Islanders

by Brandon Enns

  Stefan continued, "I mean. It would be so draining. Surrounded by the sick all of the time. The fading lives...I guess it depends what you specialize in, if you specialize."

  "Right. Yeah, depends for sure."

  "Can you smell death, Erin? I've not only heard the stories, but experienced it once. For me, it was hard to place. Not a smell of rotting, or gas, or anything really foul for that matter. It's just there. I’ve heard that each person's death smells unique. What do you smell, Erin?"

  She was frozen for a moment, stuck with a terrified and dysfunctional mind. "Like...Stew and homemade bread." She burst out laughing, and Stefan's face remained serious. When she came to a stop, he sipped his wine and the intensity on his face cleared.

  "How is it?" He grinned and blinked slowly.

  "How is what now?"

  His smile widened. "The tequila."

  She thought of pulling some pretentious descriptors from her ass. Thankfully, her crippling fear of saying something stupid again was strong enough.

  "Good. It's good."

  A gunshot went off outside. She couldn't react. She was stuck for a three count. A bubble formed in her throat, preventing her from speaking. Stefan walked over to the drawer, pulled out a gun, and loaded it in front of her. Everything around her moved. The floor had become fluid and wavy.

  "Why do you have a gun here?"

  He didn't respond. The bags under his eyes appeared to have darkened.

  "I should come with you," she said.

  "Absolutely not. I'll be back right away."

  Before she could argue, he was gone, and she was left there all alone with the smell of burning marijuana. She was sinking in her chair. The floor was tantalizing, a waxy coating shining.

  She hadn't moved in a half hour, or maybe thirty seconds. Against all odds, she rose to her feet, the bones in her legs still replaced by iron. She wasn't entirely sure which action was most appropriate in the given situation, but she couldn't stand being inside anymore, Stefan's eerie bunker inflicting the beginnings of a panic attack. She made her way across the kitchen to the back entrance about as fast as a turtle. She exhaled quietly as she pressed the handle to open the door. The lights cut out and the door locked automatically. She was trapped.

  Erin stood by the door, back upright and stiff as a board. She moved toward the front entrance and found the same result. Locked. She rushed over to the silver-trimmed blinds covering the large living room window and rolled them up slowly, letting the anticipation of fear control her. Fear did not let her down. Standing there in front of the house looking up at her was Teresa, with three others.

  She couldn't feel any of her limbs. She desperately wanted to look away from their haunting stares, but she simply couldn't. Erin could feel something crawling up her neck as she twisted and tried to swat away an imaginary insect. There was no thing on her; instead, an invitation circulated the lining along her head. Stay a while.

  Footsteps. She turned to speak, her voice pitiful. "Hello?" She turned back to the window and they were gone. Another shift in the floorboards came from the kitchen, and finally she was able to convince her body to flee. She took off down the stairs and shuffled down the long basement hallways. She decided Stefan's room was the correct choice and locked the door behind her.

  She stared at the door, waiting for it to come crashing down. But there were no sounds. Erin examined his room. It was so bare, his clothes oddly positioned in the middle of the room in organized piles. There was a large steel door on the far wall. That was peculiar. It was already cracked open. Placing her hand on the cool steel, she pulled it open to find hard case coolers on the floor and shelving filled with bottles of wine. She awaited the big, bad wine goblin that was curled up in the corner, waiting to attack her at the throat. None came. Before stepping inside, she looked over her shoulder to make sure the intruder wasn't outside her door. She didn’t hear a peep. She stepped inside. It was cool and damp. Erin pulled out a bottle from the back wall and in doing so, something moved. From the corner of the back wall, flecks of dust appeared as if from nowhere. She realized that there was another door at the far end. Placing her hand flat on the door, she pushed, and it swung open, revealing a dungy underground walkway.

  Erin stepped out onto a cement step immersing into the cool, damp air of the passage. Her fingertips slid across a light switch and she flicked it on. The hallway was all cement. She soldiered on ahead, sensory overload causing her stoned cognitive function to malfunction. Cobwebs, strange brown stains on the walls, and cracks in the floor—all seemed to strip her away from reality. This can't be happening. She walked slowly, feeling the cold wall on her trembling hand, each step calculated like she was walking the plank, trying not to tip over. Working her way deep into the monster's mouth, she neared the end of the hall, where she found four locked rooms, two on each side of the narrow hallway.

  Ashton...Skye...

  Erin touched the door. She heard footsteps come from straight ahead. At the end of the hall, a few steps away, were three steps leading up to a bright green door. The paint looked fresh.

  More patter of movement. Bruce's cabin! She pulled at the first door, but it was locked. Then the second. Locked. She wasn't certain, but it sounded like the footsteps had reacted to the noise she had made. Then they stopped. Silence. A hand covered her mouth with powerful force, her hips yanked in tight, pressing against a man's body. She tried to bite, but he kept adjusting his hand as he brought his head in close.

  "We need to go." It was Stefan. "No noise."

  He let go and she turned to face him. There was a splotch of blood on the bottom corner of his shirt. Is that new blood? "Follow me," he whispered with a finger to his lips.

  He extended his hand and she took it. As they climbed back into the wine room attached to Stefan's room, she heard a door slam at the end of the hall, echoing all the way down and hitting her like a warm wind trapped in a tunnel. She climbed up after him. They walked through the cold storage and he locked the door connecting his room with a padlock into a latch.

  He opened the door of the bedroom to leave, but she stayed put.

  "We don't have time." His voice was an urgent whisper.

  They rushed upstairs. Stefan was delirious at this point, pacing back and forth before deciding to make a pot of coffee this time. She stepped toward the kitchen to stop his hands and ask him what in the hell was going on and why it was a good time for a fucking coffee break, when she spotted a beige folder sitting on the kitchen table. Stefan had his back turned to her as she peeked. The first page was a clue. It was done up in the same way as the one that was slid under their duplex door. Plain white paper, hand-printed with black pen. It read, “All eyes are on you, Erin. Kill Stefan or Skye dies. HINT: Stefan’s gun will do just fine.”

  She reread the note and then looked up to see Stefan was still busy making coffee, his gun sitting on the counter next to him.

  "I need to tell you something. Something I saw." He sounded different, his voice croaking. "I just don't know…how to explain it."

  Erin looked back down at the folder; there was more inside. Underneath the note was a picture of Skye with duct tape around her mouth, horror-filled eyes streaming tears as the knife they had found was held to her throat.

  Trevor's phone vibrated in her pocket. A video had been sent to her. Skye, tied up in a squared-off room, was trying to scream through the tape, but it was too muffled for Erin to make out any pleading words. Suddenly, a hand crashed into Skye's face, snapping her head to the side. Blood trickled down her cheek as she sobbed. The short video came to an end. Stefan turned halfway to acknowledge her, so she quickly tucked the phone back in her pocket. She was in too much shock to cry, but there was a storm swirling in her chest, crashing back and forth, desperate to get out.

  "I saw someone outside. I couldn't see who." Stefan lowered his head, watching the drip of the coffee pot. "They were dragging something—someone—into the trees. I don't think they saw me but...Erin, I know
something is going on with the staff here. My staff...I followed...and saw blood. There was too much blood. I think they got Trevor. This is all my fault." He grabbed his handgun and stared at it for a moment. He set it back down on the counter an arm’s length from the coffee pot.

  Erin swiped past the harrowing photograph of Skye, discovering more disturbing pictures. She staggered over to the couch, grabbing hold of the arm rest, breathing deeply, trying to prevent herself from passing out. The rest of the folder was flooded with duplicates of the same three photographs. A crime scene. Within that crime scene lay the policewoman covered in blood. They know what I did. This is all for me.

  She tucked the folder underneath the couch. Stefan piped up again. "I ran, Erin. I ran for the fishing boat." Stefan was now crying, bordering on sobs. His breaths were sharp and broken. "I was going to take the boat and...and leave. Leave all of you." He cried out like a child. "I'm so sorry..." Stefan turned to face her. He cleared his throat and wiped his tear-stained face. "The boat was gone. I'm glad it was. I would've never forgiven myself."

  "So, what do we do now?" It dawned on her that in addition to Skye being held captive and her imminent decision to kill Stefan pending, Trevor might indeed be dead. Killed. Murdered. Trevor is dead.

  "I called into Reggie on the SAT phone but he didn't reply yet. I told him to bring help on my boat. I'm hoping he knows police in Belize that aren't corrupt and can help. I'm sure he does. He's been here quite a while. Knows the locals."

  Erin couldn't take her eyes off the counter. He walked up to Erin and took her hands. "We have to find them. We'll get help on the way and we will find them. I promise." His lip quivered. "I promise."

  All she wanted was to be back home, tending to her old garden, sci-fi novel in hand ready to be binge read. But her consequences had come knocking, and the repercussion was murder yet again. This time, she'd pull the trigger.

  Erin rose to her feet and walked toward the coffee pot and poured herself a glass, hand so shaky that she almost dropped the whole pot. Leaning up against the counter, she sipped the java. Stefan took two deep breaths, poured a cup of coffee, and walked over to the couch and collapsed onto it. He ran his fingers through his long black hair, muttering something to himself. His armpits were soaked through his shirt. The kitchen light reflected off the silver of the gun.

  Chapter Twenty - Trevor

  Trevor shoveled at the dirt, each spike into the ground bringing him greater satisfaction than the last. He showered dirt over a body, the scent of decomposition wafting. The sand had quickly covered the legs, leaving only the upper half of Ashton's body remaining. From behind he could hear a girl crying, the irritating interruption adding fuel to his already hot fire. Erin stood there, babbling something incoherent between sobs, disgusting tears defiling her already homely face. She looked to him for mercy, but he was too furious to supply her with any. He welcomed the feeling, the satisfaction, as he showered dirt on his best friend. She reached out toward him, pleading for him to take her hand, to move away from his dug grave. "You'll get your turn!" he snapped.

  ***

  The cracking sound of gunfire woke Trevor. His head was split in two, a wedge separating each side of his brain with splinters piercing through the soft texture. His head pulsed in pain, and before he had time to recognize how angry his stomach was, he vomited. Eyes closed as he finished his half-hearted purge, he opened them expecting to find a pool of yellow vomit, but instead found a dark substance on the glass floor of the villa out on the water.

  He rolled over in bed. The sheets were wet. I pissed the bed? He glanced down at blood. When his head turned, he came face-to-face with Skye, her mouth wide open. He scrambled off of the bed, blood and vomit splashing about.

  Her throat had been cut wide open. There were ligature marks around her wrists and ankles, her eyes partially open and angled to the side. She had known only horror leading up to her death.

  Trevor closed her mouth and eyes, and her skin was cool to the touch. He scrambled off of the bed and snatched his pants and dressed. I'm dreaming. I have to be dreaming. He turned away from her dead body, from the blood, the smells, and racked his brain, searching for an answer. Skye is dead. She's dead...Focus Trevor...Did I do this? No, you didn't do this. Someone is trying to set you up. Cassidy did this.

  On the breakfast table was a folder. Trevor tiptoed around the blood and opened it. There was a note. “Should we kill Ashton or your father?” A slew of photos had been taken of his dad around his home, and also around his law office. The message continued: “Murder looks good on you. Kill Bruce. Or accept our decision between Ashton and your old man.”

  Next to the folder on the table sat a gun. Making sure he kept his back turned to Skye's bloodied body, he left the villa with gun and folder in hand. He had no choice. The only thing to do was kill an old man he didn't know, had suspicions of to begin with, in order to save his friend and father.

  Trevor made it to the beach and walked up to the tree line and dug a small hole with his hands and buried the folder. The evidence that he was coerced into murdering Bruce would certainly come in handy, and the threats couldn't have been clearer. Which side was Stefan on? Were there sides? Walking down the beach, Trevor fumbled around with the gun until finally figuring out how to load it.

  Chapter Twenty-One - Erin

  Just a quick vacation to take a break from school. A little beach, a little beer, lots of food, a little sleeping in. What would it hurt? If anything, the break should have helped clear the fog that had seemed to have settled in. She would be more efficient with her studies when she returned to her life.

  Now, she was faced with a decision. Let them kill Skye or kill Stefan. She couldn't risk them murdering Skye.

  Stefan remained on the couch, strung out, hands pulling at his dark hair. The gun remained on the kitchen counter, closer to her.

  Erin swayed back and forth on her decision. Option three just wouldn't present itself. Her hand slid along the table and stopped. Who wants Stefan dead? Bruce lived there before him, so maybe there were some disagreements with how he was running the land. As they had discussed on the other side of the island, there were too many unknowns about him, and their encounter with him in his cabin was less than pleasant. Granted they had broken in to his place while he looked for their missing friend. Okay, that leaves the staff. Her encounter with Teresa was pleasant in a way, but there was something strange about her. Maybe the staff drove the previous owners out? Or maybe they are in alliance with Bruce? Bruce expressed his frustrations with Stefan when we were in his cabin. Something about property lines.

  How are they seeing me right now? She glanced at her phone, then looked around the ceiling and kitchen cupboards for a camera. They were either in the surveillance room downstairs or in Bruce's cabin. Or the duplex. Erin hadn't stepped foot in Ashton and Skye’s side of the duplex yet, largely because they were humping whenever they got a chance. Erin slid her hand back away from the gun, dumped the coffee, and snagged a bottle of water from the fridge. She needed more time. Just then, another text came through, vibrating against her leg. She checked it. “Time is of concern.”

  Another video came in. She took out the phone and played the video without volume. A knife was being held to Skye's throat, applying enough pressure to barely break the skin.

  "What's going on?" Stefan asked. He looked at her and the phone. "Your phone shouldn't work here." He rose from the couch, his face switching from confusion to suspicion. "Erin, I'm not going to ask you again." Thud, thud, thud. Surely her heart would pop like a balloon. "What's on the phone, Erin?"

  She shoved it back in her pocket and tried to play it casual, but it was too late for that. "It's nothing. I was just looking at old messages from Trevor. I hope he's okay."

  "Is that right? Because it looked like you were reading something relatively new to me."

  Thud, thud, thud. "No, it—"

  "You wouldn't happen to be playing me? You and Trevor? You wouldn't do that,
right?"

  "Play you? What does that even mean?"

  "I'm such an idiot." He laughed. "I should have given you all more credit." He was angry now. "Take over my plans with some of your own. Embarrass me, is that it? Or is he getting back at me?"

  "Back at you for what?"

  "You must know."

  "I don't."

  "I should have known he'd never let that go. His shortsightedness has reached a new level."

  "What happened?"

  "Just kids being kids. Kids are cruel though, aren't they? Nothing a little growing up can't fix. We're only human, right?"

  "Stefan, you're scaring me. Just tell me what happened between you two."

  "I'd hate to tarnish your cute little image of him."

  "Trust me. His image is shattered. Stefan, I have no idea what you’re talking about."

  "I bet Trevor is having a good time with this." He had a snarl she hadn't seen before. It was violent. "I wouldn't have expected you to go along with something like this though. Why?"

  He was inching closer now, closing the distance. "Just stay back."

  "I thought we had an honest connection. I thought we were friends."

  "We are friends, I just—" He was close enough now. She tried to give him an exaggerated look to let him know something was up, that she needed to tell him something important. There were eyes and ears on them, and she couldn't speak the truth. But he was too blinded by rage.

  "What do you see in him anyway?"

  It was a good question, but not at that time.

  "Give me something. So he's attractive. But how long is that enough for? Especially for someone like you. You’ve got too much depth for that. I know that’s a fact."

  Her hand was on the counter. She was ready to grab the gun.

  "I saw the way you looked at me. More than once, whenever I spoke. You liked what I had to say. You don't like what Trevor has to say."