Islanders

by Brandon Enns

  Beyond the distracted workers, Stefan could see the ocean water moving in, the light post on the dock providing just enough visibility. The staff's focus was still on something east of his bunker, into the trees that thickened with distance traveled.

  Chapter Fifteen - Trevor

  Trevor had reached a breaking point. Words better suited for his father's mouth were about ready to spew out. Enough is enough. The thought of Stefan hiding up in his ivory tower infuriated him. Trevor could picture him clear as day; planning, scheming, twiddling fingers together, and sipping red wine as he waited for his so-called master plan to unfold. He was no genius, merely a child holding a magnifying glass atop ants that he hoped to either impress or burn.

  Trevor couldn't remove the image of that person digging. What were they digging for and how could they have planned to have me wander out at that exact time? If it wasn't Bruce, who was it? Stefan? The staff?

  Walking through the trees, his scrambled thoughts were mixed with the surroundings, blending together. He was in a mental haze, not thinking of direction, only walking. Time was elusive, feeling both stagnant and rapid, like he had smoked half a joint and ate the rest. In what seemed like a large period of time, Trevor finally realized that Erin was still walking with him, behind him through the trees. He stopped. "We need to go home."

  "I agree."

  He got his bearings straight and they moved toward the west beach, reaching a familiar arrangement of crowded palm trees. This was where the man had been digging.

  Trevor stopped again.

  "What's wrong?" asked Erin.

  "Nothing."

  "What the hell is going on, Trevor?"

  And then it came. Was it a feeling? He had to move again. It was impulsive, or intuitive? He knew he couldn't let her in on where he was going. He didn't even know himself. His pulse slowed. His whole body stilled, like the effects of ecstasy taking over, making him feel fluid.

  "I'm gonna keep going this way. You look around here for a bit and head back. Meet at Stefan's in like an hour max?"

  He still hadn't turned to face her.

  "Why do you think Skye didn't meet us back at our place? She said she would if she couldn't find Ashton. We gave her two hours."

  "It's possible she found him. But we need to keep looking." His reply was robotic. "She's fine. And it's possible they took her as part of this whole thing."

  "And who exactly took her?"

  "Stefan."

  "Right."

  He turned to console her, fighting off his urge to walk away. "We'll be on a boat back into Belize in no time. I promise." Her face was both scared and hardened at the same time. Her eyes glistened.

  "Is there anything you want to tell me?" she asked.

  Which direction is she going with this? It was irrelevant. He had to move. "Nothing... I don't trust Stefan and neither should you. That's all I know. That and we need to leave this place."

  "You're sure?"

  "I'm sure."

  He left her looking broken and beaten down and yet guilt did not rear its head; in fact, all emotions were absent.

  Trevor trudged through the trees along the south bend. He had reached a thicker portion of the forested area, where various types of shrubbery intertwined, and the hypnotic view of palm trees partnered with the sounds of the night; it all engulfed him, pushing him deeper into a state of hypnosis.

  Beading sweat trickled down his forehead, where it collected on his brow. He spotted someone in the distance. A man dressed in a black jacket leaned up against a tree. Subtle hand gestures indicated that he was having a conversation with someone else on the other side of the tree, but it was too far to tell.

  He jogged toward the man. Was it Stefan?

  Now running, the branches and dirt crunching and pounding beneath his feet, he yelled, "Hey!"

  The man turned his face slightly. Trevor ran faster. "Hey!"

  The man disappeared behind the tree. Get back here! In his entire life and short career as a lawyer, he had never been so desperate for answers.

  Just like that, the man was gone. Trevor suddenly found himself standing in front of the rocky peaks near the east beach, feet in a small babbling brook of sorts, leading a short distance into the Caribbean.

  He couldn't move. Invisible hands were wrapped around his neck and face, forcing him to look up at the rocks. Stay a while. It had no voice. It wasn't audible, nor was in being said in his mind. It just existed. Among it, a high-pitched frequency was distant.

  Stay a while.

  Chapter Sixteen - Erin

  She should have been weeping, but the anger was enough to prevent her from such poignancy.

  Erin built up enough courage for self-torture and pulled out Trevor's cell phone to examine the nude photos of Skye. She tried her best to pay attention to the background in which the photographs were taken. Tapping on the text conversation with Skye, she opened up the dialog that was filled with about ten pictures in a row, no words exchanged, other than winking emoticons from Skye. She highlighted one and began swiping through. The first few appeared to be in a bathroom, the glass sliding door of a shower in the background, then the corner of a mirror, then a bathroom sink. It looked very comparable to their duplex, but also similar to Skye's place back in NYC with ordinary beige walls. After one final swipe, there was Skye, lying on her back on a bed, legs spread, hand covering between her thighs while her breasts were left exposed. She was gorgeous. No denying it. Erin's legs shook as she continued to scroll through all of the photos. Skye's beauty and raw sexual attraction was obvious, something Erin had always told herself she didn't want or need for herself.

  So much for having a best friend, and a boyfriend.

  Skye's stomach was flat and defined. The outline of her abs… Erin didn't cry, she didn't shout out in a fit of rage; she just felt empty, every single thing cleared out.

  When she finally pulled her focus from the phone to check her whereabouts, there were two chairs in front of her. Up ahead was the same cross where they had found the blade.

  Finding the most structurally sound chair absent of rot, she sat and looked up at the cross. She tried to find some sense of calm, but her moment was interrupted by a disturbing past memory; the one she had been dreaming about since her arrival to the island...

  ***

  The warehouse. The piss. The cold air. Her breath visible. She looked up at the window frame she had gotten in through, seeing strands of light creep through the otherwise pitch-black nest for the homeless and drug users. But there were no others there, not that she knew of anyway. It was just her, her masked partner, and the pursuant.

  The sound of a door creaking ignited the old empty building. The air was filled with rusted copper and stale cigarette smoke from days past. She looked to her right and could see the shining silver of a handgun. The man in the mask, Josh, had wide eyes staring at her for answers, answers that she didn't have.

  Pigeons startled them, fluttering up into the rafters, cooing continuously as if to warn them of their poor location choice. Did someone come in? We had enough distance separating us. They didn't see us come in. She could now taste the rusted copper, the smell of urine increasing with each backpedaling step she took, deeper and deeper into the darkness, away from the moonlit window.

  A footstep sounded. The grooves of a boot grasping at freed pebbles on the cement floor, sliding them across. The pursuant was near, and not giving up. Never. The silhouette of an armed person moving cautiously by the slightly illuminated portion of the warehouse sent a silvery cold to her already vibrating hands. She couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't believe she was in this situation to begin with. For a split second, she wondered what her masked partner was thinking. What did she hope he was thinking? Retreat? Forfeit? Attack? Surely the former.

  They were moving in quicker; she could feel their presence stalking them like prey. The pigeons above fluttered again, creating a jarring reaction from the silhouette in the dark. Gun pointed skyward toward
the birds, the figure was distracted, and her partner stepped forward with fearful eyes. Animalistic.

  A gunshot rang out, and the figure dropped to the floor. Stripes of light revealed the lower half of the body.

  Air trapped in Erin’s chest. She could not speak in time to prevent her partner from firing off another round into the defenseless person. By the time Erin could move herself out of the darkness toward the body, she knew what was already done. She was an accomplice to murder.

  It was a woman. Her face had hard lines but was pretty. Her brunette hair was done back in a ponytail, a strand falling over her left eye, pupil dilated, fear transferring to acceptance. As blood expanded across the cold cement floor, her hand covering the bullet wounds to her stomach, Erin's eyeline drifted from the woman's face to her jacket. NYPD.

  She probably has children... She does. She has children.

  ***

  A hand touched her shoulder, launching her from her seat and down to the sand. She was greeted by a soft, kind-eyed woman who appeared extremely apologetic for her intrusion. "Sorry! Excuse me, dear!" The woman looked too young and attractive to call anyone dear.

  She was middle-aged, tall and lean, with wrinkles under her eyes, but other than that she had a remarkable complexion, with skin that looked soft to the touch.

  "I didn't mean to startle you. Though, what did I expect?" she laughed.

  "It's okay," Erin said while rising and dusting herself off.

  "A hand to the shoulder in the middle of a remote island with a cross bearing down on you. Nice touch on my part." She chuckled again. Even her laugh was pretty and charming. “Sorry, didn’t mean to be punny.” She radiated cool-mom vibes. The woman was looking up at the cross now. "Do you pray often?"

  "Oh, I wasn't praying. Just thinking."

  She smiled warmly while nodding understandingly. "Often the two are one and the same. Have you found your friend yet?"

  "Still nothing." How did she know about that? Moreover, who is this woman?

  "That's a shame. I'm sure there's a good explanation for why he's hiding out."

  "I sure hope so."

  "I'm Teresa."

  "Erin."

  Teresa caught Erin with a bewildered look on her face. Erin never was much for poker, nor being stranded on an island in the midst of an unequivocal identity crisis.

  "I work here on the island. If you're wondering..." She brushed her hair away from her face.

  "Oh. Were you here before? With the previous owners?"

  "Yes, I was. We were relied on more heavily then. It was basically ours." She adjusted the slanted collar of her stained white shirt. "I look like a battered-down old farmer. I've been in my garden all day. You can probably smell me from there."

  There was something about her. She was too regal to smell of common body odor after a hard day’s work in the sun.

  Why hadn't Stefan mentioned anything, she wondered. A part of his plot? "There are other workers here?" she asked casually.

  "Yes, of course." She smiled. "I couldn't handle this place all by my lonesome."

  "Sorry, I thought Stefan handled all of the upkeep."

  Her laugh that followed was hollowed out. "Not possible, I'm afraid. Especially with that boy."

  Erin was without words, her face reddening from the silence that followed. The woman continued. "What were you thinking about, if you don't mind me asking?"

  "I'm just worried about Ashton."

  She took a seat next to Erin, releasing a quiet and cute grumble. "I don't blame you, my dear. That foolish boy better have a reasonable explanation."

  "I'd say... Unless it's part of the whole game thing."

  Her face contorted and her head tilted to the side, like a dog trying to understand its master. "Game?"

  "You know. With Stefan." She laughed through a nasal exhale. "I'm sure you know all about it. Even have to help him with it."

  Every time she mentioned Stefan's name, it seemed to trigger a subtle imprint of anger. But Teresa’s face rested back to a place of comfort. "I'm sorry, Erin. I haven't the faintest clue of what you're referring to." She took a sip from a water bottle. "But I gather by your distrusting look that you were hoping for an alternative reply?"

  Erin was embarrassed and apologetic in response to the word distrust. "No, no, it’s not—"

  She interrupted, putting her hand up and waving it about. "Don't you worry...Your poor friend...I don't mean to add worry but—" She caught herself, regretful of starting her sentence.

  "What?"

  "Nothing, dear, don't fret. I'm sure he's fine. I just don't like the mix of alcohol and the ocean. But honestly! Please forget such a nasty and improbable line of thinking."

  Could he have drowned? Suddenly a new thought had dawned heavily on Erin. What if we were brought here specifically for a reason? What if Stefan has a vendetta against Trevor? Trevor could easily be withholding information from me. He already was, the cheating bastard. Jesus...How could he? Then again, should I really be surprised?

  Teresa cut off the unraveling hypothesis in her brain.

  "It'll all be okay, I promise...You're all kinds of troubled now I can see, no thanks to me."

  "I’ve got a lot of my mind that's all. It's not your fault."

  "Anything you wish to share with a stranger you just met?"

  Erin hesitated. "No. That's okay. Just…I guess I have a sudden appreciation for home. I thought trips were supposed to be fun."

  "That's a good thing that you like home. A wonderful thing."

  "I guess, yeah. Or it means I'm too chicken to leave my comfort zone. I've been told that."

  "I wouldn't worry. Many people aren't afforded any comfort in their lives. It's a special thing to be aware of and grateful for...Besides, is this supposed to be an escape from your comfort zone? Not exactly slumming it, are you?" She laughed. "I'm just bugging you, dear. I know it's your friend. We'll find him."

  "Yeah... So you live in Belize I take it?"

  "Sure do. It's so beautiful. We've built quite the relationship with the locals. Keep the hungry fed and as many of the jobless working as we can." She chortled. "I'm being boastful. My husband is constantly reminding me to be more humble. I just can't help but be proud sometimes, you know?"

  "I don't think you're being boastful."

  "Well, no matter. You know what?"

  "What?"

  "You'll return to your friends and the lost boy will be there. Maybe you have a beer and forget all about wanting to go home. How about you do some spearfishing with my husband? That should get you out of that pesky comfort zone, yeah? How does that sound?"

  Erin chuckled. "Sounds pretty good to me."

  "That's the spirit. A couple hours from now you'll feel right as rain, my dear."

  "You should be a psychiatrist."

  "I don't believe in all those pills. Nothing a place like this can't fix."

  "You might be right."

  "I'm right."

  Teresa ran her hand over Erin's hair and caressed her face for half a second. "I'll come around at the end of the day. Check on you guys."

  "Okay."

  Teresa turned to leave. "How do you live here? Away from everything? What brought you here?" Erin asked.

  "Well, we can leave any time we want, you do realize that?" said Teresa.

  They exchanged smiles.

  "My husband bought a restaurant in Belize a while back. It was a tough road that led us there, but I'm grateful it did...I think as humans we always crave change, especially when what we have doesn't feel right. It's all a juggling act. The most important things to a person rise to the top, and hopefully the heart is at peace. At some point it should be. Or so I hope. Who knows God’s truths? We should all quit pretending we do, I suppose."

  "You make it sound so easy."

  "Oh no, dear. Nothing is easy. It's a long and difficult journey. But what else would it be without it? Pointless if you ask me."

  "And your important thing is this place?"
>
  "Of course not. Mine is my family."

  "Sounds like Belize is a nice fit though," Erin said.

  She nodded, smiled, and brushed her hair back away from her eyes again. "You are very beautiful. There might be some untapped potential there too. Just a hunch." She winked. "I'm good at reading people. Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll read your future before you leave."

  "Sorry to burst your optimistic bubble, but clearly you aren't good at reading people."

  "I know enough just from looking at you."

  She rose to her feet and spoke a few final words before her departure. "Relax. It’ll all be okay.”

  As Erin watched Teresa leave, her phone vibrated. She looked down to find a text had somehow forced its way through. How is there service here?

  The text read: “Building a future from scratch was no simple feat. What was used as a tool to build, protect, and sustain, became a weapon of destruction. In the place that doesn't exist, where water runs deep, retrieve the final armament.”

  Erin started walking back to the middle circle to meet with Trevor when another text came in. Her heart sank. “Fail to proceed with the task and consider your friend dead in less than pleasurable means.”

  Erin sat on the ground staring at the screen in disbelief.

  ***

  She knocked on the front door and nobody came. She walked around and tried the backside. Still nothing. She didn't know whether to be pissed with Stefan or worried for his well-being. He had been gone for almost twenty-four hours now, not a trace of him. Without the faintest of clues what to do next, she leaned up against the backside of Stefan's house and allowed more self-torture to prevail, scrolling through more nude photos of Skye. She slid the phone back in her pocket and exhaled.

  ***

  Eight years ago

  Caught in a foster home with a man that had been steadily gauging her developing teenage body, she could sense something treacherous was about to take place. It started with the slightest touch to her shoulder, her arm, small caresses that normal parents may provide to their children. But then, a time came when he looked at her differently.