Islanders

by Brandon Enns

  She arrived at the rocky wall. Ocean water pushed into the shelf; the breeze was tunneled, concentrated on her. She crossed her arms, hands in her armpits. The wind roared, making her more anxious than she already was.

  Skye stared at the daunting ridges. Just as she was about to start her shaky climb, a light caught her eye. It was coming in off the water, against the rocks.

  She walked toward it slowly. It danced back and forth. She dipped her feet into the warm ocean, and she slid her feet along the sand. The light expanded as she neared. She could hear a splashing noise. Her feet slid over slimy and smooth rocks. She reached the corner and placed her hand on the rock, ready to peek around the corner at the beast that waited for her. The rock on her hand was slick with moss. As she leaned forward, she slipped, clumsily losing her balance and falling into the shallow water, near the mini cave. She jumped to her feet, a scream lodged in her throat. A man stood in the corner hunched over, his back wide and thick with muscle. He was a beast.

  The man yelled, standing waist deep in the cave with a flashlight. "Jesus!” he bellowed. “I thought you were a shark. Or a...vampire.” He released a high-pitched whine of relief.

  The wind had been vacuumed out of her lungs. "Why are— Who are you?!"

  His chest was deep with curly chest hair, and he had short black hair up top and brown eyes. He appeared to be in his mid-forties.

  "I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else!" Skye said.

  "Oh, well, it's just lonely ole me."

  His smile was hunky. Everything about him was hunky. He was no beast. He was gorgeous; like a sexy lumberjack. From what she could see with the flashlight still on, his face had a nice outline of stubble. She couldn't take her eyes off his defined chest. He ran a hand through his dark hair that was salted with gray and in doing so, his pec flexed.

  Her concern for Ashton had evaporated into the humid air.

  "What are you doing down here?" she asked.

  "Looking for my car keys." His straight-faced delivery made her laugh.

  "Oh, really?"

  "I’m always misplacing things. And then I became so relaxed I figured I’d stay a little while.”

  "It is nice. I'm Skye." She felt like a flustered schoolgirl. Her instincts should have told her to leave the potentially dangerous stranger and go back to the duplex, but there was no damn way that was happening.

  "Pleasure to meet you."

  "I didn't realize there were other guests here."

  "Not really a guest. I have a business in Belize, but I also help out around here with various exciting chores."

  "What's your business?"

  "Just a little beachfront restaurant. Less sealife, more burgers and fries."

  His voice was deep and soft. She wanted him between her legs.

  "Why Belize?"

  "Oh, let's just say it moves at a slower pace here. A little more forgiveness."

  "Yeah, it's bonkers beautiful here." She had never said bonkers in her life.

  "And you. Where do you live?"

  "New York."

  "Really?" He sounded dramatically surprised.

  "Why?"

  "Well…" He stopped himself, perhaps trying to be coy.

  "No seriously, what is it?"

  "I'm just surprised you're from anywhere I guess. Just a feeling I get."

  "Are you saying I don't seem rooted, or do you just get me?" He wasn't necessarily wrong. She wasn't a true New Yorker.

  His beautiful smile was still on display. She wanted to grab his square jaw and kiss him roughly.

  "I suppose I do. So... What do you like about New York?"

  It was a good question; one that she had never even asked herself. Was the art and culture her only answer?

  ***

  The bottle of tequila was almost completely drunk, the kid taking in his fair share. He thought about cutting him off halfway through, but they were having a good time. Jhett was quite the conversationalist for a fourteen-year-old. The laughter was hearty, the dialog easy, talking about life in the Big Apple, the women, the drugs—trying not to place too much glamour in association with using. He seemed like a smart kid. A good kid.

  Jhett took another gulp of tequila. "So, what's your problem, Ashton?"

  "What you mean, little man?"

  "Why are you out here wandering around? Thought you had a girlfriend," he asked.

  "I'm not really sure what she is."

  "You break up or what?"

  "No, no. I'm not sure why I'm out here. Same reason as you maybe."

  "If you ask me, it's not a good sign."

  "Or maybe it is. Gotta roll with the punches, you know? Whatever will happen will happen."

  He stared into Ashton's eyes daringly and then chugged the rest of the bottle in one big gulp. He didn't even cough or grimace after.

  "Hey. I'm a child of a broken and recovered home. I've seen both ends of it. Don't act so Zen," said Jhett.

  The words were out of left field and cut through Ashton, even though he wasn't entirely sure what he meant by it. Ashton never had a father.

  "You don't act Zen, brother. You are Zen... How do you mean, broken and recovered?"

  "Avoiding each other at all costs…You're on an island. A very small island. And here you are talking to me."

  "You're just that cool. Why the hell are you living in Belize? I mean it's wicked, but where are you from anyway?"

  "Where I'm from doesn't matter. Not anymore."

  Ashton regretted filling the kid up with tequila. If one of his parents were here on the island, he'd be in deep shit. Vomit was on the horizon, and he was to blame.

  "Where are your parents?"

  Jhett started throwing darts again, leaning back into the darkness. Ashton saw that look. He knew that look.

  "I can't remember my dad either. I wouldn't worry about that, small fry."

  Mentioning his father made him think of his mom. He could see her clearly; lying on the hospital bed, surrounded by flowers. MS...That machine breathing for her...

  Ashton extended his hand to receive the bottle of tequila and when it was handed off, he saw it was empty.

  "Sorry."

  "It's all good."

  "No, I mean I'm sorry you're so pathetic." Jhett's sadness had transformed into something with a more sadistic flavor.

  Ashton said nothing.

  "I mean, what are you? Some damaged burnout without any brain cells left."

  "Hey, I'm sorry your parents abandoned you on an island. And I'm sorry I fed you a barrel of Agave. You should puke as much as you can now. Don’t wait for morning."

  "Oh, no. Bro. Mom and dad are here with me."

  "Good for you."

  "Yeah, I'm not a babbling pussy like yourself. And I'm pretty sure even I could fuck your girlfriend."

  Ashton laughed bitterly. "You might be right. She’d be a helluva cherry popper, small fry. She’s maybe built a little too fast for you though. I’d start slow, build yourself up.”

  “I’d handle her just fine. Keep her as my pet. My little stupid whore-slave. I’d treat her the way she should be treated… Fairly.”

  “Remember. Vomit before bed. You’ll thank me.”

  “That’s some barrier you got, large fry.”

  “Shit. You are clever. No denying that, my man. But I should leave though. I haven't felt the need to punch out a scrawny preteen in quite a while. Since I was a preteen I guess… Make sure you give Skye a shout when the balls drop, yeah? Or let me know. I’ll pass along the message."

  "Don't worry, Ashton. I think we'll make a man of you yet."

  Whatever that means. "Sounds good, buddy."

  "I'm not your buddy. Bro."

  "I don't really care what you are. I'll catch just ya later. Hopefully not though."

  Ashton was baffled about being railroaded. He debated asking for directions as he turned, and that debate went away when he was struck with something solid. The force folded him to his knees; everything turned black. He foug
ht to stay awake for a split second, but his legs were gone. Fading out, he saw another person in the shadows. He bit down on a crunchy grain of sand as he passed out.

  ***

  Skye was almost face-to-face with Sebastian in the small cave, the water now up to her chest. The darkness in his eyes was so alluring, making her heart flutter. His last question had lingered. What do you like about New York?

  He smiled at her, but it was different this time. It wasn't quite pity, but it was a longing to help her in some way. Ordinarily, she wasn't much for the type that was trying to “save” her, but she found his calming smile comforting. His eyes were honest, much like Ashton's, but more intense. More passionate. She fucking loved passion. Ashton didn’t give a shit about anything.

  "What do you do?" She was close enough this time that she could indeed feel the vibrations of his voice. She was becoming increasingly aroused, tension building with reckless abandon.

  "I'm a teacher."

  "No." He moved in closer. The tips of their noses almost touched. "What do you do?"

  She leaned in closer, feeling his hot breath on her cheek. "Whatever you want me to do."

  She leaned in and kissed him. He pulled away after a second. She slid her hand down his stomach and passed the waistline of his trunks. To her surprise, he grabbed hold of her hand and squeezed her wrist rather tightly. She liked that it hurt a little. "I should go," he said.

  The wind was removed from her sails. His eyes didn't waver, his rejection making it hotter. She removed her hand and grabbed hold of his, placing his fingers neatly around her throat, taunting him to apply pressure.

  Then, a second look of pity followed, more prominent this time. He removed her hand and slid around her slowly. He stopped in the entrance of the tunnel, his back turned to her.

  "Why were you here? Really?" she asked.

  "Maybe I was waiting for you."

  "You don't know me."

  "Don't I?"

  "I doubt it."

  He seemed to sadden at the sight of her face. "It's good here. It’s one of the few places to get properly clean. You should stay. Just for a little while."

  "You weren't hiding from something then?"

  "Nothing to hide from here. Never will be. It’s safe."

  Skye narrowed her brow. She tucked her hair behind her ear and grazed her kissed lips with her finger. She wanted to say something, wanted to keep him around just a little while longer, but she was without the proper questions that would hold him in his spot.

  "Weren't you looking for someone?"

  "Right. Seen him around?"

  "Can't say I have." He smiled and turned.

  "Where do you stay?" asked Skye.

  He hesitated for a moment. "Other side of the rocks. Over the hills."

  After he was out of sight, she pressed her hand against her lips again.

  ***

  The walk back to the duplex was a daze. Her worry about Ashton had lessened. He'll be back, waiting in bed probably. At least she could still get hers yet tonight. She could think of Sebastian during and it would feel so damn good.

  When she arrived at home, he was nowhere to be found— no sign of him having come home, not a thing out of place. Not knowing what to do with herself, she sat on the edge of the bed, feeling weighted by fatigue. She flopped down into the bed for a moment, looking up at the ceiling. Just a quick break and I'll get help from Erin and Trevor. Five minutes. She was out cold in five seconds.

  ***

  All she could hear was screaming. Skye yelled at her mom and dad to stop, but they didn't hear her. They didn't even see her standing there in the small messy kitchen, plates, pots, and pans everywhere. She kept staring at the sink filled with dirty gray water and floating pieces of lettuce. Skye was worried one of those pots would be used as a weapon again.

  Their screams were overwhelming, each high note piercing her ears and heart. Make it stop! Make it stop! It felt like her heart was outside of her chest, bleeding all over the dated flooring with floral patterns, the cheap tile cracked in many places. She was going to die if they wouldn't hear her, if they wouldn't stop. She watched in slow motion as her cruel bastard of a father raised his hand and closed it into a fist. She knew it was going to land. It already had before, and many times before that. Still voiceless, she watched as his large knuckles met her soft cheek, crushing her head to the side, sending her to the floor.

  She didn't help her mother. Skye ran to her bedroom and closed the door. She sat on the bed and looked down at a drawing she had been working on for quite some time. The sketch was that of a ballerina dancing on water. She was meticulous with the shading around the pointed toe on the surface of the water, making sure the rippling pattern around her was as realistic as dancing on water could be.

  A whimpering sound drew her out of her room. It was coming from her mom's bedroom, but he was gone to work now or at the bar, so she was in the clear to check on her mother. She cracked the door open, fearing what she would find. Her mom was upright in bed, staring at her through the cracked door. "Come on."

  Skye stopped. She hadn't heard that sweet voice in a long time. "Well come on. It's all right. Nothing you haven’t seen before."

  She opened the door and stepped in. Her mother's face was terribly damaged. Why wasn't I there to stop it? I should have done something. Anything.

  Her eye was swollen shut and her nose appeared to be broken, dried blood still stained around her mouth as she hadn't cleaned up yet.

  "How's the drawing coming?" asked her mom.

  Her mother looked angry with her. She couldn't reply.

  "Well, as long as you’re happy, I'm happy," her mother said sarcastically.

  Finally, through great effort, Skye spoke. "Are you okay?"

  "Of course. I feel fine. It's like anything else, sweetie. You do something enough times, you get better at it. Taking punches, it's like breathing for me."

  She lit a cigarette and took in a big drag. "Yeah, after a while if I'm in the right kind of mood, there's a satisfaction to it. On the chin is better than the eyes though. On the eyes always hurts the way it should."

  Skye could feel the tears running down her face. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

  "Do me a favor, yeah? Don't marry an asshole. And if you do, don't have no kids with him."

  Skye flinched. "You don't mean that."

  "No? Here's what I mean then. Every time you decide to ditch school, your mommy dearest takes a punch. You smoke pot with your friends, a punch, you get caught screwing some boy in school, a punch, you get suspended from school, a punch... I'm all punch-drunk, babe."

  Skye wanted to drop to her knees and hold herself. "I told you we should leave." Skye had suggested it several times, but never with enough insurgence as they needed to make a strong stance against her father. But he would have come after them. He would have found them. He was maybe a drunk, but he was also a determined man. Apathy wasn't the problem.

  Her mom took another drag from the cigarette, ash falling, burning like her words. "I know what you said. Thought about it a lot… There's no leaving. No living. Do me a favor and graduate sooner than later. That'll make things easier."

  Tears continued, dripping down to the cold floor on her bare feet. They had missed their heating bill. Words from her mother's lips didn't ring true, they felt off. She was always a sweet woman that would never hurt her. Not ever. She was supposed to be her friend.

  Her mother's stare turned colder, her voice quiet and steady. "This will be you. The writing's on the wall. May as well get in on the action. He’d be happy to have you. Maybe after he kills me, you can step up to the plate. Yeah, that’d be just fine."

  ***

  Skye awoke in her clothing on the bed where she had fallen. She was covered in sweat, a swirl of nausea cursing her stomach.

  The day Skye left, she was never the same. It didn't happen at once, but with time, she pushed her mother, the only person she'd ever love, out of her mind.

  She
cried for a minute and then checked the rooms for Ashton. He was still gone. What time is it?

  Chapter Thirteen - Erin

  The smell of coffee hovered in the air, bringing her no pleasure. She tried to travel to her default setting; in her garden back in New York, but her mind was underwater, trapped with that body. His skin was so white. The texture would have been sponge-like to the touch. The fiery grip around her ankle and the fireworks that shot up her leg had been so intense.

  She stood and grabbed her cup of Joe. She swallowed too much coffee, scalding the back of her throat just as there was a knock on the door.

  Skye's eyes were bloodshot, the fake-bake tan nearly gone from her face. She was panicked. "Ashton didn't come back last night?"

  "What? I assumed you had found him. Why didn't you get us?"

  "I thought he'd come back. I figured—I don’t know, I just thought he went for a walk, got turned around, and would come back."

  "It's going to be okay, Skye." Erin rubbed her shoulder. Trevor came out of the bedroom looking half asleep still. He yawned with a sleepy grin on his face, and then realized how upset Skye was.

  "Ashton?"

  "Gone still."

  "He's in Stefan's shit hole. Some part of his game."

  "You think?" Skye perked up.

  "Has to be. Where else would he go? Stefan's just trying to freak us out," said Trevor.

  Erin watched Trevor, as a look of guilt formed.

  "Listen," he said. "Yesterday I got another note. He left it on our kitchen table. It was a clue for the final weapon. He didn't put a pause on anything. This was probably his punishment for us. You know, get us scared, get us rattled." Trevor finished the sentence with an agitated snigger. "God, this entire thing makes me sound like a child. Just ridiculous."

  "I'm gonna kick his ass," said Skye. "I'm seriously going to kick the shit out of him."

  Erin was angry with Trevor at first, but soon understood his reasoning for keeping the new information to himself.