Brandon Enns - Islanders

Stefan woke in a pool of sweat, his skin on fire. He tried to lift himself off the bed but he was too weak. He rolled over and grabbed a glass of water next to his bed and drank it quickly. He pulled himself under the sheets again, shivering and sweating in misery, thankful to be alive, but praying for his horrible fever to break. He wanted to think about his guests, the island, the game, the glory, but all he could do was let his eyes close, even though he feared the nightmare would continue or, worse yet, start again from scratch.

He woke again in a couple hours with enough energy to rise. The fever was still raging on, but it was not quite as intense as before. The cold surges had lessened and become more of a sweaty chill.

He willed himself out of bed and moved down the long hallway that toyed with his frightened mind. Too many rooms, too many doors, not enough light, he thought. He labored up the stairs, each step creaking as if they’d been installed sixty years ago. He made it to the kitchen and slid the dimmer switch up all the way, squinting from the sheerness of the light. There was a leftover bowl of soup in the fridge that would hopefully hit the spot just right with some soda crackers.

It settled okay in his stomach and spurred on his hunger, so he ate some more crackers with cheddar cheese. Another hour of rest and he could go check on everyone. He put some Tylenol and ibuprofen into his system and went back to the stairs, but stopped by the window. The power cut and he was left in the dark. He spilled some hot soup on his arm and cursed as he set it down on the kitchen table. Stefan hadn’t programmed the lights to cut at this time. It was all wrong.

Leaving his soup to cool off, he was on his way to check his surveillance and power circuit room when he stopped in his tracks. Looking through his window, he saw some of his staff members standing outside in front of his place; Sebastian, Cassidy, and Jhett. What are they doing? Why are they here still? Their shift ended an hour ago and the sun was gone. Stefan gave them a tired wave, but they seemed distracted by something outside. What are they looking at?

Beyond the distracted workers, Stefan could see the ocean water moving in, the light post on the dock providing just enough visibility. The staff’s focus was still on something east of his bunker, into the trees that thickened with distance traveled.

Trevor had reached a breaking point. Words better suited for his father’s mouth were about ready to spew out. Enough is enough. The thought of Stefan hiding up in his ivory tower infuriated him. Trevor could picture him clear as day; planning, scheming, twiddling fingers together, and sipping red wine as he waited for his so-called master plan to unfold. He was no genius, merely a child holding a magnifying glass atop ants that he hoped to either impress or burn.

Trevor couldn’t remove the image of that person digging. What were they digging for and how could they have planned to have me wander out at that exact time? If it wasn’t Bruce, who was it? Stefan? The staff?

Walking through the trees, his scrambled thoughts were mixed with the surroundings, blending together. He was in a mental haze, not thinking of direction, only walking. Time was elusive, feeling both stagnant and rapid, like he had smoked half a joint and ate the rest. In what seemed like a large period of time, Trevor finally realized that Erin was still walking with him, behind him through the trees. He stopped. “We need to go home.”

“I agree.”

He got his bearings straight and they moved toward the west beach, reaching a familiar arrangement of crowded palm trees. This was where the man had been digging.

Trevor stopped again.

“What’s wrong?” asked Erin.

“Nothing.”

“What the hell is going on, Trevor?”

And then it came. Was it a feeling? He had to move again. It was impulsive, or intuitive? He knew he couldn’t let her in on where he was going. He didn’t even know himself. His pulse slowed. His whole body stilled, like the effects of ecstasy taking over, making him feel fluid.

“I’m gonna keep going this way. You look around here for a bit and head back. Meet at Stefan’s in like an hour max?”

He still hadn’t turned to face her.

“Why do you think Skye didn’t meet us back at our place? She said she would if she couldn’t find Ashton. We gave her two hours.”

“It’s possible she found him. But we need to keep looking.” His reply was robotic. “She’s fine. And it’s possible they took her as part of this whole thing.”

“And who exactly took her?”

“Stefan.”

“Right.”

He turned to console her, fighting off his urge to walk away. “We’ll be on a boat back into Belize in no time. I promise.” Her face was both scared and hardened at the same time. Her eyes glistened.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?” she asked.

Which direction is she going with this? It was irrelevant. He had to move. “Nothing… I don’t trust Stefan and neither should you. That’s all I know. That and we need to leave this place.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He left her looking broken and beaten down and yet guilt did not rear its head; in fact, all emotions were absent.

Trevor trudged through the trees along the south bend. He had reached a thicker portion of the forested area, where various types of shrubbery intertwined, and the hypnotic view of palm trees partnered with the sounds of the night; it all engulfed him, pushing him deeper into a state of hypnosis.

Beading sweat trickled down his forehead, where it collected on his brow. He spotted someone in the distance. A man dressed in a black jacket leaned up against a tree. Subtle hand gestures indicated that he was having a conversation with someone else on the other side of the tree, but it was too far to tell.

He jogged toward the man. W as it Stefan?

Now running, the branches and dirt crunching and pounding beneath his feet, he yelled, “Hey!”

The man turned his face slightly. Trevor ran faster. “Hey!”

The man disappeared behind the tree. Get back here! In his entire life and short career as a lawyer, he had never been so desperate for answers.

Just like that, the man was gone. Trevor suddenly found himself standing in front of the rocky peaks near the east beach, feet in a small babbling brook of sorts, leading a short distance into the Caribbean.

He couldn’t move. Invisible hands were wrapped around his neck and face, forcing him to look up at the rocks. Stay a while. It had no voice. It wasn’t audible, nor was in being said in his mind. It just existed. Among it, a high-pitched frequency was distant.

Stay a while.

She should have been weeping, but the anger was enough to prevent her from such poignancy.

Erin built up enough courage for self-torture and pulled out Trevor’s cell phone to examine the nude photos of Skye. She tried her best to pay attention to the background in which the photographs were taken. Tapping on the text conversation with Skye, she opened up the dialog that was filled with about ten pictures in a row, no words exchanged, other than winking emoticons from Skye. She highlighted one and began swiping through. The first few appeared to be in a bathroom, the glass sliding door of a shower in the background, then the corner of a mirror, then a bathroom sink. It looked very comparable to their duplex, but also similar to Skye’s place back in NYC with ordinary beige walls. After one final swipe, there was Skye, lying on her back on a bed, legs spread, hand covering between her thighs while her breasts were left exposed. She was gorgeous. No denying it. Erin’s legs shook as she continued to scroll through all of the photos. Skye’s beauty and raw sexual attraction was obvious, something Erin had always told herself she didn’t want or need for herself.