Brandon Enns - Islanders

So much for having a best friend, and a boyfriend.

Skye’s stomach was flat and defined. The outline of her abs… Erin didn’t cry, she didn’t shout out in a fit of rage; she just felt empty, every single thing cleared out.

When she finally pulled her focus from the phone to check her whereabouts, there were two chairs in front of her. Up ahead was the same cross where they had found the blade.

Finding the most structurally sound chair absent of rot, she sat and looked up at the cross. She tried to find some sense of calm, but her moment was interrupted by a disturbing past memory; the one she had been dreaming about since her arrival to the island…

The warehouse. The piss. The cold air. Her breath visible. She looked up at the window frame she had gotten in through, seeing strands of light creep through the otherwise pitch-black nest for the homeless and drug users. But there were no others there, not that she knew of anyway. It was just her, her masked partner, and the pursuant.

The sound of a door creaking ignited the old empty building. The air was filled with rusted copper and stale cigarette smoke from days past. She looked to her right and could see the shining silver of a handgun. The man in the mask, Josh, had wide eyes staring at her for answers, answers that she didn’t have.

Pigeons startled them, fluttering up into the rafters, cooing continuously as if to warn them of their poor location choice. Did someone come in? We had enough distance separating us. They didn’t see us come in. She could now taste the rusted copper, the smell of urine increasing with each backpedaling step she took, deeper and deeper into the darkness, away from the moonlit window.

A footstep sounded. The grooves of a boot grasping at freed pebbles on the cement floor, sliding them across. The pursuant was near, and not giving up. Never. The silhouette of an armed person moving cautiously by the slightly illuminated portion of the warehouse sent a silvery cold to her already vibrating hands. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t believe she was in this situation to begin with. For a split second, she wondered what her masked partner was thinking. What did she hope he was thinking? Retreat? Forfeit? Attack? Surely the former.

They were moving in quicker; she could feel their presence stalking them like prey. The pigeons above fluttered again, creating a jarring reaction from the silhouette in the dark. Gun pointed skyward toward the birds, the figure was distracted, and her partner stepped forward with fearful eyes. Animalistic.

A gunshot rang out, and the figure dropped to the floor. Stripes of light revealed the lower half of the body.

Air trapped in Erin’s chest. She could not speak in time to prevent her partner from firing off another round into the defenseless person. By the time Erin could move herself out of the darkness toward the body, she knew what was already done. She was an accomplice to murder.

It was a woman. Her face had hard lines but was pretty. Her brunette hair was done back in a ponytail, a strand falling over her left eye, pupil dilated, fear transferring to acceptance. As blood expanded across the cold cement floor, her hand covering the bullet wounds to her stomach, Erin’s eyeline drifted from the woman’s face to her jacket. NYPD.

She probably has children… She does. She has children.

A hand touched her shoulder, launching her from her seat and down to the sand. She was greeted by a soft, kind-eyed woman who appeared extremely apologetic for her intrusion. “Sorry! Excuse me, dear!” The woman looked too young and attractive to call anyone dear.

She was middle-aged, tall and lean, with wrinkles under her eyes, but other than that she had a remarkable complexion, with skin that looked soft to the touch.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. Though, what did I expect?” she laughed.

“It’s okay,” Erin said while rising and dusting herself off.

“A hand to the shoulder in the middle of a remote island with a cross bearing down on you. Nice touch on my part.” She chuckled again. Even her laugh was pretty and charming. “Sorry, didn’t mean to be punny.” She radiated cool-mom vibes. The woman was looking up at the cross now. “Do you pray often?”

“Oh, I wasn’t praying. Just thinking.”

She smiled warmly while nodding understandingly. “Often the two are one and the same. Have you found your friend yet?”

“Still nothing.” How did she know about that? Moreover, who is this woman?

“That’s a shame. I’m sure there’s a good explanation for why he’s hiding out.”

“I sure hope so.”

“I’m Teresa.”

“Erin.”

Teresa caught Erin with a bewildered look on her face. Erin never was much for poker, nor being stranded on an island in the midst of an unequivocal identity crisis.

“I work here on the island. If you’re wondering…” She brushed her hair away from her face.

“Oh. Were you here before? With the previous owners?”

“Yes, I was. We were relied on more heavily then. It was basically ours.” She adjusted the slanted collar of her stained white shirt. “I look like a battered-down old farmer. I’ve been in my garden all day. You can probably smell me from there.”

There was something about her. She was too regal to smell of common body odor after a hard day’s work in the sun.

Why hadn’t Stefan mentioned anything, she wondered. A part of his plot? “There are other workers here?” she asked casually.

“Yes, of course.” She smiled. “I couldn’t handle this place all by my lonesome.”

“Sorry, I thought Stefan handled all of the upkeep.”

Her laugh that followed was hollowed out. “Not possible, I’m afraid. Especially with that boy.”

Erin was without words, her face reddening from the silence that followed. The woman continued. “What were you thinking about, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m just worried about Ashton.”

She took a seat next to Erin, releasing a quiet and cute grumble. “I don’t blame you, my dear. That foolish boy better have a reasonable explanation.”

“I’d say… Unless it’s part of the whole game thing.”

Her face contorted and her head tilted to the side, like a dog trying to understand its master. “Game?”

“You know. With Stefan.” She laughed through a nasal exhale. “I’m sure you know all about it. Even have to help him with it.”

Every time she mentioned Stefan’s name, it seemed to trigger a subtle imprint of anger. But Teresa’s face rested back to a place of comfort. “I’m sorry, Erin. I haven’t the faintest clue of what you’re referring to.” She took a sip from a water bottle. “But I gather by your distrusting look that you were hoping for an alternative reply?”

Erin was embarrassed and apologetic in response to the word distrust. “No, no, it’s not—”

She interrupted, putting her hand up and waving it about. “Don’t you worry… Your poor friend… I don’t mean to add worry but—” She caught herself, regretful of starting her sentence.

“What?”

“Nothing, dear, don’t fret. I’m sure he’s fine. I just don’t like the mix of alcohol and the ocean. But honestly! Please forget such a nasty and improbable line of thinking.”

Could he have drowned? Suddenly a new thought had dawned heavily on Erin. What if we were brought here specifically for a reason? What if Stefan has a vendetta against Trevor? Trevor could easily be withholding information from me. He already was, the cheating bastard. Jesus… How could he? Then again, should I really be surprised?

Teresa cut off the unraveling hypothesis in her brain.