Island

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.

The book bag on my back caused some trouble. I had to elbow the screen up out of its way. Finally, though, I got myself over the sill and into the room.

Sidestepping away from the window, I put a wall to my back.

Then I just stood still and listened to the house. The only human sounds came from me: my own breathing and heartbeat -- and my stomach gurgling now and then.

Too long since my last meal.

I had food with me, but this was no time to pause for a snack.

I dug into the right front pocket of my shorts. First, I took out the lighter. I switched it to my left hand, then reached down again and brought out the straight razor.

I kept its blade shut.

Wanted it ready, but not that ready.

Then I tried to make myself flick the lighter.

The Bic was slippery in my hand. My thumb didn't want to move.

Go on and do it, I thought. What've you got to lose? If they aren't in the room, they won't see it, anyway. If they are here, you're already a dead duck and just don't know it yet.

I struck the lighter.

So did a guy standing off to my left in the corner of the room.

I jumped. I gasped, "Yah!"

Then I realized the guy over there was a mirror-made duplicate of yours truly.

(I know, I know, I'm an idiot.)

I killed the light and stood in the darkness for a long time, waiting for someone to come and investigate my odd little yell.

Nobody came.

I ignited the lighter again. This time, the guy in the mirror didn't scare me. In fact, I appreciated him; he doubled the brightness.

We both stood motionless and scanned the room.

It seemed to be deserted, except for us.

I started walking slowly. He and his flame followed me.

When the floor suddenly went slick under my foot, I skidded but didn't fall.

I turned around and bent over to see what I'd stepped in. On the floor was a wet, reddish smear. This was where Thelma and Wesley had finished their fun with Erin. Thelma had come back into the room for their clothes and to blow out the lights, but she hadn't bothered to wipe up the blood, sweat, and so on.

Now, I'd made skid marks in it.