Islanders

by Brandon Enns

  They wanted her there and they wanted her to remember what she had done. Erin dropped the photographs and walked out the front door.

  The tree line wasn't far, but she walked against the wind. It seemed the night had gone on forever. The drawn out darkness showed no signs of allowing the light to start the next day. Maybe it had other plans.

  Erin headed for the duplex. She was hit with a pang of déjà vu. Ashton must be in the duplex. As she neared the entrance, an opening through the trees lined up perfectly with the moonlight, and a shadow emerged. She changed her course, and the closer she got to the beach, the louder the shovel sounded, splicing into the fine sand, the thickness sounding more and more dense with each plunge.

  Trevor pounded away at the dirt, Bruce standing next to him with a flashlight and a rifle. It was difficult to tell, but it didn't appear that Trevor was being held captive, a manic persistence on display as he spiked at the dirt. She pictured Skye's slashed throat.

  The trees to her left rustled, and something hit the dirt hard. Quiet groans followed—not those of a ghost, but those of an injured man. She followed the sound and came upon Stefan covered in blood, lying in the sand as he fought through labored breaths. "I only have time for the truth," she said.

  He grimaced and took a deep breath. "I got Ashton out. He's safe."

  “Really? Because I think you put him there to begin with.”

  He shook his head and spit again. “No, Erin. No.”

  “What the hell is going on?”

  "We need to get him and leave. That’s what is going on."

  "Okay,” she said. He winced, and she grimaced with empathy.

  Before she could explain the photographs she had found and all the feelings she had been experiencing, he cut her off. "The staff… They aren’t human."

  “Come on…” But she knew. Erin helped him sit up, leaning him against a palm tree. He spat into the sand and laughed. It was quiet enough, but still hysterical. "We got ourselves some pissed off spirits, Erin." He looked at her gun. "Not entirely sure if that thing will work. You know how to use it anyway?"

  "Point and shoot." She looked back toward the beach and found that they had stopped shoveling and were staring down at something.

  "I'm sorry I came at you back there. I couldn't control it. That wasn’t me."

  "I'm sorry I shot you. I couldn't control it."

  Their eyes met humorously, and then the seriousness returned. "I tried to call Arnie. Nothing."

  "That's because he's on his way," said Erin.

  Stefan sighed in relief. "Here's the plan then. First, don't shoot me again. Then, we go get Ashton from my place and trek to the south end, where Arnie will hopefully be waiting for us."

  "What about Trevor?" She knew the answer but needed to hear it from someone else.

  "He has to stay. He killed Skye. I saw it on the drone coverage."

  "I know... How's your shoulder?" She leaned forward to examine the wound, and he flinched before she touched it. He groaned and she smothered his mouth so they wouldn’t be heard.

  "I'll be okay," he murmured.

  "I don't know about that...Come on," she said.

  She carried most of Stefan's weight into the bunker through the back entrance. She got him seated on the couch first. He looked so pale. As she motioned to check the bullet wound in his shoulder, he jolted away in pain again. "Make sure the doors are locked. Now."

  She rushed to both the front and back entrances, ensuring the dead bolts slid in all the way. She ran back up to Stefan. "Let me check your shoulder."

  "No, no, no." He fussed, his breaths still labored. “I can’t stand you touching it. It hurts too much.”

  "Do you have any sulfa powder we could use to pack it in to stop the bleeding? If not, I should cauterize it. You'll need some more pot to dull the pain."

  "Forget about that."

  "You could bleed out if we don’t."

  "Get Ashton first. Then you can play doctor."

  She leaned in closer, letting her hand linger over the top of his. His fingertips touched hers. His hand rested on her cheek. He was as scared as she was.

  "Go," he whispered. "Hurry. He's downstairs. Probably still be unconscious."

  She stood. "I'm sorry I shot you. Seriously. Oh my God, your leg too."

  He glanced at his leg and shook his head.

  "I had no choice, but it didn't matter anyway."

  He shared her loss, her fear, her homesickness—all of it—with one single look. “I’ll pull through. We just have to stick together.”

  She raced into Stefan's room, but there was no one there. A different room? She checked all the rooms, included the interrogation room; the one that Trevor had told her about on their first night…how something was off about Stefan, how he was lured in there and the power kicked out, how he said strange things to him. Her head was now light and woozy as she staggered into the dark theatre room and turned on the lights. She leaned over a chair, still trying to look around the spinning room for Ashton, but it was quiet. There was not a soul down there. The sickness was spreading as she walked back into Stefan's bedroom. She reached for the storage room door and swung it open. She walked past the wine shelving and placed her hand on the door to the passageway. It wasn’t just locked. It was as though it was sealed or boarded shut. She slammed her fists angrily into it over and over again, but it didn't budge. By the time she stopped, her knuckles were scraped and bleeding.

  Wobbling over to the hall, she was brought to her knees by a piercing noise in her head. Stay a while. It was unrelenting.

  Chapter Twenty-four - Trevor

  He dug another grave. More bones. Bones that belonged to actual people. The devil's spot on the Caribbean was real, and he belonged there. Trevor crouched to his knees and touched one of the bones. Grains of sand crunched between his teeth, his tongue dry, his body covered in sticky sweat. He could smell his own body odor and bad breath. Down on his hands and knees, he began pawing handfuls of sand like a dog. The sand was wet and dark; the coolness felt good against his skin.

  Bruce angled Trevor aside and finished the job for him, showing him yet another grave, the bones worn, and the sand spilling around them. They were a mix of gray and brown. Bruce wiped sweat from his brow and finished one more grave. They were shallower than six feet but would suffice. The final grave revealed the bones of a child.

  Bruce's voice was bitter. "There are more. We've seen enough."

  Trevor cursed under his breath. "What now?"

  Bruce spiked the shovel and wiped his mouth. He looked up at the moon and sighed. "We get that girl of yours away from the kid."

  "Stefan?"

  He nodded. "I don't think it was his doing, but the island got a hold of him. Once it does that, it doesn't let go. I don't trust these folk here, not for a second, but the kid had a hand in this. Whether he was of the right mind or not. He lost control."

  "What makes you so sure?"

  "His eyes aren't right. Not anymore. Plus, he has access everywhere. You said it yourself. He was gone all day, while shit hit the fan with your friends."

  "Would he hurt Erin?" He could see her clearly in his mind, a bright aura around her smiling face. The way her cheeks blushed when she was nervous or embarrassed. He missed her coconut-scented hair, the subtle curves of her hips, her soft white skin, her freckled nose, chest, and arms.

  "I wouldn't figure it. But if she tried to leave…Well, that's a whole different story there."

  Bruce shuffled to his left as Trevor looked up at him. As tears formed in Trevor's eyes, the sky broke and spilled, rain falling down on them gently. The sand in his hands turned to clay as the floodgates opened, pouring down on two damaged men—one old, one young. Bruce handed him his gun. "Keep it dry," he said. "Whatever it takes...you're leaving."

  Trevor nodded and rose to his feet. Bruce looked at him expressionless. "What is it you did?" he yelled through the downpour. "I took everything from a man. You?"

  "Enough to
be here."

  They had no significant plan, only the need to save Erin, and they were on the same page. The walk felt long, the rain weighing them down in the sand. They made it to the trees and jogged right out of plain sight, hugging the tree line which gave them shelter. They walked around the south side, Stefan's horror house coming into sight.

  Other footsteps blended with the patter of rain. Trevor heard scurrying sounds.

  He sidestepped around a tree and spotted a woman in the distance. It was difficult to tell, but she looked older, just standing there like she was waiting for someone. It wasn't Cassidy.

  Bruce’s rifle fired. Trevor turned. Bruce was on his back, trying to fight off a man who was throwing chaotic punches. Finally finding traction between his feet and the wet ground, Trevor surged forward for the rifle, grabbed it, and jabbed the butt end to the man's jaw. The impact was solid. The man lay on top of Bruce, out cold. Trevor turned to locate the woman again. She was gone.

  "A little help here," groaned a battered Bruce from underneath the unconscious man.

  ***

  A bucket of water to his face did the trick. Tied to a chair, in the middle of Bruce's cabin, the man that Bruce called Sebastian awoke.

  "Been killing young girls?"

  He blinked his eyes to wake himself up and then looked at Trevor curiously. "Was that me?"

  Trevor reared back and hit him square on the nose, knocking his head back. He rested his head forward, chin down to his chest, and muttered something Trevor couldn’t make out.

  "What do you want with us?" asked Trevor.

  "I think the question is, what do you want with us." He rolled his head back, holding it loosely to the side, blood leaking from his nose.

  "Oh, okay!" Trevor patted him on the shoulder. "I'd like a one-way ticket off this island. I'll take Ashton and Erin and be on my way. Bruce is coming with us too."

  Sebastian snapped his fingers. "Granted." He chuckled obnoxiously, his large Adam’s apple plunging up and down with each break in his voice. Trevor's skin itched as he waited for him to stop. "What makes you think you can't leave? And why would I decide that?"

  "Why'd you attack us back there then?" asked Trevor.

  "Did I? Because I heard a gunshot. You attempted to take my life…Bruce, is it?"

  "Ignore him, kid. He'll say anything he has to. He's with the island."

  Sebastian gave him a sarcastic look. "Yes, I am on the island. Aren't we all?"

  "We know you killed Skye."

  "And how is that?"

  Trevor could access it far too quickly; recalling waking up in bloodied sheets, her open mouth and eyes, her throat.

  Sebastian continued, "A little bird told me you killed her."

  "Ignore him, kid!"

  "Yes, ignore what you already know," said Sebastian.

  Could I have? Trevor's head hurt as he tried to access time that was lost. There was something important, something... "Skye and Ashton had both gone missing, but the notes...the notes had changed. It wasn't part of Stefan's game, it was your own. You did this. You did something to me and put me there with her body. You..." Trevor trailed off. "I saw her. Her dead face..." Tears fell. "You killed my friend." His gun was lifting, but Bruce's hand rested gently on top to lower it back down.

  "I didn’t kill anybody. I wouldn’t do that. And it seems to me the strange activities started happening the moment you folks stepped foot on this island," said Sebastian.

  Bruce cut in, trying to deter some of Trevor's anger. "We're here for some simple answers. Hang tight while I get my kit."

  Trevor turned to watch Bruce collect a tool bag. When he opened it up on the couch, an assortment of knives and pliers were revealed. "Toenails or fingernails to start? They might not be a game changer, but they're a good appetizer. What will it be, Sebastian?" Bruce pulled out pliers and paused, his face contracted. "Sebastian. I don't like that name. Sounds like a goddamn lame horse." He opened the pliers and ran his thumb over the corrugated part. "This whole mess with their friend...We won't even start there. How's that sound?" No answer. "Perfect. We require Erin. She's at Stefan's, yes?"

  No reply. He moved his tongue along his teeth to check if any were missing, then spit blood on the floor like any tough guy should.

  "Okay." Without any taunting for effect, Bruce squeezed his pliers and ripped off a fingernail in one quick motion. Sebastian howled, spitting everywhere as he breathed in short bursts.

  "We need the girl. Where is she?"

  "Your sins could only be absolved here, but it will never be permitted.”

  Out came another nail, along with a scream that shook the cabin.

  "Should I switch to one of the little piggies?" Trevor couldn't look at the fleshy fingertips, but got a glimpse of the nails on the floor.

  "Stay a while, gentlemen. Time is on our side." His smile widened.

  "What did you say?"

  "I said stay a while, Trevor. Why would you wish to leave?"

  Bruce reached into the bag and pulled out wire clippers, placing them around Sebastian's pinky toe. "This little piggy? Should it go to market?"

  Bruce's hand tightened around the handle.

  "Okay!" Sebastian laughed with relief. "She's with your brave and noble owner, in his eyesore of a home."

  "Good. We assumed as much but appreciate your cooperation. Next, your clan. Where are the others positioned?" Bruce looked to Trevor. "This one might be a little trickier."

  Without giving him time to answer, he clipped his toe off, and it hit the floor. The sight of it rolling around made Trevor feel sick.

  "Your blood will taste sweet in the shadows of—" Bruce had already pulled out a short blade and thrust it into Sebastian’s leg. His scream was so loud, it echoed, like it came from another place.

  "My blood is old dust. And yours is on the floor. Where are they?"

  Sebastian contorted his face in disgust, pure disdain. "The children are on the other side. Teresa could be anywhere.”

  "Oh, brother..." Bruce squeezed the handle of the knife in his leg.

  "She's waiting to intercept the boat! The boat!" Bruce pulled the knife out.

  Bruce looked at Trevor. "Gut up, soldier." He slapped him in the shoulder. "I'll take care of the crazed woman. You get Erin and meet me on the south side at the dock. Come hell or high water, you make it happen. All right?"

  "You’re fools!” Sebastian hissed.

  "Yeah, yeah. I'm not going anywhere, princess. I'd never leave you." Bruce turned to Trevor. "Got that gun of yours still?"

  Trevor felt around his waist and touched the handle. "Yeah."

  "Good man. You go get your woman now."

  Trevor left feeling queasy, his legs like jelly.

  Sebastian’s veins bulged in his forehead and sweat dripped from his chin. “You know the truth. Isn’t that right, Trevor? But you tell yourself that I’m the monster. Go on. If it makes you feel better, you go ahead.”

  Trevor remembered that night clearly. It had never left him. Standing at the end of the dock, looking out at the beach…Behind the first set of trees, there was a man, shovelling dirt into a pit. A grave. He had just stood there and watched. That man was him.

  Trevor stepped out of Bruce’s cabin. The rain was still coming down hard.

  Chapter Twenty-five - Erin

  Had Ashton fled from Stefan?

  Erin arrived at the top of the stairs. Stefan was back on the couch where she had last seen him. He was motionless, but still breathing. He had something in his hands. It was the folder.

  "What is this?" He opened it up and flipped through it, looking at the photographs of the dead policewoman.

  "Where's Ashton?" she asked.

  "He's not in my room?"

  Erin shook her head, waiting for a reaction.

  He lowered his head. "It's this place. It's this…place!"

  "How did they get to him?"

  "I don't know, Erin. I don't know how it works." He sounded like such a defeatist. It was
all over based on the tumbling tones of his dry voice.

  "Why was the wine room door sealed off?"

  He rose to his feet with a grimace. "I. Don't. Know. Why am I finding a folder here with pictures of a dead cop and a note that I can only assume was for you?" He was staring straight through her. "You’ve seen this already…”

  "It was a long time ago."

  He threw his hands up in the air along with the folder, sending the photographs everywhere. "Oh! Well that's fine then. Let's mosey on out of here. Doesn't seem like anyone is trying to use this against you or anything." His eyes shifted and he stared at his feet, a picture of the dead cop next to them with blood smudged on the corner from Stefan's hand. "What did you do?" he asked. He seemed fearful, staring at Erin like she was a dangerous killer.

  She couldn't begin to explain.

  "Well?"

  "I don't expect you to understand. I don't want you to."

  "You're the reason this is all happening. Help me understand. How can this island have anything to do with this?" He looked down at the photographs again.

  "I don't know, I don't know, I just—I..." She exhaled. "This is my punishment." He opened his mouth to ask another question but fell silent as he studied her despairing face.

  “This is my reckoning. I’ve been waiting for it for too long.”

  “Good. I thought you were going to say something to scare me more,” he replied.

  She shook her head. “It was an accident.”

  “You murdered a cop?”

  Then, a bang at the door made them both flinch. "GET AWAY FROM THE DOOR!" It was Trevor. Bang. Bang. More gunshots fired. Trevor pulled his gun and stepped in front of Erin. Is he going to kill us both?

  Trevor’s eyes were red, his skin white, and he was soaked, covered in sand from head to toe. The lunacy of his entire being was terrifying. His eyes darted back and forth with both confusion and rage. Stefan held out his hands to block Erin, and a staring contest ensued. "Just let her go," said Trevor.