The Island
: Chapter 11

A thin mist rises from the ground with every second we get closer to the storm. Waves crash loudly against the cliff as Liam and I walk the perimeter.

We’ve been walking for a long time. My feet are aching.

It’s still warm, and the breeze is welcome as the sun scorches my shoulders above me.

If the park was open the mist would add to the atmosphere, it would be electric. Right now, with Will missing, the boat gone, and cell service down, it’s just plain creepy.

“Splitting up from Reeve was a mistake,” I say, goose bumps pinching my skin.

I look over my shoulder.

“Why?” Liam asks. His voice has an edge of hurt as if he believes I only feel safe with Reeve.

“Safety in numbers and all that.”

“We don’t need anyone else with us. We’re on a deserted island.”

Only it’s not deserted. There are eleven of us here. Ten if Will really has left…or worse.

“Will!” I call out. “If you can hear us, please shout! This isn’t funny anymore!”

Liam’s thorough in our search. He looks around, up, and down. Does he think Will could be hiding in a tree or under a table? He checks every inch of the island as we go.

“Paisley, do you think he’s dead?”

“Why would you ask that, Liam? Jeez.”

“Hey, don’t be a hypocrite. You’ve thought it more than once. Hell, you thought it before we even knew he was missing. All I’ve done is voice it.” He ducks, looking under an ice cream cart.

Will couldn’t even fit under there. He’s not a toddler.

But he’s right. I am being a hypocrite; I’ve been through dozens of scenarios. The best one being, Will is pulling some elaborate prank, filming his own episode of Punk’d. The worst one being that he’s dead.

“Sorry. You’re right, Liam. It’s just saying it out loud makes it very real, you know? I cover this stuff all the time but it’s always things that have happened to others. No one I know, no one I’ve met. It’s easier to detach.”

“Hey.” He pulls me to a stop, his hands resting on my pinking shoulders. “How about we both stay positive unless there’s a reason not to.”

“Sounds good.”

He drops his hands. “Okay, this is useless. We’ve not seen him anywhere and we’ve spent almost two hours walking the perimeter. We need to get back soon.”

“Where else could he be?”

“You think every room in the hotel has been checked?”

I shrug and lean against the ice cream cart close to the entrance where we started. “Who knows. That wasn’t our job. What else can we do?”

“Think his phone will reveal anything?” Liam asks.

“Not sure we could even get into it. He’ll have a password.” I push off and startle as a panel in the side of the cart falls to the ground.

Liam shouts, his eyes wide and mouth open in horror. He grabs me, yanking me toward him with a fistful of my shirt.

I gasp as I hit his chest and my heart stops at his reaction. “Wh-what?”

“Don’t look, Paisley.”

I don’t listen because I have to know. I cling to Liam as tightly as he’s clinging to me and turn my head.

A deafening scream rips from my throat as Will’s body dangles half out of the cart. His bloody hand rests on the asphalt. Palm up, holding a small pool of his own blood.

Liam spins us both around so our backs are to Will, but it’s too late. I’ve already seen the long gash in the center of his chest and his large, vacant eyes.

I suck in long, deep breaths and try not to faint as my lungs burn and my head spins.

He’s dead.

“Oh my god, oh my god.”

No. He was murdered.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Liam chants. I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or himself. His body, wrapped around mine, shakes almost violently. I manage to wiggle free enough to grab the radio attached to my jeans and call the others.

I tell them we’ve found Will’s body, going into slight detail so they’re not as shocked as Liam and I were when we found him. I tell them that it’s clearly murder.

“It’s okay,” I say, pressing my palm to his cheek. Crap, he’s really freaking out. “Liam, look at me.”

His haunted eyes make contact, and he swallows. “I’m sorry. Jesus, I’m sorry, Paisley. I—I’ve just never seen…”

“It’s the shock,” I say.

“I should be looking after you.” His voice is hollow.

“We’re taking care of each other. They’re coming,” I say as Harper and Camilla answer my call for help. “We’re going to replace a way of getting off this island.”

The others are outside in a matter of seconds.

“What’s going on?” Camilla asks.

They’re breathless as they run toward us.

I step forward. “He was murdered. He’s been in that cart. They put him in there. It’s not…nice to look at.”

Camilla rears back and turns around, not looking. She retches, bending over and resting her hands on her knees.

Gibson and Reeve do look. Both shout out in shock even though they know what they’re about to see.

When did they even get here? They didn’t mention anything on the radio.

“We need to get out of here. Right now,” Reeve says.

“Kenna and Malcolm are in a lot of trouble,” I mutter.

Reeve puts his hand on my burnt shoulder. “If they’re not already dead. How many more carts are there around here?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Don’t.”

I’ve seen so many dead bodies since I started my crime channel. But I’ve always been separated by a screen. I’m safe in my room, surrounded by my fluffy pens, posters of my favorite bands, and photo of my dog, Bailey.

This is the first time that I’ve seen one in real life.

Harper holds back, staying by the gate to the hotel. She has her arms wrapped around herself and she’s furiously biting her lip.

I leave the rest of them and walk to her. Behind me I hear Reeve take over, giving orders to Gibson and Liam. Camilla’s heels click as she follows me.

Harper wraps me in a hug when I reach her. We hold on to each other like we’ll break if we don’t.

“It’s okay,” I whisper.

“I can’t believe he’s dead.”

“We’re getting out of here.”

She sucks in a ragged breath. “Too right we are.”

“Into the hotel, girls,” Camilla says. She looks over her shoulder three times as we go. Her face is deathly pale.

I hold my stomach as we walk into the hotel, still not sure that I don’t need to throw up.

In the lobby, Harper, Camilla, and I take a seat. No one has anything to say, so silence stretches for what seems like hours. It’s been minutes.

We’re all trying to process what’s happened in our own way.

For Camilla, that’s tapping at a hundred miles an hour on a phone that doesn’t have any service.

For Harper, it’s reading. She has her backpack by her feet and a book sitting on her knees. She’s hunched over as she reads like she’s having to force herself to focus by fully facing the pages. I don’t see her eyes move once, so I don’t think she’s actually taking anything in. It’s more like a comfort having a paperback in front of her. A safety blanket.

For me, it’s watching out of the window as Gibson, Liam, and Reeve pick up Will’s body and carry him…somewhere. They disappear from sight, and I don’t know what to think. I didn’t hear them mention taking him anywhere in particular, but of course they will have to. The storm is coming, and we can’t leave him out there. The birds of prey that I’ve seen circling the island might land if we don’t move him. There is no way we can allow anything as horrific as that to happen to Will.

His parents will need to bury him. All of him. And the cops will want as much forensic evidence as possible. Water and animals can really screw with that.

I watch out the window with bile rising in my throat, but they don’t come back. I suppose they won’t wander through the lobby with blood on their clothes.

Ten minutes later, they resurface. Liam just after. Each one with slightly damp hair and new clothes. They must have taken another entrance and gone to clean up in their rooms.

No one says a thing, but we acknowledge each other. A small nod, half-smile, a worried glance.

I wait and observe, wishing I could get into everyone’s head.

Reeve hands me a mug of coffee. “Are you okay?” he asks, kneeling in front of me and breaking the silence.

“You probably think I’m ridiculous. I spend all day talking about murder, and here I am, shaking in an armchair.”

I sip the coffee and welcome the slightly bitter taste.

“There’s a big difference between talking about murder and witnessing one. We’re all scared here, Paisley.”

“Did you manage to fix the wiring?”

He dips his head. “Not yet. We’re doing that next.”

“Do you guys know how to fix it?”

“Yes.”

There’s something he’s not telling me. Usually, I want all the answers, but I’m happy to remain ignorant on this one.

Instead of asking what I should ask, I reply, “Good.”

His dark eyes blink slowly. He knows that I don’t believe him. He doesn’t believe him. But neither of us admits it.

“What on earth is going on?” Malcolm erupts into the lobby, throwing his hands up. “I’ve been in my office trying to make contact and then I hear that Will is dead. How can he be dead?”

“Murdered,” I say. “He’s not just dead. There was no accident. Someone stabbed him and stuffed him in a cart.”

Shoving his hands through his curly hair, he blows out a long breath. “Jesus. What are we going to do? I can’t get hold of anyone. Nothing is working.”

I press my lips together to stop myself from crying. Nothing is working.

“What the hell kind of resort is this?” Ava snaps, leaning on James. “There has to be an emergency way off this island.”

Malcolm straightens and his eyes cloud at the accusation that his island is completely unsafe. “There is. Of course there is.”

James throws his hands up. “What are we waiting for, then?”

“The wind is too bad. Has been all day,” Gibson says. “The only way off the island are the rowboats, but the water is far too rough for that.”

“He’s right. And rain was forecast for any second. Our best chance is to stay here, stick together, and try to repair the emergency radio or Wi-Fi,” Reeve says.

Malcolm looks like he wants to remind his employee who’s in charge. But he’s not offering many solutions. He’s very good at being the owner, showing off, and watching people revel in what he’s created. He’s not so great in a crisis.

He takes a seat next to Camilla and puts his head in his hands. His dream of having the most talked-about, most successful independent resort is slipping away.

“I’m going back downstairs. Gibson, you ready?” Reeve says.

“Shouldn’t we try to replace Kenna?” Harper asks. “She could be hurt.”

“She’s probably dead,” Ava says. “Why would we risk our lives going out there to look for her?”

Lovely.

“You think we’re safer in here, but this person has been in the hotel. Last night, while we were sleeping, this guy was snipping wires and kidnapping Will.”

Ava narrows her eyes. All right, I didn’t need to say that and make her worry more, but who the hell doesn’t want to try to help another person who could be in trouble?

“I’ll go,” I offer, draining the last of the strong coffee. I’m so over being scared in this place. At least I can be scared and useful at the same time.

“No,” Gibson says. “We can’t have anyone else going missing. Reeve was right: we all have to stay in the hotel.”

“So we just write Kenna off?” Harper snaps. “We can’t do that.”

Gibson’s exasperated. “We’ll drop like flies if we don’t stick together.”

She folds her arms. “Fine.”

I don’t feel good about it, but I can’t say I disagree with them.

No one has seen Kenna since last night.

I can’t ignore the heavy feeling in my stomach that tells me she’s already dead.