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  Dick wasn't fooled by her dogged, yet unimpressive attempts at concealing her uneasiness. He smiled and chewed his last piece of fish. "So do you go by a nickname? Jessie, Jess, something like that?"

  "No. Not since high school. Jessica will be fine."

  "Okay, Jessica." He stamped out the fire with his chewed-up sneaker. "Already told you who I am, so onto your second question: where are you? I can't say for sure. I believe we're somewhere far off the shores of San Francisco, perhaps due north of the Hawaiian Islands, on some freakishly unknown island. I say 'freakishly' because I haven't seen even one boat pass here. Same for planes except I swear some nights I awake hearing the rumbling of engines."

  "How long have you been here?"

  Dick stood up, "I'm not so sure about that either." he moved over to the corner of the cave, picked up something, brought it back, and handed it to her.

  It was an old black-band, wind-up Timex wristwatch, long since replaced by fancy digital monstrosities able to predict all but the future. Seeing the watch, Jessica flashed back on an equally old commercial where a man with a red hardhat dropped a similar Timex into a cement mixer while boasting that "Timex takes a licking, but keeps on ticking." Sure enough, when the watch came out of the mixer, it was still ticking. This watch, however, must have taken a much harsher licking because it wasn't ticking. It was frozen on the time: 12:03 P.M.

  When she finally looked up Dick had a solemn expression and asked, "What year is this, anyway?"

  "Nineteen ninety-three." she answered.

  He took the watch from her and held it close to his face. "Oh, Jesus, no, nineteen ninety-three. Jesus. . ." He touched the cracked face of the watch to his forehead and closed his eyes.

  "Dick? How long? How long have you been here?"

  "Eleven years," he said, opening his distant eyes. "Eleven long years."

  As if on cue, the light outside dimmed.

  * * *

  "How did I get here?" Dick repeated Jessica's question. "Do you want the long, boring tale? Or a quick summary?"

  "It's up to you."

  "Okay." he paused, eyes wandering, "I was on a long fishing trip and a bad storm caught us like the one a couple of nights ago. There was, oh, I'd say thirty of us on the ship that day. I'm the sole survivor." He paused again looking back at Jessica with a melancholy expression, "I was beginning to think I'd be here alone forever."

  "We're alone?" Jessica gasped. She was stranded alone with an old, decaying bum?

  "Yes. Yes, quite alone."

  "And," Jessica fought back the fear in her voice. "There's no way off this island?"

  "No way."

  "Nobody knows I'm here?"

  "I'm not so sure about that. Why don't you tell me how you got caught up in the storm?"

  Jessica rubbed her forehead and forced her weak legs to stand. Her bones cracked. She turned away.

  "Jessica? Are you all right? What did I say?"

  She knew he was standing behind her, staring with his empty, pitiful pits. She was not ready to accept the fact that she had survived. Perhaps she really had been torn apart in that storm. Perhaps her final destination had been decided?

  Heaven was too good for her because she hadn't helped enough senior citizens cross the street, hadn't donated enough money to AIDS research or Jerry Lewis' continuous battle with Muscular Dystrophy, hadn't loved or labored or lived the Good Life. Perhaps this was, instead, the other place. The bad place. And this was where she would suffer forever: an enigmatic island with a rotting man for company.

  She turned. "I—I'm sorry. It's going to take a while for me to. . .to get used to this."

  A strong ocean wind blew through the cave opening.

  * * *

  "My name is Jessica Roberta Stanton. I grew up in New York and am married to Edward Stanton. You don't know who he is, do you?"

  "Sorry." He looked at her marriage finger and she nodded sadly. The tide had brought her to the island somewhat unscathed, yet it kept her diamond wedding ring as an eerie memento.

  She continued, "Edward Stanton owns the patents on several revolutionary computer chips. The IX-2 series is tearing it up in the business world. Edward has IBM shaking. We were celebrating a billion in profits and then—"

  The wind blew in, captured, raised and lowered her hair.

  "And then?" Dick prodded.

  "Edward wanted to take a yacht trip. Just a couple of close people we knew, and me, of course. We left from San Francisco. . ."

  "So you live in New York and he owns a private yacht in San Francisco?" Dick said.

  "No, we live in Valford, a suburb of Redmond, Washington. Sort of becoming the tech hub in the Pacific Northwest. Microsoft is there as well. We have a condo in New York." She kept using 'we' but Dick was correct that the toys were more about and for Edward than her. "We own several yachts. One in Mexico, New York and San Francisco."

  "So, you're rich." Dick must have missed the part about celebrating a billion dollars in profit.

  She expected him to be envious, as most people were, but he wasn't in the slightest. She might have gotten a better reaction out of the rock he was sitting on.

  "Money doesn't do much good here, does it?"

  "No." He shook his head. "Unless, you want to use it as toilet paper."

  She smirked, realizing the cruel joke behind his reply. "Speaking of toilet paper. . ."

  He stood up and gestured to the cave entrance. "Follow me, Jessica, and I'll show you the, uh, bathroom."

  Yes, she decided, I am in hell.

  Outside the cave there was a large patch of multi-shaded green plants. He showed her the beaten entrance with the same enthusiasm as a gas attendant pointing to a dirty john. She didn't ask for toilet paper, fearing his answer, she just went to it.

  Minutes later she emerged from the plant enclosure holding her nose.

  Her face was turning green. "The smell! Ohhh, disgusting."

  "You'll get used to it."

  "It smells worse than an outhouse. I never thought anything could smell worse than an outhouse."

  "It's this way back to the cave." He gestured for her to take his hand and she declined. She was disgusted that he would even want to touch her hand after she'd gone to the bathroom.

  "I need to wash first," she said.

  "The ocean is wonderful for cleansing," he said. "But if you get a cut, watch out. Then the bitch gets cranky."

  He led her through a long ravine passage. She tried to learn what directions they were twisting and turning but it was futile. She was not a woodsman. She told herself, like it or not, she would have to stick close to Dick. She would not know what to do if she got lost in the woody labyrinth.

  "How big is this island?"

  "I figure it's roughly four square miles. Not that big. Still plenty big enough to get lost in, if you know what I mean."

  "Don't worry, I have no intention of running away."

  "That's comforting. I promise that in not too long you'll get to know your way around here."

  The strength and confirmation in that thought made her shiver.

  In another five minutes he peeled back a bush and showed her a long sandy beach.

  "This is the southwest beach. The one you washed in on. Go ahead and wash your hands, I'll wait for you here."

  Jessica moved slowly toward the incoming tide, her naked feet sinking into the warm sand. Soon the beach beneath her feet grew damp and slimy, the perfect boundary for this hell-island. She knelt down as the tide rushed in, getting deeper around her until the icy tide filled up to her ankles. She washed her hands in the ocean while staring out at the violent waves crashing a football field's distance away. The tide rolled back out and she studied it for a long, ponderous moment. She trudged back up the beach where Dick was waiting, feeling no relief. She still felt something amiss. This wasn't one of those countless romance novel islands where peace and tranquility reign.

  Dick was sitting down on the beach when she returned. "So, are you ready
to finish your story?"

  She sat down next to him. "My story?" she stared off in the distance, still disoriented.

  "You were at San Francisco, and the fact that you're, um, very rich."

  Very rich, ha! Even armed with her miraculous credit cards—which had saved her from many a terrible tragedy—she couldn't buy her way out of this. Let me put a bathroom with deluxe shower head on my Mastercard, please.

  "We left for Hawaii," she said, locking eyes on the ocean once again. "And, like what happened on your fishing trip, the big storm came. I kept telling Edward we should turn back. The Coast Guard had given warnings. But Edward, well, he's stubborn. The storm came and—and the boat capsized."

  She didn't realize tears were streaming down her face. Dick laid a gentle hand on her knee.

  She turned from the ocean swells and shot Dick a stare. "Do you think there's any chance. . .that Edward is still alive?"

  Dick looked away. "You know, it looks like it's going to be a nice day."

  "Not the ignoring thing again, please." She wiped away a tear with the back of her hand. "Just give it to me straight."

  "Sorry." Dick paused. "Okay, I'll say this, if you survived, he might have survived too. He might have—"

  Jessica was too immersed with self-pity to pursue where Dick was going with that statement.

  The sound of the waves pounding the beach, a heavenly sound to her at one time, now seemed very depressing.

  "Dick, please take me back to the cave so I can sleep some more. I've heard all I can handle today."

  Without saying another word he took her back.

  * * *

  After he was sure Jessica was sleeping he left the cave, went outside and stared across at the east side of the island.

  He'd almost blown it, had almost said: Edward might have washed ashore on another beach. It would have been a huge blunder talking about the other parts of the island. Jessica might have wanted to go see if they could find her husband. Maybe tomorrow she'd want to do that anyway and that wouldn't be good. No. He must keep Jessica focusing on herself.

  Jessica thought of him as having a name that some childhood friends once used to call him: Dick. And oh how appropriately it described what he was being at the moment.

  The trees swaying in the breeze were the perfect mask for the terrible secret. Perhaps too perfect? He wondered if he'd be able to pull off his plan. It would be quite a test and he could see many advantages if successful.

  But if he failed?

  CHAPTER 4

  A pleasant hour passed while Richard, the man Jessica knew as Dick, sat on his rock seat and admired the sleeping woman. Despite her ruined blouse that the ocean had wrecked, Jessica was still more beautiful than any woman in his wildest, most vivid fantasy. She had the most captivating, entrancing ash-blond hair; it laid there, oh so natural, without the added four-hour curling and combing and hair spraying (which left most women with oily stiff mop heads, instead of hair).

  Her piercing brown eyes happily reminded him of his favorite candy, Hershey's Kisses, and when she was sad those Kisses appeared to melt like the famous chocolate. Her petite, inviting lips. She had a very natural look, unlike his nose which had been broken a handful of times and looked like a Rorschach ink blot. She had a tiny mouth, opening to a full set of gleaming whites, and a wonderful smile. She was just like his dream told him.

  Something fresh.

  He stood up, his tree branch honed to a fine edge, and walked over to her. He stroked her hair with the branch-spear. "So. . .fresh."

  Five minutes later he left her alone in the cave.

  * * *

  Jessica awoke and sensed being alone. She sprung up and searched around.

  Where was Dick? The rock where he had been whittling was vacant. The sun still shone brightly through the cave entrance, and she told herself that he had probably just stepped outside to find another branch to whittle. She must not have been asleep that long. An hour? two? At least, Dick had not left her alone in the dark.

  But he had left her alone.

  Fear strangled her body. Tiny ripples of gooseflesh rose like weeds all over her body. The cave reeked not only of fish, but of a worse odor, a fouler stench: loneliness.

  She got up and went quickly to the cave entrance.

  "Dick? Dick?"

  The wind howled. Mocked.

  Louder: "Dick?"

  Nothing. No echo.

  She walked ten feet down the beaten trail. Stood alongside the makeshift bathroom. Called again.

  "Dick?"

  He was gone.

  Looking into the jungle's confusing mixture of plants, vines, rocks and trees, she remembered his cautionary words: Still plenty big enough to get lost in.

  Yes, she thought and his other words resonated inside her brain: if you know what I mean.

  The wind drove a few icy chills up and down her spine.

  Where could Dick have gone? The beach? Fishing?

  "Dick?" she called out again. No doubt, he'd left her alone. What's wrong with that? Her conscience was annoyed, it's broad daylight and you're being (Edward's words): chickenshit.

  But even in their Valford mansion she couldn't stand being left alone. And Edward seemed to leave her alone too often. "Stop being so yellow honey," he'd say with his annoying chuckle. A sound like billiard balls cracking together during an aggressive break. "What's so bad about being home alone? Turn on the TV or radio if you want some company."

  Sometimes that worked.

  Except now she didn't see any big screen TV or high end stereo receivers popping out of the bushes. Let me charge that to my Mastercard too please.

  Jessica turned and stared back at the cave entrance. It was approximately ten feet in diameter with long green and brown vines twisting around the creepy opening. It reminded her of the hungry, spittle-dripping mouth. Darkness and evil dominating over light inside the cave. There was nothing positive Jessica could say about her new home, even from a good distance.

  There was something wrong with this "freakishly unknown" island. She felt something dark and disturbing churning inside her stomach.

  She decided it wasn't wise for her to have left the cave. She started back. She made it five feet before she heard something rustling in the bushes nearby.

  Something alive.

  Something moving closer.

  Her heartbeat shifted into overdrive, pummeling the ventricle walls. Hairs on the back of her neck rose. Prickling sensations nipped at random spots on her body: fingertips, toes and palms.

  Her eyes searched for the intruder. Found none. She was disturbed and on the verge of executing her best shriek.

  Nothing, Jessica. Edward's click-clack (eight-ball corner pocket) chuckle: chickenshit.

  A harsh wind blew and the whole ravine came alive; shiver-dancing to the ocean tide's music.

  Damn imagination. Her heartbeat slowed, returned to normal. A minute passed before she felt silly being scared of nothing.

  That was when something cold, something real, emerged from the ravine, grasped her naked shoulder, and squeezed.

  "Gotcha."

  It was only Dick.

  "Hey! You scared the shit out of me." Jessica trembled.

  "I—I was just teasing, sorry." Dick yanked back his icy hand. "I was watching you."

  "Then why didn't you answer me?"

  "I thought. . .I just—"

  "I don't enjoy being frightened, Dick, and this island scares me enough. Please don't. Don't do that again."

  He held up his spear, a string of fish tied onto it. "Peace? I brought dinner."

  "Don't do that again." She was still in reprimand mode. "My nerves aren't steel, okay?"

  "Okay."

  She looked at his despondent eyes. "I don't like being left alone."

  "You don't have to explain yourself, Jessica. It's not the first time I've screwed up. "

  "Then," she said, eyeing the fish with a grimace. "Let's go. . .eat."

  * * *

&nb
sp; "Grouper," he explained, chewing the roasted fish, "I catch them near the shore. They're close relatives of the bass family. Come in all sizes too. My grandfather said the best tasting fish in the world was grouper. He caught a few jewfish in his time. Hung 'em right on his wall."

  She was puzzled. "Why hang a twelve-inch fish on the wall? Why didn't he try to catch something a little more ambitious?"

  "Ambitious?"

  "Bigger. A shark, whale, you know?"

  "Jessica, the spotted jewfish is the largest type of grouper you can catch. Some of them weigh up to six-hundred pounds."

  Her eyes widened. She didn't know her fish because she didn't like anything outdoorsy beyond sunning out the deck of a yacht or a tropical beach. "Tomorrow," Dick said. "We start your training."

  "What training?"

  "Survival training, of course. We can't have you fidgeting every time you see a cockroach or—"

  "Cockroach?"

  "Yeah, you said you were going to Hawaii, right? Hell, that place is, pardon the pun, crawling with them. You should know that, you've probably been there tons of times."

  Not the places where we stay.

  "Surely, you're not serious?"

  "Why wouldn't I be?"

  "Because. . .because why does everyone stay where there is cockroaches? We didn't."

  "Hey, they're not deadly or anything. They're not even known as disease carriers."