Devil's Island

by Mark Lukens

  Shane didn’t answer.

  “This is—” Nick began to introduce Nigel but Shane cut him off.

  “I know who he is,” Shane said. “Nigel Cromwell.”

  “And I know who you are, Shane Edwards.”

  A tense silence hung over them for a moment.

  Kristen looked at Nick. He was beaming like this was going to be fun.

  “I heard you weren’t in the ghost hunting business anymore,” Nigel said to Shane, and then he turned back to his drink and took a sip.

  “I’m back in it now.”

  “How convenient.”

  Shane turned to Nick. “I’m sorry. I can’t work with him.”

  “What’s the matter?” Nigel asked Shane with a mean smile on his face. “Afraid of being exposed as a fraud again?”

  Nick jumped in before it got out of control. “Okay, everyone. That’s enough. I want to make it perfectly clear—Shane Edwards is our leader.” Nick let his eyes rest on Nigel for a long moment.

  Nigel smiled, his lips razor thin. “That’s fine with me,” he said and gulped half of his mixed drink down.

  “We’re all going to listen to everything Shane says while we’re down there,” Nick said. “Is that understood?”

  Nigel, Warren, Billy, and Laura all nodded.

  A short, heavy-set man walked up to Nick. He was dressed in light-colored clothing that was so wrinkled it looked like he’d slept in them. He carried a backpack, the strap slung over his shoulder. It seemed like the backpack was uncomfortable and heavy. He had sweat stains on his shirt and his brow was shiny with perspiration, his hair matted down to his forehead.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. This is Harold.”

  Kristen looked at Harold, then at Nick.

  Nick smiled at Kristen and then looked at the others. “Harold Penski will be joining us on this excursion.”

  Kristen looked at Nick. “Us? You’re going down there with them?”

  Nick smiled at her. “No. We’re going down there with them.”

  She started to protest, her mouth working as she tried to say something but her words had dried up with fear.

  “I’ve already had a bag packed for you with some more suitable clothing and hiking shoes.”

  Kristen shook her head no. “I … I don’t think I want to go down there,” she said in a low voice.

  Nick stared at her with his cold eyes. “It’s not a request, Kristen.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Near West Palm Beach, Florida—airport

  After everyone finished their drinks, they went outside to board the jet.

  Shane pulled Nick to the side before they started for the plane. “What’s Nigel Cromwell doing here?”

  Nick looked down at Shane’s hand on his arm.

  Shane pulled his hand away.

  “I needed a skeptic with us on this film,” Nick finally answered. “Someone who can represent the skeptical side of things.”

  “Nigel will do everything he can to hinder this investigation, anything he can to harass and ridicule us.”

  Nick just nodded and smiled like he knew a secret that Shane didn’t know. “I think he will prove valuable on our little excursion. I want all sides represented on this film, both the believers and the skeptics. And I want the world to see the results.”

  Kristen stood beside Nick and she still looked nauseated at the thought of flying down to a haunted island.

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” Shane said, and he was really debating whether he should walk away from all of this.

  “Shane,” Nick said and rested a hand on his muscular shoulder. “I know it may be tough putting up with Nigel while we’re down there, but I’m afraid it’s a necessity. And just between you and me, from the accounts of what has happened down there already, I believe there’s a very good chance that something supernatural is going on.”

  “What accounts? I still haven’t been told where we’re going, what’s happened there, or any other details about the haunting.”

  “I know. I needed secrecy until we departed. I hope you can understand that. These days secrets can be told with the swipe of phone.”

  Shane waited for an answer to his question.

  “We’re going to a small island in the Caribbean Sea,” Nick told him. “It’s about two hundred miles away from Grand Bahama Island. We’re only staying two nights there on the island, and I’m sure that will be sufficient to gather the evidence we need.”

  “This isn’t how a normal investigation is run.”

  “This is not a normal investigation,” Nick said in a low voice. “I can promise you that. And I must remind you that you signed a contract. And I must remind you that there is a—”

  “—a walking away penalty,” Shane finished for him. He remembered.

  “Of course you can still walk away if you want to. If you want to walk, now’s your chance. But think of it this way. This could be the opportunity to get your reputation back. I imagine that paranormal investigation has always been your true love, and it was taken away from you. Now, with the evidence we get on this island, and with a renowned skeptic and two scientists with us the whole time, there will be no doubt that what we capture on film is real.”

  “You seem to be certain that we’re going to get something on film at this island.”

  “Oh, I think we will. If what has happened down there in the last few months is any indication, I think there’s a one hundred percent chance.”

  “And what has happened down there in the last few months?”

  “You, and everyone else, will be filled in on all the details once we get down there. I plan on going over the history of the island and the recent strange events that have occurred there, narrating everything on film.”

  Shane sighed and looked over at the waiting jet. All of the supplies, equipment, and bags had been loaded and the plane sat by itself on the tarmac. Billy, Warren, Laura, Harold, and Nigel stood in a group, ready to board the plane. Nigel looked back at them like he knew they were talking about him.

  “Shane, we really need you there,” Nick said, drawing Shane’s attention back to him. “You’ve got more experience in these matters than all of us put together. You’re the best. I wanted the best, and now I’ve got him here.”

  Shane didn’t respond for a moment, but he stared at Nick. “I run things down there,” he finally said.

  “Of course,” Nick said and smiled. He slapped Shane on the shoulder again. “You will be our leader the whole time we’re on the island. Everybody has been made aware of that.”

  Shane nodded, but he didn’t feel convinced that Nick Gorman was the kind of man who would relinquish any bit of control to someone else. He walked towards the plane and he couldn’t help feeling like he’d been suckered, but he wasn’t quite sure how it had happened. And he couldn’t help feeling that there was more to the story about Nigel than Nick just wanting a skeptic there with them.

  • • • • •

  Kristen pulled Nick to the side as Shane walked towards the jet.

  “I really don’t think I can do this,” Kristen said. And she really felt nauseous. Her hands were shaking, her legs felt weak.

  “You’ll be fine,” Nick assured her.

  She knew that there was going to be no arguing with Nick. He’d made up his mind, he’d given his orders and that was it. But she still felt sick to her stomach.

  “Who’s that other guy you brought along?” Kristen asked, trying to focus on something else. “You didn’t tell me about him.”

  “Harold?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Just someone I asked to come along.”

  “For what reason?”

  “He’s a scientist.”

  “Dr. Savage is a scientist.”

  “Well, Harold Penski is another scientist.” He gave her a secretive smile and slipped his sunglasses back on. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gently guided her towards the airplane. “Come on. Don’t be afraid. You’re abo
ut to embark on the greatest adventure of your life.”

  Kristen walked along with Nick, but her legs still felt like jelly. She couldn’t help thinking about the things she’d read while doing her research of Devil’s Island, the things that had supposedly happened there over the last one hundred and fifty years.

  Two nights, she told herself. It was only for two nights. She could handle that, couldn’t she?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Nick Gorman’s private jet

  Shane and Laura sat next to each other in seats that were the size of a living room recliner and even more comfortable. Ahead of them was a section of four large seats, two of them facing the other two—Nigel, Billy, and Warren sat in this area. Down the cabin a little was a couch where Harold had stretched out with his backpack. And beyond the couch there was a chair on each side of the cabin with a built-in table in front of it. Nick sat in one chair and Kristen sat in the other one across the aisle from him, her laptop out and she was already pecking away at the keyboard. Shane watched Kristen for a moment, hard at work on something, her attention fully absorbed in her laptop screen.

  The jet had taken off a few seconds ago and Laura stared out the window, watching the tarmac drop away at an insane rate of speed. The jet’s engines roared, but the sound was muffled inside the cavernous interior of the jet.

  Shane watched Laura as she stared out the window. “You ever been on an airplane before?”

  Laura turned and smiled at Shane. She shook her head no. “Is it that obvious?”

  “A little. You nervous?”

  Laura’s smile faded. “Yeah, I guess. How about you?”

  “Not about the flight,” he answered.

  She just smiled and looked back out the window, staring down at the world below getting smaller and smaller.

  “You’re a psychic,” Shane said.

  Laura shrugged, apparently a little embarrassed by that term. “I can just … kind of see things. It’s not like I have a choice.”

  “I know. My grandmother was a psychic.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Yeah. She used to read people’s fortunes with cards.”

  “Tarot cards,” Laura said, nodding.

  “No. She actually used playing cards.”

  “Playing cards.”

  “You know, like a regular deck of playing cards. Like you’d play poker with. Or Go Fish.”

  “How did she tell people’s fortunes from playing cards?”

  Shane shrugged. “I don’t know. She never really explained it to me. But I watched many times when she read people’s fortunes. A lot of those people seemed convinced that she was seeing their future.”

  “What about you? Did she ever read your fortune?”

  “I never wanted it read,” Shane said. “She knew that.”

  “She’s gone,” Laura said it like it was a fact and not a question.

  “Yeah. She passed away when I was in high school.” He paused for a moment. “I really miss her sometimes.”

  Laura smiled at him, her eyes narrowing a little. “Would it embarrass you if I told you that I’ve seen you on TV before?”

  Shane smiled. “No. I get that a lot. You watched Extreme Ghost Hunting?”

  “Yeah. The whole first season.”

  The only season, Shane thought.

  “I really liked it,” she said.

  “I just want to say that all of that stuff about me helping to fake those shows … it wasn’t true.”

  Laura nodded like she already knew that and then she looked out the window again.

  • • • • •

  In the seats ahead of Shane and Laura, Warren and Nigel sat in the seats facing each other.

  “Are you a ghost hunter, too?” Nigel asked Warren after he took a sip from the largest metal flask of liquor that Warren had ever seen.

  “No,” he said and smiled at Nigel. “I’m a physicist.”

  But of course Nigel probably already knew that from the research he’d been doing on his phone in the airport lounge.

  “Any special area of physics?” Nigel asked.

  “Quantum physics,” Warren said. “I’ve written a few books, used to do some speaking engagements. But now I teach at the University of Texas.”

  “Texas?” Nigel said. “That doesn’t strike me as a university on the cutting edge of quantum physics. I would’ve thought MIT or Cal Tech or something.”

  Warren could see that Nigel operated without a filter, just blurting out whatever came to his mind. He seemed like a man who didn’t care if he hurt people’s feelings, and maybe he was a man who went out of his way to do just that, then passing it off as some kind of dry humor. He probably got away with it most of the time. “You’d be surprised,” Warren told him. “We’ve got a pretty advanced science department there.” He didn’t want to tell Nigel that he’d been turned down to teach at many other schools because of some of the papers he had published.

  “I think I’ve seen one of your specials before,” Billy said to Warren. He sat beside him in the aisle seat. He had a bottle of beer in his hand. The stewardess had offered all of them drinks before they took off from the airport and Billy had asked for a bottle of beer and Nigel had requested another mixed drink (even though he was still taking nips from his flask). Warren wasn’t sure if these two guys were going to be okay to walk once they got to the island.

  “Didn’t you have a special on …” Billy was snapping his fingers in the air like he was trying to recall the name.

  “On PBS,” Warren said.

  “That’s right.”

  “By God!” Nigel said. “I’ve seen that, too. When was that?”

  “About five years ago,” Warren told them.

  “You’ve been on TV, too,” Billy said to Nigel, pointing at him.

  “Yes,” Nigel said, feigning bashfulness. “Quite a few times.”

  “I guess we’ve got a bunch of TV stars here,” Warren said.

  “Not me,” Billy said. “I just film them.”

  Warren’s eyes darted over to the couch along the cabin wall where Harold Penski was sprawled out. He had chosen the couch rather than taking the last available seat of the four—that seemed significant to Warren. It seemed like Harold was content to stay out of their conversation, avoiding any socializing at all. He just leaned on an elbow, staring down at his cell phone, playing with it. Warren wondered what Harold was doing on this expedition, what exactly he was contributing. Harold hadn’t been properly introduced to them like everyone else had. Warren couldn’t help thinking that Nick Gorman was being a little secretive about the man’s purpose here.

  • • • • •

  The plane ride lasted less than an hour and then they landed at a small airstrip on a large tropical island.

  Shane got off the plane and stepped down onto an airstrip that was just a length of cracked concrete that led straight into the jungle. He inhaled a breath of the humid island air, the salty taste of the ocean dancing on his tongue. He couldn’t see the ocean from the airport, but he knew it couldn’t be too far away.

  Local islanders dressed in shorts and old T-shirts ran up to the plane and unloaded the gear and equipment from the plane. They carried all of it to three waiting older model SUVs.

  They were driven to a seaside port that was nestled in a cove with hills of green vegetation rising up sharply into the blue sky on both sides. They parked near a rusted hulk of a fishing boat that was docked beside a long wooden pier. Booms rose up from the rear of the ship behind the pilothouse and second level deck, cables and nets hanging down from them.

  They got out of the vehicles as men from the fishing boat rushed over to get their gear and equipment out of the trucks.

  Nigel stared at the boat for a moment as it rocked gently on the waves next to the pier. An older Islander stood at the railing of the boat, his dark hands clasped behind his back, his posture as straight as a lamp post, his dark eyes staring right down at them.

  “That’s the best
boat your money could get?” Nigel asked Nick.

  Nick walked over to him. “On short notice, yes.” He carried a wooden box that was a little bigger than a shoebox tucked under his arm. It looked fancy with inlays and scrollwork, and it looked a little heavy. It also had a small padlock on the brass clasp.

  “I find that hard to believe,” Nigel said with a smirk.

  “You want the truth?” Nick asked and locked eyes with Nigel.

  “That would be nice for a change.”

  “This is the only captain who was willing to take us to Devil’s Island.”

  “How dramatic.” Nigel’s eyes shifted down to the box under Nick’s arm. “What’s in the box?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “Why do you have it locked?”

  Nick walked away without answering him.

  “I thought we were telling the truth now,” Nigel called after him.

  Nick still didn’t answer.

  Nigel watched Nick as he walked away. “Let the games begin,” Nigel said under his breath.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The Caribbean Sea

  Forty-five minutes later the fishing boat chugged through the ocean waters, leaving the large tropical island in its wake, the crystal clear blue shallower waters near the shore turning into the darker blues of the deeper waters.

  After the equipment and baggage was secured away, the boat hands disappeared into the crew area underneath the upper level deck and pilothouse, leaving Nick and his team alone on the cluttered deck.

  Warren Savage found a shady spot underneath an awning that jutted out from the pilot house above. He sat at one of the metal tables that were bolted to the wood deck. All of the tables looked like they were ready to fall apart, the legs barely attached to the tabletops with metal twine and ragged pieces of duct tape.

  He glanced around at the others. He saw Nick and Kristen sitting together at another table not too far away from him. Nick was leaning back in the shade, possibly napping with his sunglasses on. He had that small wooden box that he’d been carrying around with him down by his feet. Kristen was tapping away on her cell phone, having given up on the laptop now but still focused on her work.