Brandon Enns - Islanders

Wobbling over to the hall, she was brought to her knees by a piercing noise in her head. Stay a while. It was unrelenting.

He dug another grave. More bones. Bones that belonged to actual people. The devil’s spot on the Caribbean was real, and he belonged there. Trevor crouched to his knees and touched one of the bones. Grains of sand crunched between his teeth, his tongue dry, his body covered in sticky sweat. He could smell his own body odor and bad breath. Down on his hands and knees, he began pawing handfuls of sand like a dog. The sand was wet and dark; the coolness felt good against his skin.

Bruce angled Trevor aside and finished the job for him, showing him yet another grave, the bones worn, and the sand spilling around them. They were a mix of gray and brown. Bruce wiped sweat from his brow and finished one more grave. They were shallower than six feet but would suffice. The final grave revealed the bones of a child.

Bruce’s voice was bitter. “There are more. We’ve seen enough.”

Trevor cursed under his breath. “What now?”

Bruce spiked the shovel and wiped his mouth. He looked up at the moon and sighed. “We get that girl of yours away from the kid.”

“Stefan?”

He nodded. “I don’t think it was his doing, but the island got a hold of him. Once it does that, it doesn’t let go. I don’t trust these folk here, not for a second, but the kid had a hand in this. Whether he was of the right mind or not. He lost control.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“His eyes aren’t right. Not anymore. Plus, he has access everywhere. You said it yourself. He was gone all day, while shit hit the fan with your friends.”

“Would he hurt Erin?” He could see her clearly in his mind, a bright aura around her smiling face. The way her cheeks blushed when she was nervous or embarrassed. He missed her coconut-scented hair, the subtle curves of her hips, her soft white skin, her freckled nose, chest, and arms.

“I wouldn’t figure it. But if she tried to leave… Well, that’s a whole different story there.”

Bruce shuffled to his left as Trevor looked up at him. As tears formed in Trevor’s eyes, the sky broke and spilled, rain falling down on them gently. The sand in his hands turned to clay as the floodgates opened, pouring down on two damaged men—one old, one young. Bruce handed him his gun. “Keep it dry,” he said. “Whatever it takes… you’re leaving.”

Trevor nodded and rose to his feet. Bruce looked at him expressionless. “What is it you did?” he yelled through the downpour. “I took everything from a man. You?”

“Enough to be here.”

They had no significant plan, only the need to save Erin, and they were on the same page. The walk felt long, the rain weighing them down in the sand. They made it to the trees and jogged right out of plain sight, hugging the tree line which gave them shelter. They walked around the south side, Stefan’s horror house coming into sight.

Other footsteps blended with the patter of rain. Trevor heard scurrying sounds.

He sidestepped around a tree and spotted a woman in the distance. It was difficult to tell, but she looked older, just standing there like she was waiting for someone. It wasn’t Cassidy.

Bruce’s rifle fired. Trevor turned. Bruce was on his back, trying to fight off a man who was throwing chaotic punches. Finally finding traction between his feet and the wet ground, Trevor surged forward for the rifle, grabbed it, and jabbed the butt end to the man’s jaw. The impact was solid. The man lay on top of Bruce, out cold. Trevor turned to locate the woman again. She was gone.

“A little help here,” groaned a battered Bruce from underneath the unconscious man.

A bucket of water to his face did the trick. Tied to a chair, in the middle of Bruce’s cabin, the man that Bruce called Sebastian awoke.

“Been killing young girls?”

He blinked his eyes to wake himself up and then looked at Trevor curiously. “Was that me?”

Trevor reared back and hit him square on the nose, knocking his head back. He rested his head forward, chin down to his chest, and muttered something Trevor couldn’t make out.

“What do you want with us?” asked Trevor.

“I think the question is, what do you want with us.” He rolled his head back, holding it loosely to the side, blood leaking from his nose.

“Oh, okay!” Trevor patted him on the shoulder. “I’d like a one-way ticket off this island. I’ll take Ashton and Erin and be on my way. Bruce is coming with us too.”

Sebastian snapped his fingers. “Granted.” He chuckled obnoxiously, his large Adam’s apple plunging up and down with each break in his voice. Trevor’s skin itched as he waited for him to stop. “What makes you think you can’t leave? And why would I decide that?”

“Why’d you attack us back there then?” asked Trevor.

“Did I? Because I heard a gunshot. You attempted to take my life… Bruce, is it?”

“Ignore him, kid. He’ll say anything he has to. He’s with the island.”

Sebastian gave him a sarcastic look. “Yes, I am on the island. Aren’t we all?”

“We know you killed Skye.”

“And how is that?”

Trevor could access it far too quickly; recalling waking up in bloodied sheets, her open mouth and eyes, her throat.

Sebastian continued, “A little bird told me you killed her.”

“Ignore him, kid!”

“Yes, ignore what you already know,” said Sebastian.

Could I have? Trevor’s head hurt as he tried to access time that was lost. There was something important, something… “Skye and Ashton had both gone missing, but the notes… the notes had changed. It wasn’t part of Stefan’s game, it was your own. You did this. You did something to me and put me there with her body. You…” Trevor trailed off. “I saw her. Her dead face…” Tears fell. “You killed my friend.” His gun was lifting, but Bruce’s hand rested gently on top to lower it back down.

“I didn’t kill anybody. I wouldn’t do that. And it seems to me the strange activities started happening the moment you folks stepped foot on this island,” said Sebastian.

Bruce cut in, trying to deter some of Trevor’s anger. “We’re here for some simple answers. Hang tight while I get my kit.”

Trevor turned to watch Bruce collect a tool bag. When he opened it up on the couch, an assortment of knives and pliers were revealed. “Toenails or fingernails to start? They might not be a game changer, but they’re a good appetizer. What will it be, Sebastian?” Bruce pulled out pliers and paused, his face contracted. “Sebastian. I don’t like that name. Sounds like a goddamn lame horse.” He opened the pliers and ran his thumb over the corrugated part. “This whole mess with their friend… We won’t even start there. How’s that sound?” No answer. “Perfect. We require Erin. She’s at Stefan’s, yes?”

No reply. He moved his tongue along his teeth to check if any were missing, then spit blood on the floor like any tough guy should.

“Okay.” Without any taunting for effect, Bruce squeezed his pliers and ripped off a fingernail in one quick motion. Sebastian howled, spitting everywhere as he breathed in short bursts.

“We need the girl. Where is she?”

“Your sins could only be absolved here, but it will never be permitted.”

Out came another nail, along with a scream that shook the cabin.

“Should I switch to one of the little piggies?” Trevor couldn’t look at the fleshy fingertips, but got a glimpse of the nails on the floor.

“Stay a while, gentlemen. Time is on our side.” His smile widened.