Richard Laymon - Island

I stumbled through the jungle, feeling my way in the darkness, until I came to the edge of the mansion’s grounds. Staying in the bushes, I crouched low and peered out.

After the nearly complete blackness near the cages, the moonlit lawn and house seemed amazingly bright.

No sign of Wesley or Thelma.

I’d last seen them entering the house. Were they still inside?

Off behind me, Connie continued yelling things like, “You bastard, come back here!” Billie and Kimberly were talking to her, trying to calm her down. Their voices, and Connie’s wild shouts, got mixed in with the usual squeals and squawks of jungle creatures.

I doubted that they could be heard inside the house. Even Connie’s first and loudest raging shriek had probably gone unnoticed by Wesley and Thelma. They might’ve caught the noise if they’d been standing, quiet and listening, near an open window in one of the front rooms. But the chances were against it. In a huge house like that, they were more likely not at a front window.

They probably weren’t standing quiet, either, straining to hear sounds from outside. More likely, they were doing something in there. Moving around, talking, sleeping, whatever.

It was unlikely that they’d heard Connie.

There seemed to be a better chance that they’d noticed the glow from my cigarette lighter. For one little dab of flame, it had really knocked a hole in the darkness. A fairly narrow strip of jungle separated the cages from the mansion’s lawn. If the foliage wasn’t really thick, the light might’ve been visible from the mansion.

It would’ve gone unnoticed, though, unless Wesley or Thelma happened to be watching from a front window.

After a while, I reached the conclusion that we’d overreacted. I could have stayed with the gals.

Better safe than sorry, though.

I am their only chance.

Besides, it’s just as well that I got away when I did. Things had gone a little haywire with Connie. No telling what might’ve happened.

My departure improved the situation with her. After a while, she quietened down. Within about fifteen minutes, no more voices were reaching me.

By then, too, it was obvious that nobody had shown up to check on the prisoners.

I tried to figure out what to do.

There seemed to be three choices:

1. Do nothing.

2. Sneak back to Billie’s cage.

3. Sneak into the mansion.

Doing nothing sounded pretty good. It held the least risk of unpleasantness—or death. As long as I remained hidden in the jungle, I stood a good chance of staying alive. It might also be the smartest course of action, since I didn’t know exactly where Wesley and Thelma might be.

I was very tempted, though, to sneak back to Billie’s cage. If I could do it with complete stealth and somehow get her attention without any of the others catching on… My God, no telling what might happen. I got excited, just thinking about it.

But why restrict myself to Billie? I could sneak over to any of the cages.

Wouldn’t want to get near Connie, of course.

How about Kimberly? Man!

No. Kimberly’d be all business. She might grab my hand, but she wouldn’t want to mess around.

What about paying Erin a visit?

I liked Erin.

She seemed to like me, too.

She’s too young, I told myself. You can’t do anything with her.

Who says so? She’s only four years younger than me. That isn’t so much. When I’m thirty, she’ll be twenty-six.

But she’s only fourteen now.

So what? In some cultures, people get married when they’re fourteen.

I imagined myself over at Erin’s cage. Touching her in the dark. Both of us exploring each other through the bars. In my mind, I could almost feel the smoothness and warmth of her small, pointy breasts.

The more excited I got, the more guilty I felt.

I couldn’t let myself sneak back to the cages.

If I went to Billie, I might end up going to Erin.

Which would be a very wrong thing to do, in spite of the arguments I could give myself in its favor. How could I even think about trying to mess around with Erin? I’d be no better than Wesley.

I was angry at myself.

Maybe I wanted to punish myself for being so tempted over Erin. Or maybe the awful urge to take advantage of her—the wrongness of it—sort of shone a spotlight on the right thing that needed to be done.

I’ll go back to the cages, all right. I’ll go back when I’ve got Wesley’s key-ring in my hand.

And not before.

There weren’t three choices anymore.

Only one.

Number three: sneak into the mansion.

Staying in the jungle’s darkness, I made my way along the perimeter of the lawn until I came to the area that faced the side of the house.

Then I gazed out.

Directly ahead of me, a short sprint away, was the window where I’d watched their vicious abuse of Erin.

The window was dark.

No light showed anywhere.

I saw no sign of Wesley or Thelma. Most likely, though, they were someplace inside the house. I’d seen them go in. There was no reason to believe they’d left.

But they might’ve left.

They might be almost anywhere.

Just watting to nail me.

I broke from cover and dashed through the long grass. I was so scared that I did that thing where you separate into two people: one of them doing this crazy and dangerous thing while the other watches, astonished, from a distance—sort of cheering on the fool.

I thought, Oh, man, you’re asking for it.

But I kept running, and didn’t stop until I reached the side of the house. I leaned my shoulder against the wall. I gasped for air. It didn’t take long to get my breath back, but my heart wouldn’t slow down. It pounded like mad. Because it knew what was coming.

The dash across the lawn had been the safe part.

I stepped over to the window. Pressing my face against the screen, I peered in.

Saw nothing.

Actually, I could see a lot. This wasn’t the sort of blackness I’d found at the cages. The room seemed to be filled with a dim mist—moonlight that had spilled in from the window and spread itself around.

Enough to show me that the room was cluttered with darkness.

Plenty of darkness to hide two people—or twenty.

Exploring the bottom of the screen, I found the pair of flaps that I’d made earlier with my razor.

What if Thelma found them?

I wished I hadn’t thought of that. If she or Wesley had spotted my handiwork with the screen, they’d know a prowler had paid them a visit. They’d be ready and waiting.

But they probably hadn’t spotted it.

They probably hadn’t so much as entered the room after Thelma’s return visit to pick up the clothes, blow out the candles, and so forth.

I poked my index fingers through the flaps, bent my fingertips downward and swung the screen toward me.

A few seconds later, I had my head inside. Without the screen in the way, the view was much better.

I could see the darkness a lot more clearly.

I stood there, the screen pressing against the back of my head while I scanned the room.

Black blotches all over the place.

Nothing appeared to be moving, though.

There was a lingering, somewhat foul odor of cigarette smoke. I smelled candles and blood, too. Or thought I did; those might’ve only existed in my imagination.

I pictured Wesley and Thelma sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, smiling as they patiently waited for me to enter their lair.

With the moonlit outdoors behind me, I would be easy to see. Like a black bust of Pallas perched upon the windowsill.

I went ahead and started to climb in, anyway.

The “other” me seemed to stand back and shake his head and warn me, It’s gonna be your ass.