He sipped his coffee again. “This roast will blow your hair back.”
Trevor felt like he was going to be sick again. He lowered his head into his hands and closed his eyes. He had the spins like he was drunk. He took a deep breath and spit. While doing so, he heard shuffling. When Trevor lifted his head and opened his eyes, Bruce stood on the other side of him near the door with a rifle pointed his way. Quickly, he eyeballed the gun on couch and lunged for it. No shots were fired as he pointed the gun at Bruce, finger firmly on the trigger.
After a long pause, Bruce handed the gun over to Trevor. “No sense moving forward if you don’t trust me.”
“I could have shot you.”
“Yeah, you could’ve.”
“Show me the graves.”
Bruce studied Trevor’s face. “Who is dead?”
“Skye.” His voice cracked saying her name.
“Tell me you didn’t kill her,” Bruce said.
Trevor paused. He looked him in the eyes and inflicted as much sincerity as he possibly could. “I did not kill her.” Did he know that for sure? Trevor still had a lot of dead space, lost time. The first night when he had been sleepwalking, his trance in the wooded area, an unknown force taking a hold of the steering wheel…
“I didn’t.”
“Give me my rifle.”
Trevor hesitated.
“You’ll want me to have it.”
I couldn’t have killed her.
Chapter Twenty-three - Erin
Erin retrieved the SAT phone from the creepy basement and raced back upstairs. She pressed the button and held it down. “Is anyone there?” Nothing. “Please, somebody pick up.”
The sweetest sound of static came and then a voice followed. “Who is this?”
“This is Erin.” She remembered being very unsure of Arnie on their trip over on Stefan’s boat. She didn’t like his buggy eyes and strange tattoos. He’d flash her that slanted, close-mouthed smile from time to time just to confirm her reservations. She didn’t know if she could trust him then, but she was sure willing to give him a chance now.
“Oh… Okay…” He left her hanging.
“Listen, I know you work with Stefan, but if he hasn’t already contacted you, we need help right away. My friend—” Her voice cracked. “My friend was murdered by someone on the island and another is being held hostage. I need you to come with a boat and authorities to help us leave. This is not a joke, nor is it part of Stefan’s plans he laid out for us. This is real. And we desperately need your help. Will you help us?”
A long pause followed, leaving her hanging on the edge of hope. Even if he wasn’t one to trust, having an extra boat there wouldn’t hurt. There was the fishing boat, but she had a feeling it wouldn’t be in the same spot she saw it last.
“I don’t know about the authorities… But I’ll do what I can.”
“So you’ll come?”
“Roger that. Is there anything I should bring? Medical supplies?”
“Sure, bring some medical kits. And sulfa powder, stitching thread, and extra gauze if you can.” She thought about her next suggestion briefly before speaking. “And protection. Guns.”
“Okay. Over and out.”
His responses seemed far too casual.
Erin moved down the stairs to check the surveillance and put the phone back on the charger. Before turning in, she noticed a small blood strain that trailed into Stefan’s room. She thought they had reached an understanding after she shot him—as crazy as that sounded—but there was no certainty. His manic ups and downs destroyed any chance of anticipating his intentions. Following the blood prints step for step, she entered Stefan’s room and then to the storage room. It was unlocked. She went through both doors. The air was cool and damp in the secret pathway of doom. A gecko lizard scurried across from floor in front of her and shot straight up the side wall and into a crack. She watched it all the way to ensure it wasn’t going to run back toward her.
Stefan had locked it before, right?
Erin consistently looked over her shoulder as she inched her way through the cement tunnel, fearing that she’d be attacked from the rear. But when she arrived at the end of the hall, she heard no sound coming from Bruce’s cabin, and the four rooms that had been locked were now wide open and empty. There was blood in two of them. He relocated them. He. Stefan. Trust no one. Find Ashton.
Erin inched her way up the three steps leading to the bright green door, pressing her ear against it, waiting for sound. No sound came. She cracked the door open gently and peered inside to find an empty cabin. She stepped inside. The first thing that caught her eyes was the TV mounted in the corner of the room. She grabbed the remote and turned it on. Surveillance of the four rooms in the hallway appeared. She changed the input and found surveillance of Stefan’s bunker as well.
Erin walked over to the counter in the kitchen to where she had once already stood. She touched the picture of the old tourists, the profile of who she knew to be Teresa in the background. Placed neatly underneath were more photos, photos that weren’t there before. Someone had put them there for her to find. Six more photographs, all of small groups, mostly families seemingly moving farther back in time as she flipped through, finally leaving her with one photo. There, plain as day, was Teresa (who hadn’t aged a day) with a man and two teenagers; one boy, one girl. It wasn’t possible. She didn’t even want to think the word, let alone say it out loud. Stay a while.
They wanted her there and they wanted her to remember what she had done. Erin dropped the photographs and walked out the front door.
The tree line wasn’t far, but she walked against the wind. It seemed the night had gone on forever. The drawn out darkness showed no signs of allowing the light to start the next day. Maybe it had other plans.
Erin headed for the duplex. She was hit with a pang of déjà vu. Ashton must be in the duplex. As she neared the entrance, an opening through the trees lined up perfectly with the moonlight, and a shadow emerged. She changed her course, and the closer she got to the beach, the louder the shovel sounded, splicing into the fine sand, the thickness sounding more and more dense with each plunge.
Trevor pounded away at the dirt, Bruce standing next to him with a flashlight and a rifle. It was difficult to tell, but it didn’t appear that Trevor was being held captive, a manic persistence on display as he spiked at the dirt. She pictured Skye’s slashed throat.
The trees to her left rustled, and something hit the dirt hard. Quiet groans followed—not those of a ghost, but those of an injured man. She followed the sound and came upon Stefan covered in blood, lying in the sand as he fought through labored breaths. “I only have time for the truth,” she said.
He grimaced and took a deep breath. “I got Ashton out. He’s safe.”
“Really? Because I think you put him there to begin with.”
He shook his head and spit again. “No, Erin. No.”
“What the hell is going on?”
“We need to get him and leave. That’s what is going on.”
“Okay,” she said. He winced, and she grimaced with empathy.
Before she could explain the photographs she had found and all the feelings she had been experiencing, he cut her off. “The staff… They aren’t human.”
“Come on…” But she knew. Erin helped him sit up, leaning him against a palm tree. He spat into the sand and laughed. It was quiet enough, but still hysterical. “We got ourselves some pissed off spirits, Erin.” He looked at her gun. “Not entirely sure if that thing will work. You know how to use it anyway?”
“Point and shoot.” She looked back toward the beach and found that they had stopped shoveling and were staring down at something.