“I’m sorry I came at you back there. I couldn’t control it. That wasn’t me.”
“I’m sorry I shot you. I couldn’t control it.”
Their eyes met humorously, and then the seriousness returned. “I tried to call Arnie. Nothing.”
“That’s because he’s on his way,” said Erin.
Stefan sighed in relief. “Here’s the plan then. First, don’t shoot me again. Then, we go get Ashton from my place and trek to the south end, where Arnie will hopefully be waiting for us.”
“What about Trevor?” She knew the answer but needed to hear it from someone else.
“He has to stay. He killed Skye. I saw it on the drone coverage.”
“I know… How’s your shoulder?” She leaned forward to examine the wound, and he flinched before she touched it. He groaned and she smothered his mouth so they wouldn’t be heard.
“I’ll be okay,” he murmured.
“I don’t know about that… Come on,” she said.
She carried most of Stefan’s weight into the bunker through the back entrance. She got him seated on the couch first. He looked so pale. As she motioned to check the bullet wound in his shoulder, he jolted away in pain again. “Make sure the doors are locked. Now.”
She rushed to both the front and back entrances, ensuring the dead bolts slid in all the way. She ran back up to Stefan. “Let me check your shoulder.”
“No, no, no.” He fussed, his breaths still labored. “I can’t stand you touching it. It hurts too much.”
“Do you have any sulfa powder we could use to pack it in to stop the bleeding? If not, I should cauterize it. You’ll need some more pot to dull the pain.”
“Forget about that.”
“You could bleed out if we don’t.”
“Get Ashton first. Then you can play doctor.”
She leaned in closer, letting her hand linger over the top of his. His fingertips touched hers. His hand rested on her cheek. He was as scared as she was.
“Go,” he whispered. “Hurry. He’s downstairs. Probably still be unconscious.”
She stood. “I’m sorry I shot you. Seriously. Oh my God, your leg too.”
He glanced at his leg and shook his head.
“I had no choice, but it didn’t matter anyway.”
He shared her loss, her fear, her homesickness—all of it—with one single look. “I’ll pull through. We just have to stick together.”
She raced into Stefan’s room, but there was no one there. A different room? She checked all the rooms, included the interrogation room; the one that Trevor had told her about on their first night… how something was off about Stefan, how he was lured in there and the power kicked out, how he said strange things to him. Her head was now light and woozy as she staggered into the dark theatre room and turned on the lights. She leaned over a chair, still trying to look around the spinning room for Ashton, but it was quiet. There was not a soul down there. The sickness was spreading as she walked back into Stefan’s bedroom. She reached for the storage room door and swung it open. She walked past the wine shelving and placed her hand on the door to the passageway. It wasn’t just locked. It was as though it was sealed or boarded shut. She slammed her fists angrily into it over and over again, but it didn’t budge. By the time she stopped, her knuckles were scraped and bleeding.
Wobbling over to the hall, she was brought to her knees by a piercing noise in her head. Stay a while. It was unrelenting.
Chapter Twenty-four - Trevor
He dug another grave. More bones. Bones that belonged to actual people. The devil’s spot on the Caribbean was real, and he belonged there. Trevor crouched to his knees and touched one of the bones. Grains of sand crunched between his teeth, his tongue dry, his body covered in sticky sweat. He could smell his own body odor and bad breath. Down on his hands and knees, he began pawing handfuls of sand like a dog. The sand was wet and dark; the coolness felt good against his skin.
Bruce angled Trevor aside and finished the job for him, showing him yet another grave, the bones worn, and the sand spilling around them. They were a mix of gray and brown. Bruce wiped sweat from his brow and finished one more grave. They were shallower than six feet but would suffice. The final grave revealed the bones of a child.
Bruce’s voice was bitter. “There are more. We’ve seen enough.”
Trevor cursed under his breath. “What now?”
Bruce spiked the shovel and wiped his mouth. He looked up at the moon and sighed. “We get that girl of yours away from the kid.”
“Stefan?”
He nodded. “I don’t think it was his doing, but the island got a hold of him. Once it does that, it doesn’t let go. I don’t trust these folk here, not for a second, but the kid had a hand in this. Whether he was of the right mind or not. He lost control.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“His eyes aren’t right. Not anymore. Plus, he has access everywhere. You said it yourself. He was gone all day, while shit hit the fan with your friends.”
“Would he hurt Erin?” He could see her clearly in his mind, a bright aura around her smiling face. The way her cheeks blushed when she was nervous or embarrassed. He missed her coconut-scented hair, the subtle curves of her hips, her soft white skin, her freckled nose, chest, and arms.
“I wouldn’t figure it. But if she tried to leave… Well, that’s a whole different story there.”
Bruce shuffled to his left as Trevor looked up at him. As tears formed in Trevor’s eyes, the sky broke and spilled, rain falling down on them gently. The sand in his hands turned to clay as the floodgates opened, pouring down on two damaged men—one old, one young. Bruce handed him his gun. “Keep it dry,” he said. “Whatever it takes… you’re leaving.”
Trevor nodded and rose to his feet. Bruce looked at him expressionless. “What is it you did?” he yelled through the downpour. “I took everything from a man. You?”
“Enough to be here.”
They had no significant plan, only the need to save Erin, and they were on the same page. The walk felt long, the rain weighing them down in the sand. They made it to the trees and jogged right out of plain sight, hugging the tree line which gave them shelter. They walked around the south side, Stefan’s horror house coming into sight.
Other footsteps blended with the patter of rain. Trevor heard scurrying sounds.
He sidestepped around a tree and spotted a woman in the distance. It was difficult to tell, but she looked older, just standing there like she was waiting for someone. It wasn’t Cassidy.
Bruce’s rifle fired. Trevor turned. Bruce was on his back, trying to fight off a man who was throwing chaotic punches. Finally finding traction between his feet and the wet ground, Trevor surged forward for the rifle, grabbed it, and jabbed the butt end to the man’s jaw. The impact was solid. The man lay on top of Bruce, out cold. Trevor turned to locate the woman again. She was gone.
“A little help here,” groaned a battered Bruce from underneath the unconscious man.
A bucket of water to his face did the trick. Tied to a chair, in the middle of Bruce’s cabin, the man that Bruce called Sebastian awoke.
“Been killing young girls?”
He blinked his eyes to wake himself up and then looked at Trevor curiously. “Was that me?”
Trevor reared back and hit him square on the nose, knocking his head back. He rested his head forward, chin down to his chest, and muttered something Trevor couldn’t make out.
“What do you want with us?” asked Trevor.
“I think the question is, what do you want with us.” He rolled his head back, holding it loosely to the side, blood leaking from his nose.