Brandon Enns - Islanders

“Which is?”

“I’ve been here for thirty years. And little by little, I’d stumble upon some, let’s say, interesting things… No, horrible things. I’d like nothing more than to shed some light on the matter, but I don’t think you’re of the right mindset to accept what I’ve got to tell you. So, I’m in a tough position, particularly with that gun pointed at my head.”

Standing up against the wall in the corner was a rifle. Trevor walked around and collected it while keeping his gun pointed at Bruce. He set it next to the door, then lowered his gun with distaste.

“I could give you a speech about my particular set of skills… but I think I’ll just let you know that before you get started, I can pick up lies. And I’m starting to like the feel of this gun in my hand.”

“Noted.”

“Explain these strange things,” said Trevor.

“There are the graves. For starters.”

“Graves?”

“Along the east beach by the trees. Rounding north.”

“And who is in these graves?”

“I don’t know for sure, but if I had to guess, I’d say other visitors. People such as yourselves.”

“Bullshit.”

“Just a theory, based on other things I’ve discovered, unfortunately. There are photographs of others. Happy tourists thinking they’ve stumbled upon some hidden gem, thinking they’re special, crusaders or some horseshit. But I got a strong inclination that many of them have ended up in the dirt.”

“And we’ve been the first visitors since you’ve been here?”

“No. Three other owners. All took off within two days being on this island.”

“And you have a theory for that?”

“The sleeping. Tell me Trevor; have any dreams since you’ve been here? Maybe memories? Anything else odd going on with yourself, things you can’t explain?”

Trevor was now sitting on the leather loveseat across from Bruce. He set his pistol down. Bruce’s eyes never left his.

“I’ll take that as a yes, my friend.”

“What does it mean?”

“It’s this island, sinking its hooks into you. Like when you’re fishing and you feel that tap, tap, tap, waiting for the right moment to set the hook. You stay here long enough, it becomes problematic.”

“How so?”

“Thirty years. You think I want to be here?”

There was an unmistakable sorrow that sunk his wrinkled, sullen face.

“I believe speaking these words to you could mean my death, but I don’t know that for certain either. What I do know is that I couldn’t leave, and I never will.”

“What are you talking about? We get Stefan’s boat, you get your ass on it, and we sail away from this shit-show. What’s so hard about that?”

He chuckled. “If it were that easy kid… I can’t. I don’t want to leave. It’s like a disease. Or maybe it’s a virus. They won’t let up. It keeps getting worse the longer you stay here.”

“Who’s they?”

“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? When I first came here, I honestly felt like I could stay forever. I had just escaped a dreadful marriage. I wasn’t built for it. Wired wrong maybe, I don’t know. I shouldn’t have ever married, but we do things because we’re supposed to. It was ironic really, that I felt so incredibly free when I came here. Life’s a real twisted bitch. But… the dreams started after a few days of getting here. Regrettable moments in my life that I’m least proud of were continuously pounded into my skull over and over again every time my head hit the pillow. Never thought I’d be begging to be one of them insomniac people, but I was sure wishing for it then. Reliving one’s worst moment over and over again isn’t exactly daiquiri fun in paradise.”

Valencia.

Bruce continued. “And I know you know what I’m talking about because that’s the way they work, or the way it works.” He coughed hoarsely into his hand. “I don’t trust those folks that work here for Stefan. They came before him, with the last owners. There’s something wrong with them.”

“How so?”

“Intuition.”

“Intuition…”

Bruce leaned forward again. “It’s not normal having those kids here. What? A twenty-year-old girl and thirteen-year-old boy? They shouldn’t be here that much, or at all, for that matter. Mind you… If I’m right, the island has them all spun sideways.”

“What about the place on the other side?”

“No one lives in that dump. I take it you’ve seen the place?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, there you go. I think they got a hand in this. In the island’s power. Maybe there’s something more. Some great purpose for it. I’d go as far to venture mythical…” He smirked. “Probably doesn’t matter anyway. Seems as though we’re screwed either way you slice it.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me?”

He sipped his coffee again. “This roast will blow your hair back.”

Trevor felt like he was going to be sick again. He lowered his head into his hands and closed his eyes. He had the spins like he was drunk. He took a deep breath and spit. While doing so, he heard shuffling. When Trevor lifted his head and opened his eyes, Bruce stood on the other side of him near the door with a rifle pointed his way. Quickly, he eyeballed the gun on couch and lunged for it. No shots were fired as he pointed the gun at Bruce, finger firmly on the trigger.

After a long pause, Bruce handed the gun over to Trevor. “No sense moving forward if you don’t trust me.”

“I could have shot you.”

“Yeah, you could’ve.”

“Show me the graves.”

Bruce studied Trevor’s face. “Who is dead?”

“Skye.” His voice cracked saying her name.

“Tell me you didn’t kill her,” Bruce said.

Trevor paused. He looked him in the eyes and inflicted as much sincerity as he possibly could. “I did not kill her.” Did he know that for sure? Trevor still had a lot of dead space, lost time. The first night when he had been sleepwalking, his trance in the wooded area, an unknown force taking a hold of the steering wheel…

“I didn’t.”

“Give me my rifle.”

Trevor hesitated.

“You’ll want me to have it.”

I couldn’t have killed her.

Erin retrieved the SAT phone from the creepy basement and raced back upstairs. She pressed the button and held it down. “Is anyone there?” Nothing. “Please, somebody pick up.”

The sweetest sound of static came and then a voice followed. “Who is this?”

“This is Erin.” She remembered being very unsure of Arnie on their trip over on Stefan’s boat. She didn’t like his buggy eyes and strange tattoos. He’d flash her that slanted, close-mouthed smile from time to time just to confirm her reservations. She didn’t know if she could trust him then, but she was sure willing to give him a chance now.

“Oh… Okay…” He left her hanging.

“Listen, I know you work with Stefan, but if he hasn’t already contacted you, we need help right away. My friend—” Her voice cracked. “My friend was murdered by someone on the island and another is being held hostage. I need you to come with a boat and authorities to help us leave. This is not a joke, nor is it part of Stefan’s plans he laid out for us. This is real. And we desperately need your help. Will you help us?”

A long pause followed, leaving her hanging on the edge of hope. Even if he wasn’t one to trust, having an extra boat there wouldn’t hurt. There was the fishing boat, but she had a feeling it wouldn’t be in the same spot she saw it last.

“I don’t know about the authorities… But I’ll do what I can.”

“So you’ll come?”