The Islanders

by S. V. Leonard

  Gingerly, I place a foot into the corridor. The marble stones are cold against the bare sole of my foot. Swiftly, I follow it with my other foot. I exhale, relieved. I’m not sure what I was expecting, as if exiting would blow me up or something.

  I shake myself. Now isn’t the time to hesitate. Now is the time for action. Find them. Save them. Find them, save them is the mantra that propels me forward. My feet slap against the marble floor as I march down the corridor.

  My first task is to find them. Find the Islanders. I pass the communal bedroom and pop my head in. The beds are unmade, the block colour pillows strewn on the floor as they were in the morning. My neon green bikini is curled on the floor where I chucked it before I got into bed. There are no people here, though. Next I move to the living room, where all the remnants of my makeshift operations room remain. Some of the photographs have escaped their binds and have fallen to the floor. Jack’s face looks at me from the wall. His wide smile no longer feels cheery but sinister.

  But aside from the still, photographed faces, the living room is empty.

  I exit and proceed towards the double glass doors leading to the garden. The villa is quiet, eerily quiet. Reaching the end of the corridor, I pull the door open and step out into the garden.

  The sun has set and night, with its darkness, has taken hold. I have no idea how late it is; it could even be the middle of the night. The remaining Islanders must be outside. Perhaps too fearful to sleep. Perhaps they thought it better to crowd around the outdoor Fire Pit, keeping warm and staying together. But that doesn’t make sense. I heard Rosalind screaming, which means the killer is either Daniel or Carly. One of them is innocent and one of them is guilty.

  My arms wrap around my chest; the tank top I chose to wear this morning is no longer suitable for the coolness that has deposited itself over the garden. It isn’t cold, but the absence of the blazing heat of the sun is noticeable. My skin pricks with goose bumps.

  The garden is dark, lit only by the spotlights shining in the depths of the pool. The Fire Pit isn’t in use.

  Are they out here?

  I open my mouth to call out for them, but something holds me back. My shout would shatter the silence of the evening. If, for some reason, they are asleep, I don’t want to wake them. I edge closer to the Fire Pit and the pool, to the tiered seating where the Judge announced his horrors. If they were going to sleep anywhere outside, it would be here.

  But they’re not here. I spin around the empty garden, my heartbeat picking up with every turn. Panic rises in my throat, overriding my worry of disturbing them. Of course they’re not asleep; why would they be asleep? I need to find them.

  ‘Rosalind?’ I call. ‘Daniel? Carly? Where are you?’

  I scan around me, hoping one of them will pop up. When that doesn’t happen, I tear around the garden, passing the flagstone cracked by Sophia’s falling body. Her body is gone, and, for an insane moment, I doubt the fact that she is dead. But then I remember we moved her to the freezer. Sophia, Jack and Valentina were all moved. I can only assume the others moved Mo because his body is no longer where it lay after dinner. I loop around into the kitchen area.

  ‘Ouch,’ I cry out as something sharp spikes against my foot. I bend down to see what it is. A piece of the coffee mug I shattered this morning sticks out the bottom of my foot. Bright red blood forms a thick bubble before rolling down my sole. Kicking the piece away, I place my foot delicately back on the floor. I don’t have time to fix the wound or be distracted by the needling sting.

  But as I’m leaving, something catches my eye. Where there were three, there is now one. Another knife is missing.

  I need to find the others. The longer it takes to find them, the more I dread what I will find when I do. But they might still be alive. There might be time to save them.

  ‘Daniel? Carly?’ I shout. ‘Rosalind? Where are you?’ I speed from the kitchen back into the villa. Tearing around it like a woman possessed, I continue to shout. But there’s no answer. No matter where I look, I can’t find them. They’re nowhere to be found.

  My ears ring at the silence that hangs over the villa. In the absence of my shouts, there’s nothing. No sign of life.

  I leave the villa once more and slump down on the wooden seating around the Fire Pit in the garden, my chest heaving up and down.

  Where are they? I’ve looked everywhere.

  ‘Argh,’ I scream and slam my hand against the wood. The frustration at my own inadequacies gnaws at me. But above everything else, I’m really, really worried.

  Jack Peaks dead. Sophia Dance dead. Valentina Novak dead. Mo Khan dead. Is it only a matter of time before I find the others dead too?

  ‘Where the hell are you?’ I shout. The bush nearby me shakes and I jump to my feet. ‘Who is it? Who’s there?’ There’s no answer. ‘Show yourself,’ I shout, and the bush shakes again. This time the culprit shows himself as he flies off up into the air. I exhale loudly. A bird, just a bird.

  My palms are slick with sweat and I wipe them against my thighs. I need to work methodically. Running about like a headless chicken is helping no one, especially not the others.

  Where haven’t I looked yet? What have I missed? They’re not in the garden, the bedroom, the kitchen, the bathroom, or the living room. Where could they be?

  ‘Of course.’ I slap my hand against my forehead. There is one place I haven’t looked yet. It isn’t exactly part of the villa, but it has borne witness to a major turning point in our story.

  The place where we realised we were trapped and Mo vented his fury as he slammed a chair again and again against the immovable door.

  The entrance gates.

  I sprint from the garden, wishing with every fibre of my being that Carly, Daniel and Rosalind have escaped. I hope that I’ll arrive at the entrance gate and security hut to find the doors wide open, signalling the freedom that they’ve found. In my mind’s eye, I can almost see them dragging their exhausted bodies through the dense Greek forest in search of safety.

  I retrace my footsteps, back into the house and towards the spare bedroom that was my prison. I glance inside just in case they slipped inside after I left. It’s unlikely but nothing is as it seems in the LoveWrecked villa. It is, as I suspected, empty.

  I pick up my pace. They have to be there. They have to be at the entrance gate. It is the only place in this godforsaken villa that I haven’t looked.

  The sliding door at the end of the corridor is shut and I press my wet palm against it and drag the door open. I step out into the dark of the night, hoping against hope that everything will be alright.

  The entrance area of the villa is dimly lit. It’s as silent as the rest of the house. As if even the crickets don’t chirp so as to pay their respects to the dead.

  Or maybe they’ve been driven away by the horror?

  Despite the warmth of the evening, a cold chill runs through me. My shiver is a reaction to the sight that greets me.

  The strong, steel entrance gate remains firmly closed but the door to the security hut is ever so slightly ajar. My breath catches in my throat. The silence seems to consume me. There’s something about the silence that tells me everything is wrong. This isn’t the escape route I hoped to find.

  My feet crunch along the gravel as I step towards the security hut. My reflection looms larger in the glass door as I approach. The effect is eerie, like a ghost emerging from the darkness.

  My heart pounds against my chest. My fingers tremble as I lift my hand towards the door handle. The feeling of trepidation crashes over me like an angry ocean wave.

  I pause, my hand resting on the handle. The inside of the hut is in darkness, my view obscured by my own reflection. I take a deep breath, steadying myself for what I might find. I grit my teeth, and in one swift movement, wrench the door open.

  The smell inside makes me gag. It hits my nostrils and seems to travel down to my mouth, so within seconds I can practically taste the blood.

  As my eyes a
djust to the darkness inside the hut, the mass that lies slumped over the table comes into view.

  The skin on her neck is bunched as her head twists uncomfortably away from me. One hand is pressed against the wall in front of me and the other dangles, limp, over the edge of the table.

  The blood, almost unnoticeable against her dark clothes, has streamed from a source on her back, staining the light oak table that supports her.

  There’s so much blood; how many times must she have been stabbed to be covered like this? Nobody could survive losing that much blood. A small whimper leaves my lips. Rosalind Jenkins is dead.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Contact Me form

  Type your message in the box below. I read every piece of correspondence that comes to me and I will aim to get back to you as soon as I can.

  Your Name: Matteo De Luca

  Your Email Address: matt@deluca.com

  Your Message:

  Hi,

  I wanted to get in touch because I want to say you’re not alone. I, too, feel like you feel. I know how lucky I am to be writing this and to be able to say that I haven’t lost someone, but someone close to me has had their life significantly changed by the recklessness of another.

  Six months ago, my wife and I were driving home after a lovely evening at one of our favourite restaurants when our car was hit by another. I swerved to avoid the collision, but the other car struck the passenger side, resulting in my wife receiving life-altering injuries. For my part in this, I will never forgive myself. But what is even harder to forgive is that the driver was acquitted because apparently the investigators couldn’t say for sure how fast she was driving before the crash. The investigators also found no evidence of braking or skidding so the judge felt that the testimony was all too imprecise and that it was no one’s fault. This is despite the fact the driver was over the legal alcohol limit. The driver was fined and had their licence suspended but that was it. I can barely type this I am so angry. We’re appealing, of course, but my rage has taken a hold of me; it has wrapped its way around my heart and I know I won’t feel happiness again until I have my hands wrapped around the driver’s neck and I can squeeze the life out of her in exchange for the life she took from us.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Sunday 27th July, Time Unknown

  I dash away from Rosalind’s lifeless body and towards the Fire Pit, not stopping to think where I am going. I need to find Carly and Daniel and get us all off this island.

  My head spins; where can I look? I’ve already scoured the villa. I’ve already gone over every inch of it.

  I force myself to take a deep inhale and a slow exhale. I close my eyes and try to shut everything out. It takes all my strength to push aside the images of the dead Islanders that appear in my mind once my eyes are closed. Bile rises in my throat as the grisly sight of Rosalind’s wounded corpse resurfaces. I shake my head, telling my brain I’ll have plenty of time to dwell on the deaths later. Right now – right now I need to focus.

  What did Rosalind say when we first arrived? The villa was designed for the show. There are corridors, secret corridors for the camera crew to traverse. How could I have forgotten this?

  And if there are secret corridors there must be secret rooms. Rooms that allow the crew to live and work out of sight of the day-to-day life in the villa.

  My eyes snap open. This is where Carly and Daniel will be. It’s the only option.

  I tear through the garden and enter the villa. I walk along the corridors and spread my arms out wide, running my fingers along the walls. If there are more hidden doors, there will be grooves in the wall that indicate it.

  As my fingers scrape across the smooth wall, I smear flecks of Rosalind’s blood along it. I wrinkle my nose at the sight of it. Now more than ever the villa looks like something out of a horror film.

  The hallway gives me nothing apart from the entrance to the producer’s corridor where Rosalind’s production room is. But perhaps there’s more here than meets the eye.

  I peer into the corridor. The way is dark. My fingers feel for a light switch, but I fail to find one. But there’s no time to worry about this now so I step forward into the abyss.

  ‘Carly,’ I call out, my voice shaking. ‘Daniel.’ It’s not like me to be afraid of the dark but somehow, it’s as if the last twenty-four hours have been leading me to this moment.

  Step by step, I edge along the corridor. My heartbeat and footsteps are the only sounds keeping me company.

  Ahead, there’s a strip of light. It looms in the distance, growing brighter with each step I take. Or are my eyes deceiving me? There’s no light; my eyes are simply adjusting to the darkness. No, it’s definitely a strip of light which means that somewhere ahead there’s a door. I slow my footsteps, my heart in my mouth. The light is less than a metre away now, shining through the gap left from a slightly open door. My heart thumps so hard against my chest it seems to reverberate around my body.

  This is it. The final two are here.

  ‘Please let them be alive, please let them be alive,’ I pray, bringing the palms of my hands together.

  I reach out and curl my fingers around the door; it’s the type that slides along tracks in the floor. Steeling myself against what I might find, I slide the door aside and step into the room.

  ‘What the hell are you saying?’ The voice of Carly cuts through the silence, making me jolt. I twirl on my heels, taking in the full aspect of the room, but there’s no one in here and neither is the light I saw. Instead the room is lit from the far side, where at the corner is a door with a window, through which the jungle is visible. Carly’s voice is coming from over here as well. I’m about to charge towards the door and announce myself but the response that comes makes me stop.

  ‘I’m saying I know who you are, and I know what you’ve done.’ Daniel’s reply, though muffled by the door, is loud and angry enough for me to hear. My footsteps are silent against the floor as I edge closer.

  ‘And what have I done?’ replies Carly. Though I can’t see her expression or body language, her tone is enough to expose her defensiveness.

  ‘You killed him, and I won’t let you get away with it.’ I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I’m near the door now and edge myself as close to it as possible so I can peer around it without letting them see me. Carly’s back is pressed up against the wall of the villa to my left and Daniel stands less than a metre away from her, his hands balled into fists, facing her.

  ‘Daniel, you’ve got this completely wrong.’ Daniel laughs at this. ‘I—’ Carly’s word is cut off as Daniel steps towards her, his broad hands wrapping around her throat. Carly’s mouth falls open as Daniel squeezes.

  ‘No,’ I shout, grabbing hold of the handle and pulling it but the door won’t budge. Red light flickers to the left, telling me it’s locked. At my shout, Daniel turns his head to face me and bares his teeth, the anger in him palpable even through a pane of glass. The expression on his face changes in a flash; his mouth falls open as he shouts and steps back from Carly, who is holding a kitchen knife in her hand. Carly had the knife all along; so, she killed Rosalind. Daniel turns away from me and back to Carly, ripping the knife from her and throwing it to the ground. For the second time he wraps his fingers around her throat as he shouts, ‘This is for all of your victims.’

  Carly’s eyes are wide with fear and her gaze darts from Daniel to the floor where he has thrown the knife; her tongue protrudes from her open mouth and her cheeks flush red. She reaches her delicate hands and claws at Daniel’s, trying in vain to pull him off her.

  My fists bang against the glass of the door and my voice screeches as I scream for Daniel to stop, but he doesn’t, and what seems like only seconds later he releases Carly and she slides down the wall into a heap on the floor.

  The light above the door turns green, signalling to me that it’s been opened. My sweaty palms wrap around the handle and I yank it open.

  ‘Daniel,’ I shout as I move
towards him. His eyes are wild. He stoops to pick up the knife from the floor and brandishes it at me, forcing me to stop.

  ‘Get away from me, Kim.’ He takes several steps away from me, the knife still held aloft.

  ‘Carly has paid the price for what she did, and I need to get away from this island.’ At that he turns and runs towards the thicket of jungle and steps onto a narrow path that cuts a small gap in the leaves. Not pausing to think about what I’m doing, I follow him, calling for him to stop. The darkness in the forest is impenetrable and branches scratch at my arms as I run. Daniel thrashes ahead of me, using the knife to cut at anything that gets in his way.

  Then the thrashing stops and the jungle ends abruptly. Moonlight bounces off the dark water and the waves lap gently against the sand. To my right, Daniel bounds along the beach, holding the knife tightly in his hand as he runs. I follow him.

  ‘Daniel. Stop.’ At my words, Daniel suddenly halts as if I’ve cast a spell over him. But I quickly realise that he hasn’t stopped because of me; he crouches down and unties a knotted rope that is keeping a tiny fishing boat from floating away. Water splashes into the air as he pushes the boat out into the sea, pulling at the string of a motor as he goes. The engine purrs and Daniel launches himself into the boat. Daniel’s words come back to me. Carly has paid the price for what she did; so it was her all along? No, it can’t have been her. If it was, why is Daniel escaping?

  ‘Daniel, it’s over.’ I don’t know whether I’m telling him the ordeal is over or that it’s game over for him. I still can’t point the finger of blame. ‘Daniel,’ I call again but the smell of petrol catches in my throat, making me cough.

  ‘Goodbye, Kim,’ he says, and with that his hand grips the handle of the engine and he sails off into the night and away from the island of horror.