Brandon Enns - Islanders

At the base of the tree, she dug through the sandy soil. It didn’t take long to hit something solid. It was an old wooden box, and inside was an old revolver. It looked ancient, the wooden handle varnished and smooth in her hand. There was another clue in the box.

Deeply into the night, not a sound was made, only the fading of life. Where despair and hope meet, acceptance of fate may prevail.

Trevor looked down at the rusted ancient revolver in his hands. It was authentic. Surely it was a priceless antique that Stefan paid a large sum for.

Skye and Ashton were only moderately excited by their findings, as they were already beginning to lose interest. They wanted to spend more time on the beach, so they hung out there for a while, frolicking in the water while Erin and Trevor worked on the clue. He didn’t like to admit it, but he was somewhat intrigued by it all, curious as to how it would all come together. He ran his finger up and down the coarse paper, this one looking more worn than the last.

“So what’s this gun got to do with finding these so-called killers? They used it to murder them? So what?” asked Trevor.

“I guess we’ll just have to follow the steps and see.”

“Maybe we can get ahead of him.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?” she asked skeptically.

“Not sure yet. Hey. You notice that old man that lives in the old cabin?”

“Haven’t met him yet. Stefan mentioned something about him when we were drinking at his place. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. Wonder why he’s out here.”

“I think he’s been here for a while. Or so Stefan said.”

“Yeah.”

“You think he’s got a stake in all this?” Erin asked.

“I’m not sure yet. Not sure of any of this,” he said too grimly. He realized his unintended fervidly sullen tone was affecting Erin, so he quickly flashed a smile. “But! We got a puzzle to solve, and God knows we aren’t going to get any help from Hollywood and the sex maniac.”

“Hollywood and the sex maniac. Sounds like a porno with a riveting plot.”

“It really does.”

Skye had crept up from the other side on the beach. “What’s the matter, Trevor? Jealous?”

He ignored her and looked back down at the paper. “No sound, fading life…”

“Are we looking for more weapons?” asked Erin.

“Could be. Where despair and hope meet… Maybe they were separated and had a meeting place if things ever went south. They were probably surrounded. What place would give them any hope?”

They both looked down at the map and turned to each other at the same time. “A chapel,” she said.

“This is kind of cool, admit it,” Erin said, looking down at the page.

She was excited like a child, and Trevor found it endearing. He leaned in and quickly kissed her, clunking their heads together lightly.

“Okay, so is there anything on the map?”

They glanced back at the map, which was not the easiest to follow. There weren’t many details, just a diagram of the layout with trails, clearings, the ridges, beaches, etc. There was another opening closer to the south, but still on the west side. It would have been as good a place as any to plop in a church. He pointed it out, and Erin agreed. They started walking, and she reached for his hand.

“Wait up!”

“Assholes!”

Trevor and Erin locked eyes, smiled, and sprinted away into the trees.

By the time they reached their desired location, night had started to fall. It was still warm, the humidity acting as a warm blanket. Trevor was sweating and wishing for a cold breeze, but it never came. What did come was the fruition of their hunch. Up ahead in the clearing, they found a tree with a cross nailed to it, as well as several chairs that hadn’t been used in years. If they were to sit, the chairs would surely crumble beneath them.

“Damn, we’re good.”

“Is this too easy?” Erin said.

“Honestly though.”

“Maybe Stefan just wanted us to start out with some confidence.”

“Could be.”

“No shovel though,” Erin stated, looking around for the next sign that would lead them to clue number two.

Trevor just had a feeling, he didn’t know why exactly. But without any hesitation, he climbed the tree with the cross. He gained his balance, wrapping one leg around a thick branch above the cross. Once he was settled, he found another box. It was the same as the last one. It had another note, along with an ancient-looking blade. The handle was worn, made of wood, its surface smooth, while the steel blade looked to be rather preserved, glimmering rust free.

He climbed down to join the group before opening the note.

“What do we have?”

He read, “ Rest is for the weak, so rest my pitiful sinners. Strength for tomorrow will be needed to endure all the island provides. There is no place for hiding, not even in your dreams. Even the great Poseidon is not without fear, for when they come, they sea and know all.’

“Poseidon. Water. Which is probably why we aren’t supposed to go until tomorrow. This is a daylight task.”

“Aren’t we going scuba diving tomorrow morning?” asked Ashton.

“Precisely. A tune-up to help us find a third weapon. A trident perhaps?”

The walk back was long but fun. When their day was about to come to a close, Trevor’s heart stopped while he was taking a leak away from the group. Out in the trees, he saw the old man shoveling. He was digging like a madman; knee deep, each shovelful being flung angrily to the side.

Trevor began to approach from his back side, when suddenly the old man stiffened up and came to an abrupt stop. He dropped the shovel, stepped out of the hole, and began walking back toward his cabin. Trevor continued to follow.

When he regained a visual of the old man, he noticed there was something in his hand. It was a shotgun. It was difficult to see in the dark, but past the old man, moving south toward the trees, was a white gown dancing in the wind. Cassidy? It was definitely a woman, brunette hair bouncing in the back. She was running. The old man followed in her direction before stopping in his tracks and turning to face Trevor.

Still staring at Trevor, he glanced at his gun, then back up to him. Trevor jolted when the group called his name.

The old man turned his back and continued walking casually in another direction, away from the girl who had now vanished. Trevor turned to look for his friends and turned back. The old man was gone.

His friends shouted again. “Yeah, coming!” he called back.

Trevor stared at a clock in his office in Manhattan. It was 2:08 a.m. He looked at two contracts in front of him. One had the signature of an owner, Gary Valencia, of Valencia Power Systems Inc. To Trevor’s left was a page filled with Gary Valencia’s handwritten signature over and over again. Trevor hovered over another contract between Fairway Capital and Valencia Power Systems, an outline of the corporate share structure underneath. Trevor’s hand lined up on the signature line at the bottom, underneath Gary Valencia.

Suddenly, he was no longer in his office. He was in his car outside of Valencia Power Systems’ headquarters. He watched as men in suits conversed with eagerness and movers cleared out all of the office spaces. Gary Valencia stared onward as his place of business was taken over by Fairway Capital.

All of the men in suits were now laughing, encouraging Trevor to join in. His stomach was swirling, like he was on a boat riding the swells in the middle of the ocean.

Then… his father. He was walking down a dark alley. Trevor was there trying to warn him about something. He was in danger. The screams wouldn’t leave his mouth as the rain pelted down against the pavement, drowning out any audio. Two shadows appeared behind him with guns drawn. His dad staggered forward with frantic steps. Trevor wanted to shout, to warn him, but couldn’t.