Richard Laymon - Island

In the injury department, I’m the worst off, if you don’t count Wesley.

Kimberly is probably the most beat up, after me. Her skin didn’t get broken, but she has a horrible bruise on her ribcage, just below her right armpit. She also has bruises on her stomach and right hip from Thelma kicking her.

Billie and Connie have bruises on their faces. The swelling went away, leaving behind dark smudges that almost look like dirt. Billie’s is on the left cheek, Connie’s on the left side of the jaw. Billie got dealt a much meaner blow from Thelma’s spear than Connie got from my fist.

I’m going to knock off now, and help prepare the fish for supper.

The fish was great. Billie fried it up on the skillet with bourbon—her special method. We also passed the bottle around, and had a few nips to help our finny friends go down smooth.

One thing really struck me during the meal.

The size of our group.

Or the lack thereof.

Four of us.

Jesus.

There used to be eight of us. Eight is a fair number of people, a pretty good crowd.

Four is measly.

And I’ve got to say, four looked a lot like three, from where I sat. I’m sort of like a movie camera, you know? I don’t see myself, most of the time. I see Billie, Kimberly and Connie. One, two, three. That’s all.

We’ve been whittled down considerably.

We didn’t talk much while we ate. About the time we finished, though, Billie said, “We’d better do something, tomorrow.”

Connie looked offended. “Hey, I did something today. You just ate it.”

“We should’ve gone hunting,” Kimberly said, “not fishing. Hunting for Thelma and Wesley.” She met Billie’s eyes. Pressing her lips together in a tight line, she shook her head. Then she said, “I just didn’t want to deal with it today.”

“Yeah,” Billie said. “I know. Neither did I.”

“Not after last night,” I added.

Connie gave me a quick, sour glare.

“But we’d better go looking for them tomorrow,” Billie said. “We can’t give Wesley time to recover. He’s gotta be in bad shape after last night. If we find him while he’s still laid up, he’ll be a lot easier to finish off.”

“What’ll we do about Thelma?” I asked.

“Save her,” Billie said.

Connie let out a snort.

Ignoring it, Kimberly said, “Yeah. He’ll probably kill her, sooner or later.”

“Maybe not right away,” Billie said. “He’ll want her around to take care of him, at least till he gets better.”

“You’re both nuts,” Connie said. “He isn’t gonna kill Thelma.”

I decided to stay out of it.

“Why not?” Kimberly asked her.

“For one thing, she saved his bacon last night.”

“You think he’ll spare her out of gratitude?” Kimberly asked.

“He’s got no reason to kill her. She’s on his side, you know?”

“He might not see it that way,” Billie said. “Maybe he just sees her as an obstacle.”

“In the way of what?”

“Why is he doing any of this?” Billie asked. “That’s the real question. In my opinion, he set up this whole operation in order to make himself rich. Most of the family wealth is in Andrew’s name. And mine. With both of us dead, you two girls and Thelma inherit everything. With the three of you dead, your spouses would get it. Connie hasn’t got a spouse…”

” And he killed mine,” Kimberly muttered.

“Right. So that leaves Wesley. He stands to make a pile if he’s the only survivor.”

“I’d bet he’s also got a life insurance policy on Thelma,” Kimberly said. “So you can add that to his take.”

Connie had a sick look on her face. “I think you’ve all been watching too much Murder, She Wrote.”

“Why do you think he’s doing all this?” Billie asked her.

She wrinkled her nose and shrugged. “Because he’s nuts?”

“He’s nuts, all right,” Kimberly said. “Nuts if he thinks he’s gonna survive. First thing in the morning, I’m going after him.”

“We’ll all go after him,” Billie said.

I didn’t have to stand watch last night. The women took turns, and let me sleep.

I woke up on my own. The sun had risen over the tops of the jungle trees, and threw warm gold across our beach. It sure felt good. I wanted to just keep lying there, enjoying it.

Billie and Connie were asleep nearby, but I couldn’t see Kimberly. After a while, I raised my head to look for her.

She was about midway between the campfire and the shoreline, swinging the ax. Exercising with it. Or practicing. She was as graceful as a dancer, twirling and smiting the air, springing forward to cut down an invisible enemy, taking swings to one side, then the other. She was a little spooky to watch. So smooth and graceful, yet wielding such a vicious weapon. The head of the ax glinted like silver in the sunlight. Her thick dark hair flowed and shook like the mane of a stallion.

She wore her dead husband’s Hawaiian shirt. Unbuttoned, as usual, its gaudy fabric flew out behind her like a cape when she lunged or twirled. Her white bikini flashed. Her bronze skin gleamed with sweat.

She was spooky, elegant, primitive, beautiful. It made me ache, watching her. I couldn’t force my eyes away.

Being stuck on this island is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. By that logic, of course, I ought to be thanking Wesley, not trying to kill him. Except that I hate him for bringing grief to Kimberly and Billie. And I hate him for what he might do to them, if he gets the chance. (I’m not tickled by the fact that he wants to kill me, either.) Anyway, Kimberly was spectacular to watch.

Until she noticed me watching. I felt like a peeping Tom who’d been caught in the act, but I smiled and waved. She waved back. I sat up, gave myself a couple of minutes to calm down, then got to my feet and wandered over to join her.

“Preparing for the big battle?” I asked.

She rested the ax on her shoulder, and smiled. She has a spectacular smile. “Just fooling around,” she said. “Getting a little workout.”

“You must be part Viking,” I said.

“That’s me, Nordic through and through.”

She was making sport of me, but I liked it. “I wasn’t referring to your complexion,” I explained. “It’s the way you swing that ax. Like you’ve got battle-axes in your blood.”

“Ah. That might be my Indian blood.”

“You’re Indian?”

“Injun. Part Sioux… Lakota.”

“You kidding me?”

“I swear.” With her free hand, she drew a quick X in the middle of her chest. “On my mother’s side. Her grandfather fought at Little Big Horn.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I have it on good authority that he personally scalped Custer.”

“Really?”

She grinned. “That was kidding.”

“Glad to hear it, because I don’t think Custer got scalped.”

“I don’t really know if my ancestor scalped anyone at all. He was there, though. That’s a fact.”

“My God.”

“So I guess maybe things like tomahawks, spears and knives might run in my blood. I’m also part Sicilian.”

“Sioux and Sicilian. Man! Red blood and hot blood. That’s a dangerous combination. Remind me not to make you mad at me!”

“Yep. Watch it. I’m hell on wheels.” Her smile died and her eyes went dark. For a while there, she must’ve forgotten about the murders of her husband and her father. But she had just remembered. I could see the pain in her face. And the anger.

Wesley had made a very big mistake, killing people Kimberly loved.

He’s already paid for the mistake, but I’ve got a feeling that his torments have hardly even started.