by R. R. Banks
As we settled in around the fire to watch Gavin cook the fish he had caught, there was a sense of tension and unease that made the space around us feel heavy.
"What do you do, Gavin?" I finally asked.
I was just trying to break the silence even though I didn't actually care about the answer. He could have told me that he was trained in the ancient art of grilling pork chops while doing stunts on a tightrope and I likely would have had the same reaction as I would have had to any other answer.
The other man hesitated and I looked up at him.
"Um," Gavin said. "I captain private charters on my boat and I fish.”
"What type of charters?" Eleanor asked, her voice sounding soft and tired.
Gavin looked at her and I noticed that he seemed to be searching for the right answer.
"Anything that the client wants," he answered.
Before I could ask another question, Gavin pulled the fish from the fire and started dividing it up. We fell silent as we ate and I found my mind drifting to the meals served on the cruise ship. Elaborate, delectable, and never-ending, the meals were the thing that I was looking forward to most about the vacation, and what I had been enjoying the most when my trip was cut short by the need to rescue Eleanor. I knew that the food probably wasn’t what should be on my mind at that moment, but as a single man who had never mastered the culinary art of anything beyond a microwave or delivery menu, it was a major sticking point with me. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that Eleanor was constantly shifting positions and trying to pull the scrap of her dress down to cover herself more as she sat there. It was a bit of a contrast from the way that she had behaved when we were alone together in that hotel room, but I suppose it was a lesson in context. Gavin seemed to notice the same thing and leaned slightly toward her.
"That trunk over there has some clothes in it," he told her. "They’re all mine, but you might be able to find something that would work for you if you wanted to change. There might even be a bar of soap in the kit that you can use. There's a little pool with a waterfall up near the ridge that would make a good bathtub."
Eleanor’s face lit up.
"Thank you," she said and she ran toward the trunk like it was Christmas morning.
She rummaged through and pulled out a light blue button-up shirt. Carrying that, a bar of soap, and what looked like a small hand towel, I watched her make her way up the ridge. Though we had already explored that area together some when we were gathering the fruit that was piled, untouched, in the sand beside the firepit, I still didn't feel comfortable with her being completely on her own. I waited for a few moments and then followed her. When I reached the top of the ridge I listened for the sound of water, following it toward an edge that looked down over a crystalline pool constantly refreshed by a picturesque waterfall. Eleanor had her back to me in the water and was rubbing the bar of soap between her hands. She reached to rest the soap to the rocks on the edge of the water, and the movement angled her body enough that I was able to see the swell of her breast. Her head tilted back as she began smoothing her hands along her skin with the soft white bubbles that had formed on her hands.
I could feel my body reacting to the sight. I knew that I should turn away, but Eleanor turned slightly and I watched her hands glaze over her breasts and then up her slender neck and into her hair. It was intoxicating and I couldn't take my eyes off of her. I stood in place until I saw her move toward the edge of the pool and climb out, reaching down for the towel to dry herself. I rushed back down to the beach, grabbed one of the blankets that we had found in the cabin and carried it off to a different section of the beach so that I could create my own camp. I needed to keep my mind clear if I was going to keep us alive and find a way off of this island.
Chapter Eight
Eleanor
The men were already awake when I woke the next morning. I felt like I had been sleeping for days. It was as if my body had fought to stay asleep so that I didn’t have to completely come to terms with what was going on. Though after the turmoil of my escape and the storm, I had craved the controlled protection of a manmade shelter, I hadn’t been able to bring myself to brave the water again to get to the crashed boat. I knew that I was going to have to get to that place at some point if we were going to spend more than a couple of days on this island, but right then I just couldn’t stand the thought of feeling the sand disappear beneath my feet again. Instead, I dug out a shallow trench in the sand, lined it with a blanket, and tucked myself in to sleep, my only reassurance the gorgeous weather and cool, salty breeze that helped to ease the fear of being so exposed.
Tilting my head back, I glanced up at the shimmering blue sky above me. Deep in the recesses of my mind I could remember the summer days that I had spent with my father and brothers in the woods. In those days, it had seemed like I was barely ever inside. Those were far simpler times. Though my family had never been lacking money, during my childhood, I hadn’t been really aware of our wealth. I knew that their main home was extremely large and had a staff to help us, and that we had several other homes in different spots that we liked to visit for vacation, but it had never really occurred to me that that was any different than other people. My parents weren’t like the stiff, stilted rich people we encountered in town or at the parties that my parents would throw. I couldn’t stand the guests at those parties. I never understood why my parents would invite people like them to our house. They were cold, pretentious, and boring, a total contrast to both my mother and my father. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized they had invited them because they were our social circle. In fact, we were the wealthiest of them, our fortune built on the backs of businesses that many of those guests ran, but didn’t own.
I figured out later that much of the unpleasantness of those people was likely inspired by envy that they were never able to achieve the level of success that my family had, and I was always grateful that my family hadn’t let our money change us. If it had, I wouldn’t have been able to find my refuge in the outdoor leisure and camping trips that we frequently took. I far preferred nature to buildings and animals to people, and though I had strayed far from those adventurous trips as I got older, what I had learned remained tightly held in my mind as a lingering reminder of who I had been.
Given the position of the sun in the sky, it was clear that I had slept through the morning. It seemed to be about noon and I could only assume that the men had been awake for several hours. They had managed to move around me asleep on the beach without waking me, which was somewhat disturbing. I would have liked to think that I had a more developed system of self-preservation than to be able to sink so deeply into sleep that I wouldn’t be woken even by men going through the motions of trying to create livable surroundings for us. Apparently, however, I needed the sleep so much that my mind and my body had completely shut down, unwilling to sacrifice even a minute of rest to be aware of what was happening around me.
I stretched and turned to watch the men on the boat, occasionally exchanging a few words that were too low for me to hear over the breaking of the waves on the shore.
"Good morning," I finally called out.
Both men turned to look at me and Hunter waved.
"Come over here," he called to her. "We have some things we want to show you."
I walked across the sandbar and stared at the water. In the light of morning it didn’t seem as intimidating. I could see to the bottom. No sea monsters. But I still wasn’t willing to just wander into it. A thought popped into my mind and I went to work. A few moments later I knelt on a large trunk and used a long, thick branch from one of the trees to push myself toward the beach, feeling proud of myself for coming up with it. It was something that my father would have thought of immediately, and I hoped that somehow, he was able to see me and that he was proud. When I got to the side of the boat, Hunter climbed partway down the ladder to meet me. He secured the trunk and branch to the ladder with a rope so that we could use it to go the othe
r direction and reached down a hand for me.
"Come with me," Hunter said.
I climbed up the ladder onto the boat and walked with Hunter over to where Gavin was standing. He pointed at the beach.
"We put that together this morning," he told me.
In the sand across the water in front of me was a large collection of seashells arranged to spell out "HELP" against the backdrop of the beach. The creation was fairly impressive, but I worried about it being seen by people who might be passing by the island in the air.
"Do you think it's big enough for a plane or helicopter to see?" I asked.
"Between that and our fire, we’re about as visible as we can get given the materials that we have," Hunter told me.
The men gathered a few more supplies from the boat, including planks of wood that they had broken off of the deck, and we cross the water to gather by the fire. Despite the muggy heat of the island, this was becoming our central location, as if it were the kitchen of the giant new home that was this island. Somehow, though, I doubted that I was going to find the cappuccino machine and panini maker here that I would have found in my own kitchen, and I didn’t think that a white-coated chef was going to climb down from one of the banana trees to whip up a nice island bird-egg quiche for me for brunch. I might have once loved camping, but it had been many decades since I had roughed it, and I was now very much accustomed to the comforts my life had afforded me. It wasn’t something that I loved to admit to myself, and it had precisely been what I asked Noah not to tell anybody, but right about then as I started to feel the coffee deprivation settle in, I was realizing that I might be in far over my head. I was right with what I told Hunter. I didn’t have any of the Cub Scout badges.
"What do we do now?" I asked when we had gotten back and were sitting around the fire waiting for our breakfast to cook. "Just wait?"
“Wait for what?” Hunter asked.
“Rescue? To be absorbed by a tribe from another island? For another storm to come and wipe us out?”
"We really should do some more exploring around the island to find out as much about it as we can," Gavin said, choosing to ignore me.
"And then we need to start thinking about a shelter,” Hunter added.
The word made my chest constrict painfully.
"A shelter?" I asked, slightly louder than I had intended. "We only need a shelter if we’re planning on being here for a while, and I, for one, am not."
“Do you have some kind of recovery team on the way that we should know about?” Gavin asked. “Because if you do, I’m going to forego trying to make a meal out of these fish and wait for something a little more substantial.”
"The chances of us getting off of this island in the next 24 hours are slim to none," Hunter said a bit more gently than Gavin’s harsh tone. "Which means that we need somewhere to sleep."
"I’ll sleep in the cabin," I said.
Now that I had rigged my own transportation across the water I didn’t mind the thought of curling up on the berth again to get some sleep without the sand.
"That's fine for tonight," Gavin said, "but what if no one finds us for a few days and another storm hits? That boat is already in such bad condition that another wave could completely splinter it and there would be nothing to protect you from being drawn out to sea with the wreckage."
The words sent a chill down my spine. The only thing that sounded more terrifying to me than just being pulled down into the water while I was trying to swim was becoming part of sea monster snack mix.
"After lunch, we’ll look around some and see if we can find anything that would be helpful in building a shelter," Hunter suggested. "Eleanor, do you want us to go together?"
I straightened my spine and lifted my chin slightly, trying to look as dignified and in-control as I could with my two-day old makeup caked in streams down my face and my hair sticking out from my head at odd angles.
"No," I said with all of the confidence that I could muster. "I can do it on my own."
I stalked off toward the jungle, fighting the tears that stung in my eyes and immediately regretting my decision to shun Hunter’s help with literally no intention other than to try to sound like I wasn’t terrified when the truth was that despite telling myself that I was going to be strong, I felt more scared and vulnerable than I did even when we first arrived on the island. All of the pain and fear that Virgil had caused me over the years was building up in me again, bubbling up from the place where I had stored it with the hope of never having to deal with it ever again. In the years that I had devoted to him, Virgil had methodically chipped away at my strength, my confidence, even my belief in my own ability to make decisions and handle what came my way. I had never been like that. He had taken the person my father had raised me to be and destroyed her, dissolving that woman through years of mistreatment.
I had lost count of the times that I cried in private, sequestered away in one of the many anonymous rooms in the gigantic house that we had shared and that had always seemed ridiculous. There was no need for us to have that big of a house. It wasn’t like we had any children to indulge with all of the space, and when I did have the opportunity to have Noah over when he was young, Virgil had ensured that the time we spent together was limited to only three of the rooms. I knew that it was for show. He loved impressing people he thought were important and who fueled his hunger for money and power. I hated what it represented, but all too soon I felt like I didn’t have any way out. There was nothing that I could do to stop him.
When I had finally gotten the courage to walk away from him, I had promised myself that I would never feel that way again. After months of preparation and convincing myself that I was not only capable of being without him and defying his commands, but that all of the risk that I would face was worth it, I had taken the evidence that I had gathered against him and used it as leverage to escape. Signing the divorce papers had been like signing the declaration of my freedom. I took only the bare essentials when I left, knowing that anything that I owned was readily replaceable and not important enough to lay my life on the line for, because as I dragged what few necessary and sentimental belongings out of the house after Virgil left in a rage I knew that if he had shown back up and witnessed my leaving, I likely wouldn’t survive. Despite that, I left that house feeling like I had finally reclaimed my life for good.
Now, though, I was forced to feel that old familiar fear and helplessness again. In my marriage, I had been at Virgil’s mercy. Now I was at the mercy of the island and the men with whom I was forced to share it. I hated feeling like I didn't know what was happening or what I was supposed to do next, but what I hated even more was that both of these men seemed to have assumed that I was helpless. Suddenly, I felt like the sense of freedom and power I had gotten when I finalized the divorce was all an illusion. I thought that I was getting away from the looks of pity and the disdain that I had been so accustomed to getting, and the ever-present feeling of oppression that came from being told daily that I wasn’t capable of doing anything. At least when I had been married to Virgil I had usually been able to anticipate the challenges and even how he was going to react to me. Most of the time I knew what was going to infuriate him, how he was going to be able to twist and manipulate the situation into somehow being my fault, and then whether I should expect him to be angry, aggressive, or even violent. While this didn't make it any more pleasant to contend with him, at least it made it a little easier for me to tap into my coping mechanisms to deal with whatever came my way. I had melted into the world around me, becoming the wallpaper in Virgil's life. Unobtrusive, elegant, and the perfect way to tie in the details of the rest of the room. That was what he expected me to be. He expected me to be quiet and appealing, seamlessly fitting in with whatever situation I was in and enhancing his position in the world without regard to my own thoughts or needs. In his mind, I had neither.
I had been prepared then. I hated every moment of it, but at least I knew those fears. Those we
re evils I was familiar with and I could combat in my own mind. Now I was in a world filled with fears and challenges that I couldn’t escape just by going inside myself and pretending that I was somewhere else or that it was all just a game, a test of how much I had learned about him and how much better I could do next time. This island was a new nightmare and I didn’t know what was around the next corner. The evidence that I had against Virgil hadn’t intimidated him for long and now I was forced to run from men hell-bent on ensuring that I never breathed a word of what I knew to any of the laundry list of people, both legitimate and not, who wanted to get their hands on Virgil. I was on an unsettled island with no means of communication or escape. We had only the food we could scavenge and the shelter we were yet to build, both of which were things that Hunter and Gavin apparently felt I was wholly unable to handle.
I was starting to feel that same cold wash of abandonment and loneliness that had settled into me over the months of my early marriage and on into the first years when part of me was still hoping that things would change, when I had watched the life I had known and the one I had always planned for myself slip away. Maybe I should have just ignored everything that I knew about Virgil; maybe I should have just done as he asked and burned the documents that I eventually used to release myself from his clutches. It was something that I had gone over many times in my mind. I had clung to those pieces of evidence as the magic key that got me out of my marriage, but it didn’t take long for me to realize that I wasn’t protecting myself with these documents and transcripts. Instead, I was putting myself into even more danger by holding onto them. I wanted to believe deep inside that holding onto them was out of spite. I wanted to know that I had that dirt on him and that somehow there was power in it, but if that was really the case, I would have handed them over to the authorities, or even to his rivals who would have been just as interested in them as the government.