Devil's Island

by Mark Lukens

  “You followed me,” Laura said, not even sure if the sheriff could hear her words over the din of the rain. “You know I’m right,” she said louder, and she knew he’d heard her this time. “You know I can see this. You knew I would find this woman. You used me.”

  The sheriff showed no reaction as his men gathered behind him. He stared at her with emotionless dark eyes. “Go home, Laura. We’ll take it from here.”

  What else could she do? She wanted to argue with him, but instead she just walked away from the sheriff and his men, nearly slipping in the mud along the way.

  She made her way back across the rocks as the path beside the river narrowed again, going back the same way she had come. The raging river was a rush of noise to her right. Moments later she found the hillside she had crawled down a little earlier, the rain already washing away her tracks. She pulled herself back up the hillside, using the brush and small trees like handles to hold on to.

  She got to the top of the hill and saw her tiny Honda parked at the side of the road. She could already see the flashing blue and red lights at the top of the hill before she’d even climbed over it. Sheriff cars, a coroner’s van, and a forensics van were all parked up and down the road that had been empty when she’d first gotten here. Two officers stood beside the police car closest to Laura’s car, but they didn’t seem alarmed or surprised to see her climbing out of the trees, covered in mud, her clothes soaked and clinging to her shapely body.

  Were those knowing grins on the police officers’ faces? Smug smiles?

  Laura crossed the two lane road and got inside her car. She knew she was getting mud all over the place but she had anticipated that. She had laid down newspaper on the floor mats and an old blanket over the driver’s seat. The blankets and paper should keep most of the mud from getting all over the place. She pulled her car keys out of her pocket and sighed. She started her car and hit the windshield wipers and the defrost—the windows were already beginning to fog up from her quick breaths.

  She checked her cell phone and saw that someone had left a message. It wasn’t a phone number that she recognized.

  But she knew it was the woman named Kristen from Los Angeles—she could feel it before she even listened to the voicemail message.

  She pressed the button on her phone with her damp fingers and put the voicemail on speaker. She listened to Kristen’s voice on the message asking if she was still available to go with the documentary film crew down to the Caribbean to investigate a haunted manor on an island. Kristen had told Laura before in an earlier conversation that they needed her help and that she would be compensated very well for her time.

  Laura was nervous about going to the island. She’d hardly been out of Tennessee in her life, but the money was a huge incentive. She was going to be paid more money than she could make in two years at the insurance agency—maybe even three years. Her car needed work desperately: the air conditioner didn’t blow cold air anymore and the passenger window wouldn’t roll down at all now. But more than anything, she wanted to help her Aunt Dorothy out. She lived with her aunt, and between her aunt’s social security payments and the little bit of money that Laura made, they barely got by. She would love to help her aunt out with her medical bills.

  But it wasn’t only the money that tempted her to say yes to their request. She wanted to be with people who didn’t doubt her psychic abilities, people who would believe in her, people who wouldn’t treat her like a freak or a wacko, people who needed her.

  She put her car into drive and pulled away from the side of the road. She was already feeling a little better.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Los Angeles—Nick Gorman’s offices

  Nick stared at the movie screen at the grainy black and white photo of Laura Coleman. She was a Finder and she was going to be the most crucial part of this expedition.

  “Laura’s onboard and ready to go,” Kristen said from across the aisle.

  “Good,” Nick answered. “What about Billy? Did you get a hold of him?”

  “Yes. He’s coming back from a film shoot in Honduras.”

  Nick already knew that. He also knew that Billy had gotten into some pretty bad gambling and drug problems with a local thug named Jimmy Izzo. Nick had paid Jimmy enough to stay off of Billy’s back for a little while, and Nick had promised to pay the rest of Billy’s debt if he agreed to join this film crew with him. Nick was pretty sure that Billy’s trip down to Honduras was a way to get out of town while Jimmy’s guys were looking for him. He probably hadn’t planned on ever coming back to L.A., which was a shame because Billy Toomer was one of the best cameramen and tech guys Nick had ever worked with. Nick wanted Billy on this team, and now Nick owned Billy—he felt at some point he was going to need Billy’s unquestioning loyalty on Devil’s Island.

  “I got a hold of Billy,” Kristen continued. “He said he would drop whatever he was doing to work with you again.”

  Nick smiled—he was sure that was true.

  • • • • •

  Los Angeles—Billy Toomer’s house

  Billy unlocked and opened the door to his home and slid the two larger suitcases inside the kitchen. He still had his two smaller travel bags in one hand. He turned and watched the cab that had just driven him here from the airport pull out onto the street and speed off into the night. Billy entered his home and closed the door. He locked the deadbolt while still holding two of his travel bags on his arm. He’d taken a lot more bags with him than usual because he hadn’t been sure when he was going to be able to come back.

  Thank God Nick had helped him out. And he was getting a good paying gig on top of it. He left the two large suitcases by the door. He would be heading back to the airport soon so why bother unpacking.

  He remembered Kristen’s call.

  The thought of seeing Kristen again brightened him up a little. They had worked on a few film shoots together and even had a little bit of a fling. But it hadn’t worked out in the end. Maybe they could try again.

  Billy set his travel bags on the kitchen table and dropped his keys into the dish on the counter. He sorted through the stack of mail that had been stuffed into his mailbox, throwing most of it away. And then he headed right for the refrigerator.

  His place looked as neat as he had left it. At least it hadn’t been ransacked by Jimmy’s boys while he’d been gone. The house was a rental, just a little bungalow, and he didn’t own too many valuables, but he still didn’t want everything trashed. He had already sold most of his movie memorabilia collection (most of which he had stolen off of film shoots) to finance his gambling habit and his taste for pain pills, so there wasn’t much money left.

  He was tired and relieved at the same time, like all of the stress had melted off of him now that Nick Gorman had helped him out. Things were brightening up and maybe his luck was changing; maybe getting back together with Nick and Kristen was a good omen. They’d had a lot of good times on the set.

  Kristen had said something about going down to a haunted island in the Caribbean Sea to shoot a documentary with Nick. Billy hadn’t realized that Nick had gotten into docs now, but oh well, he didn’t believe in that paranormal shit—but it was always trendy. It didn’t really matter, Billy would’ve gone to a film shoot in Chernobyl if Nick had asked him to after he had helped him out of this jam with Jimmy Izzo.

  Billy opened his fridge and grabbed a cold bottle of beer. There were only four left—he would need to go to the store soon. And he didn’t have too many pills left. Maybe he would run over to Darrell’s house and get a thirty day supply now that he knew he had some money coming. At least Darrell might front him a ten day supply.

  After cracking open the beer and entering the living room off of the kitchen, Billy stopped in his tracks. The beer bottle nearly slipped out of his fingers. A man was sitting in the recliner. He was leaned back and comfortable. He wore a dark suit and sunglasses even though he sat in the dark. The most disturbing thing was that the man had a nine millimeter p
istol with a silencer attached to it resting on one thigh.

  “Hello, Billy,” the man said.

  Billy couldn’t speak for a moment, fear drying up his words.

  “Jimmy sends his regards,” the man said with a smile.

  A shuffling noise from down the hall turned Billy’s eyes towards a hulk of a man stepping out from the darkness. He was at least six foot four inches and his black T-shirt and pants were stretched across taut muscle. His head was clean-shaven. He had the brow of a caveman and the smile of an executioner.

  Billy turned back to the smaller man with the gun who sat patiently in the recliner, his eyes hidden behind the sunglasses. “I … I paid Jimmy back,” Billy lied. He knew it was a lie. He knew that Nick Gorman had paid some of the money back to get Jimmy off of his back, but not everything. Nick wanted him on his crew down in the Caribbean before the debt would be paid off in full.

  “Mr. Izzo,” the man corrected. “You call him Mr. Izzo.”

  “Mr. Izzo,” Billy repeated. “We’re all squared up now.”

  “Part of the money has been repaid, but you still owe more.”

  “I know,” Billy answered with panic in his voice. “I know, but I’m going to have it. I just got a great gig with Nick Gorman. I’m sure you’ve heard of him. I’m working on one of his films. I’m going to have the rest of the money, I swear.”

  The man in the suit sighed like he hated this part of the job. “It’s true that part of your debt has been paid, but we’re still worried about the rest of it.”

  “You’ll get it. I swear.”

  The enforcer began walking towards Billy, cracking his knuckles.

  “Please,” Billy said. “You don’t have to do this. After I pay Mr. Izzo back, you’ll never hear from me again.”

  “We just want to make sure you remember that you still owe Mr. Izzo,” the man in the recliner said. His fingers tightened around his pistol and Billy knew what that meant—he was screwed. He couldn’t run and he’d never be able to fight back. He felt like some schoolyard wimp giving in to the bullies and letting them make their statement to the other kids.

  He set his beer down on the nearest side table and looked at the enforcer who was smiling at him now.

  “Please,” Billy whispered. “Not too bad.”

  The enforcer swung his fist and it connected with Billy’s jaw. The pain was instantaneous and bright motes of light danced in his eyes. He felt himself falling to the floor, but he also felt numb, his body going weak. The last thing he remembered was being kicked in the stomach.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Los Angeles—Nick Gorman’s offices

  “So the team’s ready,” Nick said.

  “Yes,” Kristen told him.

  “Good. What about a leader? I need the best. Did you get a hold of Shane Edwards?”

  Kristen pressed the button on her remote control and the grainy photograph of Laura on the screen was replaced with a photo of a ruggedly handsome man in his mid-thirties.

  “There’s just one catch,” Kristen said.

  Nick raised his eyebrows. “A catch?”

  “Shane Edwards quit ghost hunting about four years ago.”

  “He quit? I mean I heard about his show being cancelled, I remember that shitstorm, but … but he quit everything?”

  “Yes.”

  “So … what did he say when you talked to him?”

  Kristen just stared at Nick.

  “What’s wrong? You did get a hold of him, didn’t you?”

  “He’s a tough guy to track down.”

  “Don’t tell me you can’t find this guy.”

  Kristen couldn’t hide her smile. “Yeah, I found him.”

  “Where?”

  “He went back to Louisiana. To a marina. He lives there on a houseboat.”

  “So what did he say?”

  “I haven’t been able to reach him by phone or e-mail. It’s like he’s cut himself off from the world.”

  “Then go talk to him in person,” Nick said and stood up from his seat. “Fly to Louisiana and get Shane Edwards to join our team.”

  “I could have someone else go down there—”

  “No. I want you down there talking to him personally.”

  Kristen couldn’t hide her shock. “What about The Boneyard production I still need to work on? And your doctor appointments?”

  “None of that’s important right now. Forget everything else. Have Julie and Aaron take over that project for now.”

  “Julie and Aaron?”

  “I’m sure they can handle it.”

  Kristen wasn’t so sure.

  “This is the most important thing we’re working on right now,” Nick told her. “I need that team in Florida by tomorrow morning. And I need Shane Edwards leading that team.”

  Kristen was speechless for a moment as she stood by her laptop, the last photograph on the screen showed a satellite photo of the boat marina in Louisiana where Shane lived. “We have people at our offices in New Orleans—” Kristen started, but Nick cut her words off.

  “No. I said I want you down there. I want you to talk to Shane face-to-face. I want you to convince him how important this documentary is. How important it could be for reviving his career. Give him whatever he wants. Double what he was getting for his show before it got canceled. Triple it if you have to. Just get him on board.”

  Nick stormed out of the screening room.

  Kristen only nodded as she watched Nick walk away. That was a lot of money he was offering Shane. She had a pit of nervousness in her stomach that felt like a rock was sitting there. She didn’t know why she was so nervous, why she had such a bad feeling about all of this.

  She closed her laptop and unplugged it from the power source. The gigantic screen went black. She didn’t need to make reservations for airline travel, she knew that Nick would let her use one of the company jets.

  There had to be more to this than just filming some documentary down on a Caribbean island. Nick was practically abandoning all other productions and not taking on anything new right now. He was pumping a huge sum of money into this documentary and devoting all of his time to it.

  What was down there on that island that Nick wanted so badly?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Los Angeles—Nick Gorman’s offices

  After the meeting with Nick, Kristen went right back to her desk and finished up her e-mails and a few other tasks as quickly as she could. She tidied up her area, turned off her computer and then went to Julie’s office at the other end of the building.

  She knocked on the doorframe even though the door was halfway open. Julie was on the phone and she smiled when she saw Kristen standing there. “Come in,” she mouthed the words to her.

  Kristen entered the small office. She had the folders and the latest draft of the script from The Boneyard production cradled in her arm.

  “Okay,” Julie said on the phone, holding up a finger for Kristen to wait. “Okay. Okay. Listen, I gotta go. I have someone here waiting to see me.” Pause. “Yes, it’s someone important.” She smiled at Kristen. “A director I can’t name,” she said into the phone and laughed. “Okay. Okay. I will. Okay. Okay. Bye.”

  Kristen sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs in front of Julie’s desk. She laid out the folders on her desk.

  “Can you believe that guy?” Julie said. “Can’t get him off the phone. I’m glad you came by. A lifesaver.”

  Kristen smiled at Julie. She liked Julie and Aaron, but she wasn’t sure if they were the right people to be putting in charge of this project. But she wasn’t going to argue with Nick—you never won an argument with Nick.

  “Nick asked me to put you on The Boneyard production for a few days.”

  “Me?” Julie asked with obvious shock.

  “Well, you and Aaron.”

  “Wait …” Julie’s face fell with feigned shock, and maybe even a glimmer of hope. “Oh my God, don’t tell me that you’re leaving …”

  “No
,” Kristen said. “Well, yeah. I have something else Nick wants me to work on.”

  “God, it must be important.”

  Kristen just nodded, not willing to divulge any details. Nick didn’t want anyone else in the office knowing about their project down in the Caribbean just like Nick didn’t want anyone else knowing about his cancer treatments. Nick could be very secretive about his projects and about many aspects of his life, and everyone who worked at his production company knew it. And Julie knew better than to pry.

  “Oh God, for a second there I thought something happened,” Julie said and Kristen could feel the invisible tentacles reaching out from Julie, trying to suck some tiny piece of information from her, some crumb of gossip that she could nibble on.

  “No, everything’s fine,” Kristen said, hoping to quell Julie’s suspicions, but she was sure rumors would be flying over drinks later.

  “But what about the Silverberg thing I’m working on now?”

  “You’ll just have to juggle it for a few days,” Kristen told her. “I don’t think I’ll be gone long.”

  Julie showed a tight and fake smile. “I will juggle.”

  “Here’s everything I’ve got on the production,” Kristen said, nodding down at the folders on Julie’s desk. “If you need any help, just call me.”

  “Got it,” Julie said and smiled even wider. She was always smiling.

  Kristen left Julie’s office and drove home to her small house in the Hills. On the drive there she called the pilot and instructed him to have one of the two jets ready. He had only landed a few hours ago with Nick from New York, so he was still on standby.

  She drove into the driveway of her home. It was a small three bedroom ranch-style home at the bottom of the Hollywood Hills. It was only fifteen hundred square feet on a small lot, but the house was already worth over a million dollars because of the insane real estate market here lately.