Each time I entered a new place, I scanned the crowds.
Luckily, by hunting in local areas, the tanned skin and black hair of the Balinese people were a perfect backdrop to highlight a blond-haired farmer who didn’t belong.
Only, in each place, there was no such find.
At each bar and café, broad smiles and eager questions welcomed me. They happily answered mine, shaking their head without recognition at a photo Cassie sent of Jacob on my phone.
No one had seen him.
No one knew a man named Jacob Wild or even Ren Wild—in case he was using his father’s name.
It was as if the letter was sent by a ghost.
By the end of the first week, I was disillusioned but not defeated. I gathered more maps from the hotel lobby and spent the evening circling off-the-grid beaches that didn’t have road access.
The ones where only die-hard surfers made the pilgrimage, fighting jungle and rocky paths to surf waves only a select few had.
Instead of trying to catch a taxi to such places, I hired a driver for the day, giving him the list of locations I’d come up with.
To start with, the driver rolled his eyes and told me there was nothing of interest at the destinations I wanted. That the only people who went there were potheads or hippies. As I looked like neither in my calico dress with hair carefully brushed and a large floppy sunhat, he did his best to persuade me to see the silversmiths in Ubud or the turtles in Tanjung Benoa instead.
But then, he made a fateful error.
Pointing at one of the bays I’d circled, he tutted under his breath. “This one no good. This one where bad spirit hang out. Only one white man go there and he never come back.”
Everything inside me stilled. “What do you mean bad spirit?”
“Temple there. Temple for the dead. If not given many sacrifices, it take your soul.”
My heart soared. “I changed my mind. Take me there first.”
“No. Cannot. Too dangerous.”
“You said one white man went there. How long ago?”
“Long time.”
I kept my patience even though anxiety rushed through my veins. “How long is long?”
“Ten months?” The driver shrugged. “He dead for sure.”
“Do other people go there? Not just the white man?”
“Of course.” He rolled his eyes. “Locals go. They say prayer. Small village there. Fishermen village.”
A muggy breeze sprang around my legs, kissing my sandals and up the back of my thighs. Goosebumps darted over every inch of me.
I felt touched by something other than air.
Was it fate or some kind of psychic knowing?
Was it Della pushing me in the right direction to find her son?
Either way, I wouldn’t accept a refusal. I was going to that village.
Even if I have to drive myself.
Patting my nervous driver on his arm, I climbed into his rusty, air-conditioned Toyota. “Let’s go there right now. Don’t worry about the other places. I only want to go to that one.”
He raised his eyebrows, shaking his head. “You crazy, lady.”
“I know.”
Crazy to chase after a man who’d almost resorted to physical violence to get me away from him.
Crazy to drive across Bali to an area where bad spirits lived.
Crazy to risk everything for one boy.
The driver looked at the heavens, shook the map in my window, then stalked to the front of the car.
I didn’t say a word as he plopped into the driver’s seat, cranked the engine, and weaved through chaotic traffic. “You not blame me if you die, lady.”
I rested my chin on my hand, staring at colourful shrines and pretty sarongs blurring into a rainbow as we drove. “I won’t die. Don’t worry.”
“I worry,” he muttered. “I worry long time. You should not travel alone.”
With an aching heart, I murmured, “If I find what I think I’ll find in that village…I won’t be alone for much longer.”
“What you say?” The driver looked at me in the rear-view mirror.
“Nothing.”
For the rest of the trip, I watched the world pass me by and hoped.
* * * * *
I’d come to the wrong place.
Four hours ago, I’d argued with my driver to wait for me, hiked down an overgrown trail he’d pointed at, and ignored the painful blisters from my sandals as I’d arrived at the prettiest beach imaginable.
Dense jungle cocooned turquoise sea and golden sand in a horseshoe of protection while an island just off the coast held a temple glittering with sharp spires and intricate woodwork against the sky.
If evil spirits lived here, their home was pure heaven.
For the first hour, I’d followed the shoreline to an area of jungle that’d been cleared, leaving behind a small community of huts and frond-roofed homes scattered amongst the foliage.
A few women noticed me, all brown and slim and part goddess living in this utopia.
They’d taken me under their wing, spoke enough English to understand I was looking for a blond-haired man called Jacob Wild, and took me to the elderly woman in charge for answers.