Brandon Enns - Islanders

He was clearly messing with him. “Arnie, get out of here.” Stefan lifted his head off the pillow and he was gone. Stefan’s throat was dry, and he was now bracing himself for something to pop out of the dark corners in his room. Nothing came.

The minutes ticked on and with time, he was able to relax, convincing himself that it was very probable that Arnie was wasted.

The sheets lifted and slid down his legs. Something was forcing him to sit up in bed. Something had full control of his body, and it wasn’t him. His head was strategically turned with slow, agonizing suspense toward the clock down on the floor next to the bed. It was 2:59 a.m.

Like insects hatching inside his brain at an incomprehensible rate, the message played over and over again: Stay a while. It pounded into him over and over again as his fists clenched and punched against the bed. His brain pressed against his skull as he yelled for it to stop, begging, pleading, just wishing it would end.

Everything went still and quiet. He had control of his body again. Thank God, thank God . He climbed cautiously out of bed and made his way out into the hallway, only to be grabbed hold of the thing again. His joints were stiff, immovable. Then, it took charge, and he was walking. Up the stairs, through the living room, around the corner, out his back door. The warm air moisturized his skin. His feet were not in his control. They belonged to something much, much more powerful.

He wanted to turn his head, to look toward the duplexes and call for help, but he had become a doll with strings attached.

He walked through the trees. The night was silent. His feet became wet as his steps continued through the small channel of water. Hiking the ridges was painful. His bare feet were scratched and scraped as his arches curved around sharp corners and jagged rocks. His body stopped at the top, and his head was tilted toward the old cabin surrounded by trees, hardly visible even from that vantage point. He was forced to continue his trek down the backside of the rocks, carving up his feet even worse on the way down. When he reached the bottom, his hamster wheel was churning. What now? His bloodied feet touched wet sand and he was forced to lunge into the water.

The swim was over an hour long. His arms and legs burned so badly that he was sure he’d drown. But the thing wouldn’t let him drown. Small mouthfuls of salt water were forming every time his head dipped in, and he’d try to spit it out and breathe in all in the same motion, starting to choke now. His pace was slowed and he continued on.

Stefan made it to land. He was thrown onto the beach where he was given permission to rest for only a couple minutes to catch his breath.

The floors in the cabin were cold, and he could feel the blood from his feet cake up. He collapsed to the floor. Sebastian, Teresa, Cassidy, and Jhett were all standing with grimacing smiles, bitter and satisfied. There was an old chair in the middle and he was forced to sit. They smiled. Then it let go.

“What is this?” His throat was still burning from the salt.

Each of them was holding one of the four weapons that he had hid for his special game.

“Thank you for conducting the trials. They were flawless. Very high notes of fear,” Sebastian said, grinning.

“What?”

“We realize this is confusing for you. It always is for the owners. You’re all the same, varying levels of enthusiasm. I was pleased to see that profitability was not your true desire. So much more, right, Stefan? So many others, they didn’t stay long enough for us to begin.”

He tried to stand but was thrown back into his chair without a hand being laid on him.

Someone else entered the cabin and moved forward through the shadows. It was Bruce.

“Kid.”

Arnie followed in behind.

“Bruce, what’s going on?”

“You were an integral part in delivering us the girl. You did well.”

“What are you freaks talking about?” He snickered but didn’t believe in his own attempt at laughter. This was no joke. Whatever spell they had him under, it was real.

“Tell me, how did you find this place?” asked Bruce.

“I—” He hadn’t found it on his own; he hadn’t even done any research into investing in islands until he met Arnie in a bar on the mainland. It was a simple getaway involving women, drugs, and alcohol. Arnie had spoken of various islands, had told him about this one; that it was a massive bargain.

“Arnie. What is this?”

“Sorry. You were the man we’d been looking for. It took a while. Grandpa was getting on my case.” He nodded toward Bruce.

“Grandpa?”

“I used to run recruitment and conduct trials here, but I need someone of the bloodline to carry on. To be ready for when my time comes.” Bruce patted him on the shoulder. “We wanted you here, Stefan. Your beloved game, that’s what we wanted. As Sebastian said, you performed better than the others. You took it to a new level. An effective level.”

Stefan was shaking his head. He tried to stand again, but his legs were rubber.

“But the dreams, Stefan. The more nights they spend, the worse it gets. The reminder of the pain they had caused others, of the greed. You wanted a Royal Family, Stefan, because I gave you one. I told you the tale. And lucky you, you got to meet them. Well, here they are. Say hi.”

“This isn’t real.” I want to go home.

“Sorry. That can’t happen. You need to be here.” Sebastian said.

Cassidy blew a corrupt kiss his way.

Bruce took a step back, knelt down, and analyzed Stefan’s petrified face. “It’s not personal. It’s a process in need of management.”

“The— The—” His teeth were chattering, his body vibrating, trying to reject his inevitable death. “Those graves…”

“Yes, other travelers. Like I said, we only get buyers that are the right fit for us once in a while. Sometimes mistakes are made.” He glared at Arnie. “Sometimes we aren’t thorough enough. They just want to invest and spend no time here. Invite no one. That’s no good for us. They need to kill just as much as they need to purify. The purification tastes sweeter, and lasts forever.”

“What?”

“This guy isn’t too bright, is he?” Jhett said with a childish chuckle.

Bruce continued, “Erin. She’s been absolved from her past, no longer stained by it. She’s true. She’s good.”

He didn’t want to say the words, but he had to. “And me?”

“Don’t worry. We have a nice spot mapped out for you.” Bruce nodded at the Royal Family, signaling them it was time for something to happen. “No, no, no, no. Wait! Wait! I can help. I can keep working for you. You need someone anyway!”

Bruce looked intrigued, his big mouth tightening on the one side as he mulled it over. “You’re a fine architect. But you wouldn’t have the stomach for the kill.”

He paused and locked eyes with Sebastian.

No, no, no.

“May your past sins vanish with your soul.” He looked at Sebastian. “William.”

“William?”

William smiled. He looked at the others. “James, Anna, Mary.”

They all looked hungry, their appetites about to be satisfied.

“You don’t have to do this. I’ll help you. I can take life. I can do it! I see now. I see what this is. It’s amazing. It’s wonderful. It’s perfect. It’s fucking perfect.”

Sebastian pivoted. The trident plunged into Stefan’s stomach. His flesh tore and his blood spilled. The old revolver point his way and fired through his chest. He couldn’t breathe. The shine of a steel dagger closed in on his neck. An appalling sting was followed by warmth as he choked on his own blood, throat wide open. Gagging on blood and disconnected arteries, knowing it was the end, wishing he was home, wishing it was all just a dream, his eyes lifted in time to see a hatchet blade rise and fall on his head, burying into his skull.