Brandon Enns - Islanders

“We’re sorry for intruding, sir.” She tried to sound light and carefree but the fear had crept up into her throat, cracking her timid voice.

The coffee spattered at the end of its brew. He pulled out the cup, walked over to Erin, and stopped. After a moment, he handed her the cup. He walked back to the machine to make another cup, not speaking a word.

“Thanks for helping us look,” she said.

He walked the second cup to Trevor.

“Thanks.”

Finally, Bruce spoke, looking up at a mounted fish. “I once witnessed a golden eagle fly down and pick up a tarpon bigger than this one. Did it with ease.” He admired the mounted fish.

“That’s a beauty,” Trevor said.

Bruce ignored him. “The golden eagle is such a ruthless bird. Did you know that they will prey on other eagles? If they’re hungry enough… It’s incredible what something is willing to eat if it’s hungry enough. Wouldn’t it be something to try and take one of those down? I don’t know what would compare.”

He faced Trevor. “Have you ever hunted anything before?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“The first time takes the most courage. The most patience, too. It’s also the most satisfying. It’s different. Seeing the life fade from any set of eyes… In that moment, you feel so far away from it all. Like living on an island, I suppose.” He smiled and clapped his hands. “How’s the coffee?” he asked cheerfully.

Trevor raised the cup to his lips.

Bruce placed his hands on Trevor’s shoulders and squeezed, his big denture smile almost cheerful enough not to be menacing. “Strong, I know. It’ll give you the energy you need for the day. It’s going to be a long one by the looks of it.” He gave Trevor’s shoulder a pat and dropped his hands back down to his sides.

“No sign of Ashton out there?” Trevor did his best to stand tall, but Erin could sense how nervous he was.

“No, sorry. Any sign of him in here?” asked Bruce as he looked at the floor. Annoyed, he grabbed a broom and swept dirt toward the entrance.

“All clear.” Trevor cleared his throat.

Bruce looked over his shoulder at the bear rug that was tossed to the side.

“Do you like it here?” he asked.

“We’re just worried about our friend,” Erin said.

“I understand that.”

“Well, thanks for the coffee. We better get back out there,” said Trevor.

“You should. Hopefully you find your friend and stay a while yet. I’ll be back out to help though, you can bet on that.”

They nodded politely and set their coffees on the kitchen table before attempting to walk around Bruce to the exit. He blocked their path for a moment and looked into Trevor’s eyes, while Erin stood idly by. “Keep your eyes open out there. You don’t want to miss anything.”

Skye’s legs burned as she traversed over the last grooves of the cliff, reaching the top. Slightly above her line of sight were three grassy hills in the shape of elongated breasts. She stopped to catch her breath.

The trip down the backside of the rock was surprisingly difficult, as there were many smooth spots that she had to be careful with to avoid her feet sliding out from under her. Sweat ran down her back, and her legs had doubled in weight.

Visions of her mother, battered and bruised, flashed unnaturally through her mind. It was ingrained in her; a variation of a memory that never existed, now refusing to leave. She had gone so long with a mind free of the tremendous guilt that had ruined her for years, and now it was back in unforgiving form. Walking out that door and leaving her with that monster was the hardest thing she had ever done. It took an absurd amount of drugs and alcohol to move somewhat past it.

She was a pretty woman, her mother. She was taller, more elegant than Skye was. Her legs were long, and her bright green eyes were mesmerizing, and Skye always figured she would have been the most confident woman in the world had it not been for that loser. Her face was slender, hair dark like night falling halfway down her back, skin olive colored, an indent on her cheek from when she had chicken pox. The little crater was a perfect imperfection. As soon as Skye pictured her mother’s beauty, the vision was quickly replaced by her eye swollen shut and her nose badly broken.

She was determined to make it to the top of the hill. She grimaced with each step, not willing to let up, battling through the lactic acid that was killing her legs. She clawed at the grass, pulling every ounce of her small body up, nearing the top. Was she desperate to find her boyfriend?

Finally, she reached the top, lungs burning, begging for much needed rest as she wheezed for air on her hands and knees.

The view was not at all what she had expected. It should have been a smaller version of the island they were on, with big beaches and lots of land, trees cleared out to make room for hospitality. But she saw none of that. It was an island almost completely underwater. A small portion in the middle was thick with trees, and she could spot what she thought was a small cabin. One would have to swim quite a distance across without a boat, and there was no way that it was livable over there. Sebastian had lied. Who was he, and why was he there? I should have told Trevor and Erin about him.

Skye could feel a tingling sensation up her spine. There was someone behind her on the hill. She turned.

Sebastian looked at her blankly. “Out for a stroll?”

“What’s going on?”

He approached her and placed her hands on the back of his neck. She slid them down to his chest. They stood there intoxicated by one another, breathing each other in. His skin was cold and clammy, but he felt strong and powerful. “Where is Ashton?”

“It will all become clear soon. You can let go of all concern.” His tone was different from when she met him in the cave. He was… prophetic? He rubbed her shoulders softly, and then she felt a sharp pricking sensation. Skye winced in pain, but his calm, peaceful eyes never wavered, his smile level. “You’ve never trusted before, but you can trust me.”

Her whole world was suddenly collapsing like an old burning building. Blackness filled the edges. Her body was denser. Unable to hold herself up, her bones feeling like they were melting, he held her against his chest. He spoke, but she didn’t feel the soothing vibrations she had felt the first time. “Your mother is gone. You can accept it now. She’s gone.”

You’re a liar! Hate emerged, but the darkness swept her away.

He was trapped. Back pressed against the cold damp wall of the hot spring cave, he debated jumping into the water and holding himself under to hide.

Before he could take action, a man entered. He sprinted to the other opening but was quickly closed off by another dark shadow that was yielding a familiar blade. He should have attacked the other man who was a behemoth, but Stefan was unarmed, and certain he wouldn’t fare well. The decision was moot anyway. He couldn’t move. He was paralyzed with inaction, and his head was feverish.

The silhouettes of men had become visible, though he could still not make out their faces. They closed in on him. The large man punched him squarely and the back of the cave cracked the back of his skull. The man stopped and stared at him, but there were no eyes visible. He was living in an abstract it seemed. Then, hot steel burned his stomach. Stefan stared down to find an old knife with some kind of engraving on the smooth wooden handle fully immersed into his stomach, blood dripping down onto the ground. He could see no face, only understand the satisfied hate from the intruder as he watched the blood run into the blue hot spring, clouding it murky red and green.