by Gayle, A. B.
“It’s an old injury; maybe nothing you can do at this late stage.”
A sudden memory flashed through Miles’ mind of his stand-off with Gil back at Haven Falls when the injured Jason Biggs had refused treatment. Army shit. Gideon had obviously seen action. Probably been wounded at least once. “One of the legacies of being soldier, I would imagine.” He turned back to contemplate the way the three-quarter moon shone on the ripples of the lagoon; the waves were smaller now the wind had dropped. “Comes with the territory,” he added softly. Hopefully Gideon wouldn’t detect the sarcasm in his voice. He found it hard to sympathise with people who believed that conflict could be cured with guns.
“Would you take a look anyway? In case?” Gideon stood and turned on the spotlight perched on the front of the boat’s awning, angling it to shine downwards.
“Do I get to undress you, or do you think I have X-ray vision?” Miles smirked at Gideon. He wasn’t bad looking in a blunt, macho way. Not really his type though. Nothing like Darren or even Gil who were just downright beautiful.
Gideon laughed at Miles’ comment. “That’s a leading question, doc, should I ask you what colour underwear I have on?” He stripped off his shirt. “Or even if I have any. Most folks assume I go commando.”
Miles gave a quick smirk at the joke and moved to stand behind Gideon, making sure his body didn’t cast a shadow. “What happened?” The skin on the soldier’s left shoulder was puckered. Ugly. Cheloid scarring had built up around the wound site. He twisted the man around slightly and looked at the opposite side. Gideon just caught his eye for a second and then stared straight ahead, probably remembering the incident that caused it: a small bullet wound, neat in comparison, only inches above his heart. Miles grunted in recognition. The one on the back was the exit wound. A high calibre bullet from the looks of things, the wound had healed untreated. The guy was lucky to be alive.
He fingered the rough skin for a minute. Why hadn’t the man tried some of the newer remedies, silicon strips and creams that would reduce scarring no matter how old it was? This was just what he could see though - the surface. Who knew what the tissue inside his shoulder was like. He twisted Gideon around further so he could see the rest of his back. Raised welts stood out. The guy had worn a black T-shirt on the plane and he hadn’t seen any of these, but their precise criss-crossing placement could only mean one thing.
Miles turned away and barely managed to resist throwing up the expensive whisky he’d just drunk. He retrieved the bottle from the seat where Gideon had placed it and unscrewed the lid. The large gulp helped to settle his stomach. Seemed like hair of the dog was working tonight.
Gideon reached for his shirt. “I’m sorry, Miles, but I wanted you to know. I’ve read your file, I know all about what happened to you. Now you know why I understand.”
“Sorry? That’s my line. No, I’m the one who should be apologising.” Miles shook his head and handed Gideon the bottle after taking another swig. “At least the bastard who did the same thing to me made sure he didn’t break the surface of my skin. You need someone to rub oil into those. There are ways to reduce the scarring.”
“You assume I want to.”
Miles glanced up, alerted by the change in Gideon’s voice. The softness he’d heard during the apology had been replaced by bitter certainty. He could relate to that. “Ah,” he sighed. “I think I’m beginning to understand. It’s not only the torture we have in common, more the need to remember.”
A bleak stare met Miles’ gaze. “Three of us were taken.” Gideon settled himself down on the edge of the craft again and pulled his shirt back on. “I was injured, but the others wouldn’t leave me. Sure, I got medical treatment, enough to make sure I survived. I can’t tell you much, official secrets crap. We weren’t officially there. Suffice to say, I’m ex-SBS. You’re an intelligent man; you can imagine what kind of missions I went on.” Gideon watched the doctor’s face as he spoke; a flash of something—disgust?—appeared and vanished almost instantly. “The men who were with me, we’d been in the regiment since training. I knew them both well; we were drinking buddies. Our captors thought they might get a better result by making us draw lots. I was the lucky one, if you can call it that. I got to live.”
Miles winced and returned to sit beside the still figure who was again clutching the bottle of whisky, but this time his knuckles were white with tension. I got to live. He knew just how that felt. The guilt, the remorse, wanting to turn time back or slip into an alternate version of the universe. “What happened?” he asked quietly.
“They threatened that unless I told them everything they wanted to know, they would shoot my friends. Of course, I didn’t tell them anything. The irony was I didn’t have much to tell, but I wouldn’t have, even so. So, in my case I got to see my colleagues executed in front of me.” Gideon glanced out across the lagoon again and took a hefty gulp of the whisky. He didn’t share with Miles how it felt to see someone’s brains blown out in front of him, specially someone he knew. They weren’t in an I’ve seen worse than you competition. His eyes lost their focus for a moment as he silently drank to the men he had known. It didn’t help to know that neither of his fellow soldiers had blamed him. He had, at least, shared a last glance with both of them. Their eyes had told him all he had needed to know.
The tragic story triggered memories Miles would rather forget, but it was good to be reminded he wasn’t alone. He waited while Gideon swallowed his whisky. He could tell that the man beside him was still deeply affected by the incident. Soldier or not, he was still a human being. The trouble with the world was too many people believed violence was the cure; in fact it was usually the cause of the problem.
Gideon turned and placed a hand on Miles arm. “Miles, when I said none of it was your fault, I meant it. My mates’ deaths were not my fault. I could have made something up, I could have lied. Maybe it would have worked, maybe it wouldn’t, but if our positions had been reversed, they would have done the same thing. ” Gideon expelled a gusty sigh and sat back, taking another pull on the bottle. It gave him a moment to think. “I know all the arguments, believe me. Why were we there? We had no business to be; it was their country, we were invaders, heard it all. Fact is, we were following orders. That’s what we signed up for; that’s what we trained for. War is like that, ugly, as you know. Point is, the fault lay with the men who chose to do that to us. They are to blame. The blood is on their hands. I might feel survivor’s guilt that I’m alive and my mates aren’t, but I didn’t pull the trigger. I have no guilt over what happened to me and neither should you. Fuck it, we were trained to deal with shit like that, you weren’t. I know how hard it was on me even with all my training. I keep these scars to remember how fucking short life is, not just to remember the people I served with.”
“And those physical scars don’t cause you pain? Stop you functioning at a hundred percent? Seems a bit stupid if they can be fixed.” Miles thumped his chest with a closed fist. “My scars are in here, and you can’t get at those.”
“You know, in the old days, if a soldier transgressed, he was flogged, and the transgression was done with...I know you’re not a soldier, but if you feel you fucked up...”
“I’ve tried that, doesn’t work, or are you offering to wield the whip? If you’ve read the report you must know I get turned on now by a bit of kink.” Miles knew he was being stroppy, but he didn’t care. Too many people were trying to ‘fix’ him; that was half the problem. “Look, mate, I appreciate what you’re trying to say. Rationally, I agree with you. Trouble is love ain’t rational.”
“I know love isn’t rational; if it was, it wouldn’t be love, would it?”
Miles studied Gideon’s face for a while and wondered whether the man had ever been in love, and if so with whom? Maybe he was married to the job. A lot of soldiers were. Finding it hard to let go of all the adrenaline and excitement and that thrill of just surviving each encounter. “Thanks for the whisky.” Holding the bottle up to the ligh
t, he wasn’t surprised to discover they’d managed to polish off half of the contents. He handed it back to Gideon without regret. Alcohol wasn’t the cure either. He’d tried that and failed abysmally. All he’d done was put on weight and rip holes in his stomach lining. He’d probably be feeling the effects there tomorrow.
Gideon sensed the conversation coming to an end. There was more he wanted to say, to offer. At least he’d made a start at building bridges, with Miles at least. “Well, is there anything I can do to help? You know, if you need a drinking partner, someone to listen, a firm hand perhaps...?” A corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile.
Miles raised his eyebrows at the last offer. Was the man serious? Now was not the time nor the place to find out, but he’d store that suggestion away in his brain. As for things he needed. “Maybe I’ll take you up on the offer later, but now you mention it, there is something you could do to help. Not me, but the islanders. I told Pierce what I wanted her to send over: a couple of wheelchairs and some of the equipment that came with the seaplane. You know... stuff that was supposed to be used for disaster relief.” He let the sarcasm shine through his words. He’d taken ages to calm down after his encounter with the bitch.
“I’ll see what I can do. Anything else?”
Miles glanced back at the hospital. Lucas was still sitting on the step, eyeing them warily. “The younger islanders need assistance. Non-stop games of pick-up rugby are well and good, but they have too much time on their hands; they need their brains stimulated as well as their bodies. I’m also concerned that if they’re not kept busy they might be tempted to visit Mystery Island, and given Pierce’s reaction, that would only lead to trouble.”
Gideon nodded. In light of the White Witch’s reaction he had to agree. A thought occurred to him. The teacher, Aiden whatever-his-name-was. He was at a loose end, moping about something. He was taking his enforced stay on the island much harder than the others. As a teacher, he would have more than enough experience of dealing with young people. Maybe, Gideon thought, I can persuade him into helping here, jolt him out of his depression. “And what about you and Gil? Isn’t it time you came back to Mystery Island?”:
“I suppose so; I miss Roofie. The silly mutt’s sort of grown on me.”
“He’s a character alright, but he needs his master. My lads have grown quite attached to him, I think he might be missed if we sent him over here, but he’s getting under people’s feet. The Akita is a bit like his owner, a little too quiet, whereas Roofie is up for anything...” The inference was not lost on Miles as Gideon began to push the boat back into the water. “And for the record, I never say anything I don’t mean... Sleep well, Miles, I’ll see you soon.”
Miles just nodded and took over the pushing as Gideon jumped in. He stood there for a while, watching as the boat sped out of sight, back across the lagoon. Should he take Gideon up on his offer of a firm hand? The man looked like he could deliver on his promises. The skin on his back tingled with anticipation.
Tonight, he’d learned a lot more about the man who had brought them to the island than he’d expected. The details had been gruesome, but in a weird way they stopped him from feeling so alone. Most of the other people around here didn’t have that sort of dark past. The water rippled around the bottom of Miles’ legs, chilling him. No, he was wrong there. Flynn obviously had a past full of darkness. Lyle had secrets he preferred to keep covered, so finding that Gideon also had terrors that no doubt kept him awake at night shouldn’t have come as that much of a surprise. Life was like that; the longer you lived, the more likely it was that shit happened. The important thing was to learn from the past and move on.
Silence descended once more as the sound of the boat’s motor diminished into nothing. Miles turned and walked slowly back up to the hospital with only his thoughts for company. Lucas had disappeared. Already in bed most likely. Miles yawned. That was where he should be, he’d had precious little sleep of late. He sat on the stairs and brushed the sand off his feet, surveying the primitive huts and buildings that had been his home for the last few weeks. Despite the fact that he enjoyed being amongst the friendly natives, maybe he should follow Gideon’s suggestion and return to Mystery Island. He couldn’t speak for his fellow ‘refugees’ from Haven Falls; they would have to sort out their problems in their own way, but it was time he took responsibility for his own. Roofie for starters. Miles wasn’t needed on Rapatoka anymore. Carolyn was well enough to resume her role and with Aiden’s help, the children would be better educated and kept out of mischief.
Miles stared toward the flickering lights on the other side of the dark lagoon and thought about the circumstances that had brought him to this island paradise. Gideon had hinted that he should give Eidolon a second chance, and he respected the man enough to know that at least his heart was in the right place. The prospect of being trapped on Redemption Reef didn’t fill Miles with so much dread now that Gil was firmly lodged in his heart and by his side. It remained to be seen what sort of life they could build together, but even if all he did was ensure that the Rapatokans didn’t suffer from the organisation’s presence, he would feel he had accomplished something. Still championing the underdog, Miles? Darren’s voice sounded in his head, clear as a bell, amusement tinged with pride, and was that an approving Woof he heard from the other side of the lagoon? Miles smiled, dusted off his hands and went inside to be with the man who had given him a second chance on life and love.
Coming Soon: Season 3
Here’s a teaser.
King Kong vs the Smart Ass
Ray Bullivant and Flynn Archer
March 1st, Mystery Island
This was all so much bullshit.
Flynn wanted to break into Eidolon headquarters and beat up every motherfucker in a suit until they told him what the fuck was really going on here, but they kept him too busy - and too unsettled - to even try. Aiden was possibly safe, and quite probably not, as he’d left with a bunch of other do gooders to start a school or some such nonsense on the ass end of this island reef, hell, where apparently they hadn’t even invented the telegraph yet. Aiden had told him not to worry, but it had been two weeks now, and there hadn’t been so much as a carrier pigeon with a note tied to its leg. Okay, it wouldn’t be a pigeon here. Fruitbat? Why not. A fruitbat with a scroll tied to its leg. He had yet to find one.
Eidolon kept him busy, with their “training”, but he half assed it enough that they got tired of dealing with him. Flynn was happy this skill hadn’t gotten rusted. You’d think it’d be easy to frustrate people, but when they were a huge corporation that drilled you to be just as Stepford wife cheerful as possible, pissing them all off was a true art. He was proud his sulky teen-hood had trained him to be as big a pain in the butt as possible.
It was a nice day. What a shock! Because every day was hot and sunny, with cloudless blue skies and stunning sunsets. It was pretty at first, then slid over to mundane, and lately, since Aiden had been gone, he just found it supremely irritating. He wished the sky had a face, so he could punch it.
As it was, he was just wandering what had been the old resort, the tourist trap that existed here before violent weather and an earthquake or two sent all the fat white people running. Not that there was anything to see. The buildings, if intact, were empty shells, housing rodents and various island fauna. All the good stuff had been looted or destroyed ages ago. He thought if Eidolon were really serious about building the island up, they could open the old resort as the Tourist Trap Ghost Town and make some fast cash.
There was a rusted shed near the cracked, cavernous hole he took to be the location of a former swimming pool. Some of the tile was still intact, little flashes of white like bone beneath black soil. That just added a nice creep factor to the whole ghost town thing. Scatter some rubber skulls around, and you’d have a built-in Halloween party spot.
There was a chain and padlock on the shed, even more rusted than the door, suggesting cheaper materials. If he yanked on it reall
y hard, he could probably break it, but he was in the mood to test out his skills. He used a couple small picks and got the rusty padlock open in no time - definitely cheap - and the chain fell apart as he pulled it through the handles.
Inside, he could see why no one had ever bothered to open the shed. There were skimmers, a net, the strong smell of chlorine, a couple of lawn implements. Nothing valuable, nothing of much use here. Still, he grabbed one of the skimmers and shouted over his shoulder, “Hey, wanna scoop? We could go corral some sheep to ride and have ourselves a joust.” Someone was following him, had been since he left Eidolon’s base, and they were about as quiet as you could be out here. Which meant not at all. Tailing people was for urban centers, not islands with too many damn leaves.
His shadow stepped out from the side of the main building, and almost instantly blocked out the sun. Great, they sent King Kong after him. “They sent you to tail me? What, were they out of tanks?”
“I’m just supposed to make sure you don’t get into any trouble.” The big man replied, lounging against the door jamb.
Flynn smirked. “Really? So where’s the tranquilizer darts and sap full of buckshot?”
The big man looked kinda sheepish. “Huh? Sap full of buckshot? Sorry, you lost me there.”
“A sap. It’s a … thing, and you hit people with it. Ever see any Ray Milland movies?”
“No, but as it so happens my name is Ray, Ray Bullivant.” He offered his hand out to shake.
Flynn looked at the man’s extended paw, and wondered if he’d find it funny if he held out the pool scoop. Maybe not. Still, he made no move to shake his hand. “Not Lenny? Wow. So, how long have you been working for the evil empire? And what did you do to get this shit assignment tailing me?”