He’s half a head taller than you and built like a boxer. He takes off his glasses and kisses Maisie’s hand as his eyes devour her. A little pang of jealousy hits but you push it down. Let him look, Maisie’s turned down plenty of men as attractive as this one.

Besides, you can’t really complain when your commands are partly responsible. Commands that make people feel protective of Maisie, make it significantly harder for them to lie to her or go against her wishes, make them trust her. Feelings that line up with romantic attraction anyway. When Maisie joins you in the back of Manuel’s black SUV Manuel gives you a look over, and you just smile at him confidently. It’s a practiced look you copied from a fantastic poker player, one of the few guys that was alright with Maisie storming into the scene, winning a ton of money and taking all the attention. He taught you the power of a good confident smile. When Manuel gives you a little nod of respect in the rearview mirror, you have to keep yourself from laughing at how well it always works.

You sit back and relax. You don’t worry about where you are headed, Maisie will track that in her head without even trying. The curse-powered commands that are in place for this trip have made her better than a GPS, she knows where she is, where she has been, and how to get pretty much anywhere important. When you meet this witch, while you don’t know what to expect, you know Maisie will have it covered. She’ll do the talking and things will work out. You just hope plan B doesn’t have to happen. You hope magic can fight magic. That Holly and Claire can be protected without you giving another man power over them. You can easily picture yourself killing a man that had taken control of them, just like Randy. It’s a lot harder to be okay picturing yourself giving a man that kind of power over either of them.

“Babe.” Maisie says, reading your feelings as accurate as always. She points to your hands, balled up in tight fists. You stretch your fingers, try to relax. You can’t think about it, Maisie will eventually figure out what is going on inside you. That is, assuming she hasn’t already.

It takes several hours to get to the destination. Part way in Manuel gives up on the silence and starts talking to Maisie. She tells him poker stories, little tidbits of carefully curated gossip about other players. Nothing that would look bad or stir up hard feelings if they spread, just enough to make the listener feel like she was confiding in them, like they were friends. Maisie was damn good at it. The next time you caught Manuel looking your way it wasn’t the most innocent look. It was a look that let you know he wished you weren’t there. Maisie picked up on it too, she asked you about an event, setting up a funny story, acting like she forgot the details. You play along, tell the story, Manuel laughs with you and Maisie. The tension drops a good bit, Maisie squeezes your hand and smiles at you.

Manuel turns off the already rough road onto a dirt road. It’s a rough ride for the last fifteen minutes of your trip as you head up into the mountains. You sit quietly, just watching the trees and clouds. You try to relax, to focus. You have no idea what to expect.

You pull up next to a smallish house with white siding and several porches. It’s not what you imagined a witch's house would look like. It looks like a house from Ventnor got picked up and moved to this island mountainside. You don’t really know what you were expecting, but you certainly wouldn’t pick this house out as a witch’s house.

Manuel gets out and greets a lady you would guess is around 40 years old. She looks exactly like you would expect her to look standing outside this house. You almost laugh as you realize you would be more comfortable if the house was beat up and the people looked like the voodoo women from old movies.

She calls to you and you follow her and Manuel inside.

“Why do you bring me these people, Manuel.” An old lady demands.

“They need your help, doctor.” He replies with a bow, looking differential to the gray haired woman standing powerfully in what looks like a normal dining room.

She looks you over, looks to Maisie. “They have helped themselves already. I can do nothing for them.”

You don’t know what to think, but Maise seems to understand what is going on.

“Please, it isn’t for me. It’s for my sister.” Maise says, stepping forward.

“You cannot protect her?” The old lady asks.

“I. . . I can’t. It only works on me.” Maisie states.

“Backra magic.” The woman spits on the ground. “Just for you, huh?” She laughs and walks to another room.

“Well?” The lady says, turning back to look at you. “You came this far, I might as well take a look.”

You follow her back to what looks like an examination room from any doctor’s office. She walks to a drawer and pulls out a few quartz crystals, some kind of dried plant and a small mirror.

The next ten minutes are a confusing mix of burning things, the lady touching Maisie, having Maisie hold things and do or say things. The mirror is used a good bit, but you can’t figure out what role it is supposed to be playing. Throughout the old woman scrunches her forehead, squints at Maisie and mutters things under her breath. None of this is even remotely what you expected, and you are beginning to think this might all be fake, that you are being taken in by a con artist. That is, until she takes a slightly bluish-tinted crystal out of Maisie’s hands, sits down and after a breath says:

“So how long ago was your family cursed?”