Brandon Enns - Islanders

Erin stepped out onto a cement step immersing into the cool, damp air of the passage. Her fingertips slid across a light switch and she flicked it on. The hallway was all cement. She soldiered on ahead, sensory overload causing her stoned cognitive function to malfunction. Cobwebs, strange brown stains on the walls, and cracks in the floor—all seemed to strip her away from reality. This can’t be happening. She walked slowly, feeling the cold wall on her trembling hand, each step calculated like she was walking the plank, trying not to tip over. Working her way deep into the monster’s mouth, she neared the end of the hall, where she found four locked rooms, two on each side of the narrow hallway.

Ashton… Skye…

Erin touched the door. She heard footsteps come from straight ahead. At the end of the hall, a few steps away, were three steps leading up to a bright green door. The paint looked fresh.

More patter of movement. Bruce’s cabin! She pulled at the first door, but it was locked. Then the second. Locked. She wasn’t certain, but it sounded like the footsteps had reacted to the noise she had made. Then they stopped. Silence. A hand covered her mouth with powerful force, her hips yanked in tight, pressing against a man’s body. She tried to bite, but he kept adjusting his hand as he brought his head in close.

“We need to go.” It was Stefan. “No noise.”

He let go and she turned to face him. There was a splotch of blood on the bottom corner of his shirt. Is that new blood? “Follow me,” he whispered with a finger to his lips.

He extended his hand and she took it. As they climbed back into the wine room attached to Stefan’s room, she heard a door slam at the end of the hall, echoing all the way down and hitting her like a warm wind trapped in a tunnel. She climbed up after him. They walked through the cold storage and he locked the door connecting his room with a padlock into a latch.

He opened the door of the bedroom to leave, but she stayed put.

“We don’t have time.” His voice was an urgent whisper.

They rushed upstairs. Stefan was delirious at this point, pacing back and forth before deciding to make a pot of coffee this time. She stepped toward the kitchen to stop his hands and ask him what in the hell was going on and why it was a good time for a fucking coffee break, when she spotted a beige folder sitting on the kitchen table. Stefan had his back turned to her as she peeked. The first page was a clue. It was done up in the same way as the one that was slid under their duplex door. Plain white paper, hand-printed with black pen. It read, “All eyes are on you, Erin. Kill Stefan or Skye dies. HINT: Stefan’s gun will do just fine.”

She reread the note and then looked up to see Stefan was still busy making coffee, his gun sitting on the counter next to him.

“I need to tell you something. Something I saw.” He sounded different, his voice croaking. “I just don’t know… how to explain it.”

Erin looked back down at the folder; there was more inside. Underneath the note was a picture of Skye with duct tape around her mouth, horror-filled eyes streaming tears as the knife they had found was held to her throat.

Trevor’s phone vibrated in her pocket. A video had been sent to her. Skye, tied up in a squared-off room, was trying to scream through the tape, but it was too muffled for Erin to make out any pleading words. Suddenly, a hand crashed into Skye’s face, snapping her head to the side. Blood trickled down her cheek as she sobbed. The short video came to an end. Stefan turned halfway to acknowledge her, so she quickly tucked the phone back in her pocket. She was in too much shock to cry, but there was a storm swirling in her chest, crashing back and forth, desperate to get out.

“I saw someone outside. I couldn’t see who.” Stefan lowered his head, watching the drip of the coffee pot. “They were dragging something— someone— into the trees. I don’t think they saw me but… Erin, I know something is going on with the staff here. My staff… I followed… and saw blood. There was too much blood. I think they got Trevor. This is all my fault.” He grabbed his handgun and stared at it for a moment. He set it back down on the counter an arm’s length from the coffee pot.

Erin swiped past the harrowing photograph of Skye, discovering more disturbing pictures. She staggered over to the couch, grabbing hold of the arm rest, breathing deeply, trying to prevent herself from passing out. The rest of the folder was flooded with duplicates of the same three photographs. A crime scene. Within that crime scene lay the policewoman covered in blood. They know what I did. This is all for me.

She tucked the folder underneath the couch. Stefan piped up again. “I ran, Erin. I ran for the fishing boat.” Stefan was now crying, bordering on sobs. His breaths were sharp and broken. “I was going to take the boat and… and leave. Leave all of you.” He cried out like a child. “I’m so sorry…” Stefan turned to face her. He cleared his throat and wiped his tear-stained face. “The boat was gone. I’m glad it was. I would’ve never forgiven myself.”

“So, what do we do now?” It dawned on her that in addition to Skye being held captive and her imminent decision to kill Stefan pending, Trevor might indeed be dead. Killed. Murdered. Trevor is dead.

“I called into Reggie on the SAT phone but he didn’t reply yet. I told him to bring help on my boat. I’m hoping he knows police in Belize that aren’t corrupt and can help. I’m sure he does. He’s been here quite a while. Knows the locals.”

Erin couldn’t take her eyes off the counter. He walked up to Erin and took her hands. “We have to find them. We’ll get help on the way and we will find them. I promise.” His lip quivered. “I promise.”

All she wanted was to be back home, tending to her old garden, sci-fi novel in hand ready to be binge read. But her consequences had come knocking, and the repercussion was murder yet again. This time, she’d pull the trigger.

Erin rose to her feet and walked toward the coffee pot and poured herself a glass, hand so shaky that she almost dropped the whole pot. Leaning up against the counter, she sipped the java. Stefan took two deep breaths, poured a cup of coffee, and walked over to the couch and collapsed onto it. He ran his fingers through his long black hair, muttering something to himself. His armpits were soaked through his shirt. The kitchen light reflected off the silver of the gun.

Trevor shoveled at the dirt, each spike into the ground bringing him greater satisfaction than the last. He showered dirt over a body, the scent of decomposition wafting. The sand had quickly covered the legs, leaving only the upper half of Ashton’s body remaining. From behind he could hear a girl crying, the irritating interruption adding fuel to his already hot fire. Erin stood there, babbling something incoherent between sobs, disgusting tears defiling her already homely face. She looked to him for mercy, but he was too furious to supply her with any. He welcomed the feeling, the satisfaction, as he showered dirt on his best friend. She reached out toward him, pleading for him to take her hand, to move away from his dug grave. “You’ll get your turn!” he snapped.

The cracking sound of gunfire woke Trevor. His head was split in two, a wedge separating each side of his brain with splinters piercing through the soft texture. His head pulsed in pain, and before he had time to recognize how angry his stomach was, he vomited. Eyes closed as he finished his half-hearted purge, he opened them expecting to find a pool of yellow vomit, but instead found a dark substance on the glass floor of the villa out on the water.