Riley

As Riley ran through the galley, she opened the drawer that Mel had when she retrieved the large butcher knife. The only utensils left were steak knives, so she grabbed one. Something was better than nothing.

If Eliza were smart, she’d let her pass. If not, there would be consequences to face. The yacht looked peaceful with the bright lights on, unlike when they had made their way through it in the dark.

Mel had been right all along. Samantha was up to something, with several accomplices helping her. Would she end up like Bev? Not on her watch.

She crept up the galley stairs into the large, expansive salon sitting room. Through the windows, she saw Eliza pacing the port and starboard sides of the luxury vessel. Riley needed to get off the boat without Eliza seeing her. If she made it to the flybridge, she would have 360-degree visibility. Then she could make her way to the passerelle, if Eliza had not removed it, find some others, and try to assist Mel.

Riley rushed to the opening. Eliza stopped and turned toward the scraping sound. Riley ducked behind a column. She could hear Eliza’s footsteps. As they got closer to where Riley was hiding, she gripped the knife firmly. She’ll do whatever it takes to escape the yacht.

Mel

When Jones grabbed me and pushed me out of the stateroom, Riley saw I was in distress. My hope: she escaped the boat and found someone to help. Of course, if Curt had been correct about everyone being stoned out of their minds, her search may be pointless.

Samantha directed Jones to zip-tie my wrists. They dragged me toward the stern and opened the door to the lazarette. This is where they stored all the water toys. It smelled of gasoline and seawater.

“Sit,” Samantha commanded. Jones pushed me down hard. “Do her ankles. I don’t need her running off.” He did what she asked.

She took the scarf around her neck and told Jones to gag me. “You can hear her big mouth from here to the shore.”

“Wait. Wait.” I shook my head away from Jones. “When did I become the enemy here? All I’ve done is try to learn what happened to my friend, Beverly. I’m no threat to you.”

Samantha laughed. “Silly girl. Don’t you get it? We staged the entire scene. Beverly came to me the night before we docked. She wanted off. Didn’t want to participate anymore. So, I put her on our helicopter and off she went back to the States. Why do you think the police left in a hurry? False alarm. But you and your little friend Riley didn’t believe me.”

I still didn’t trust a word of it. Beverly wasn’t safely back in the States. I felt it in my bones.

“Why would you stage such a scene?” I struggled to comprehend the type of person capable of something this evil.

“We wanted to see who would pursue the mystery and who would move on from it. I mean, really, how could she have been your friend? You all just met through my company and me. But M&R Detective Agency decided not to let it go. You started planting suspicions on me and the island. The participants stopped trusting me.”

My ears were deceiving me. A test? What kind of sick joke was this? I shivered to think how we left our homes behind in hopes of something new; something that might give us a fresh start.

“If Beverly is truly back in the States, why wouldn’t you tell us that when we came to you?”

“My job here is to test our invitees on their instincts, compassion, empathy, and determination. You and Riley have surpassed our expectations. In fact, you two are off the charts.”

“Then why am I being detained? Is this part of your little game?” Again, I tried to free myself from the death grip Jones held on me.

“Yes and no. I spoke with your ex. He asked me for a favor.”

“How do you know my ex? And what does he have to do with this?”

“Ah, my little peach. Do you really believe a random invitation came in the mail for you? My, we are gullible.” A deep belly laugh escaped her lips. She reminded me of an old Disney character, Cruella.

“What about the others, Kathy, Curt, Aiden, Riley?” I asked.

“Remember when Riley said you were a mixed bunch? She figured it out before anyone else. All misfits with nothing to look forward to. Those envelopes put a spark of hope back into your lives. You can’t deny that.” I wanted to smack that smug look off her face. How dare she make these assumptions based on a narcissist’s perception of all of us?

It struck me then—my initial impression of the island… We had plunged into a themed event, an immersive anthropology tourism experience none of us had chosen… And as we neared the shoreline, Riley quipped, “So, are we about to be eaten by cannibals or what?”

Our conversations kept playing in my head as I stared at Samantha… that’s definitely a welcoming committee. They look… prepared. And Riley’s response had been… “Prepared for what, though?”

And now I knew. They planned to dispose of us one by one. First, Beverly, then me, Riley, and they’d work their way down to the weakest. No family to report to, no evidence of where we went, just vanished-broken homes, no jobs, and no significant others. Our traceable footprint died once we hit 30,000 feet and open water.

“I’ll leave you to your thoughts.” Samantha closed the door, and darkness surrounded me. The lock clicked.

 Great! No one knew where I was, not even Riley. I only hope she can escape. But who might listen to her? The islanders and the rest of the gang, being stoned out of their heads, could not offer any assistance.

My tongue worked the gag loose until it slipped from my mouth. My hands were numb from the tightness of the zip ties, and my shoulders ached from the position I was sitting in. Using my butt cheeks, I scooted to my left, where I had seen a jet ski snuggled up in the corner.

My wrist fit under the footrest, and I began rubbing the plastic restraint back and forth on the rough edge. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I pushed harder and harder to get it to snap. It seemed like an hour had passed before both arms sprang forward as the tie popped.

Once the zip tie snapped, I needed something to release my ankles. I felt around blindly, hoping my fingers would land on something sharp. My hands trembled, and with a shaky laugh, I whispered to myself, “All those Facebook posts on how to free yourself from bindings were useless right now. Hollywood always made it look so easy. Note to self: contact Steven Spielberg when I get out of this mess.”

That’s when I remembered the opal rock in my pocket. Yes! I knew it would come in handy for something.

I worked the rough edges around the taut zip until my biceps and fingers burned. And just like the wrists, the pop of the plastic freed my feet.

My mind kept trying to find a way out of this storage area. The smell of gasoline was strong, and it made my head pound. My nostrils stung with the scent, and I knew I had to get out to get some fresh air.

Now that I could move around, I swept my fingers across the floor. When nothing within reach could break the lock, I got up on my knees and searched the walls. If there were shelving, there might be a hammer or a pick I could swing to remove the handle.

My fingers struck something sharp and slippery. I put my hand to my nose. Grease. As I continued to explore the object, I realized it was a chainsaw. Dare I use it?

I froze.

Is this why there was so much blood in Beverly’s stateroom? Did they dispose of her piece by piece?

Editor: Jessica Hoffman