[Invitation to Eden 20.0] The Island of Eden, Page 2

  A jolt passes through me—that sense of familiarity, but stronger.

  “Do I know you?” I query, peering down into her face. The feeling isn’t one of attraction, not at all... rather, the feel of her dry, cool hand against my own soothes me in a way that nothing has since my accident.

  “I think I just have one of those faces.” She hesitates, then seems to settle. That jolt that passed between us—that almost familial feeling link—I’m pretty sure she felt it too. “And you can call me Joely.”

  “Joely.” An unusual name, yet it fits her. Satisfied I nod, squeeze her hand once more. “I’m Theodosius Vardalos.”

  I wait for her eyes to widen with recognition—the society pages used to love to detail my exploits, especially those of a romantic nature.

  “That is one mouthful of a name, big guy. I think I’ll call you Mr. V.” She nods decisively, as if satisfied with the nickname, then gestures to the plane. “Your chariot awaits, Mr. V. Please keep your hands and feet inside the plane at all times, no smoking or listening to music the pilot doesn’t approve of, and in the event of a crash landing I’m sure something on this baby floats, so we’re good. Next stop, the middle of nowhere.”

  Nowhere was exactly where I wanted to be.

  I was going to the island.

  Chapter Two

  Since the accident I have wondered, quite a bit, about whether I care to keep living. But instinct is just that, and I feel my pulse stutter in my veins when Joely starts up the plane, then cackles with maniacal glee.

  Irritated at being made to lose my cool, I shout at her over the roar of the engine as she taxies the small seaplane through the harbor, then lifts us into the air.

  “It’s not that safe a decision that you made, you know. Sealing yourself off up here with a complete stranger. A man who’s twice your size, and probably twice your age.”

  Though her eyes are fixed on the expanse of air in front of us, the slight twitch of the muscles in her face tells me she is rolling them.

  “Be as big and old as you like, but I’m at the wheel or we crash, buddy.” She flicks a switch, adjusts a knob. “Kinda closes off your opportunity for extracurricular activities like murder or hanky panky. Plus, you’re not that kind of person.”

  Her response takes me aback completely, and I find myself at a loss for words, which I never am. When I find my voice, it sounds as mortified as I feel.

  “I’m not talking about raping you, girl. I am saying you shouldn’t make a habit of volunteering to fly a perfect stranger out to, as you said, the middle of nowhere.”

  “I can take care of myself, and you just proved my point. You’re a decent guy. Giant chip on your shoulder, but decent. Anyway, even if you weren’t, you and I don’t go down that road.” She tilts the wheel, and I feel the plane turn in a slow, steady arc. “It isn’t meant to be.”

  “How do you know that?” I should be insulted, perhaps, even though I know what I look like now. “Is it the scars?”

  “No.” No quantifiers—just no. “And I just know.”

  I mutter something under my breath about stubborn females as I move to return to my seat behind her, though the words have no heat. She replies, and I have to turn back to catch what she says.

  “You’re not a beast, you know. You should remember that before you forget you’re just acting.” Her tone is matter of fact, like she couldn’t care less one way or the other. It’s a refreshing change, after leaving people who were never-ending founts of demands, of needs.

  But she’s wrong. I built my empire on charm and sophistication. But now... with my face so scarred...

  “I’m not acting. And you don’t know as much as you think, so stop talking and fly the damn plane.”

  There hardly seems to be a point in trying to be something more than what I’ve become.

  ***

  I wake up when my ears start popping. The roll of my stomach tells me that we’re descending, and I prop myself up in my small seat, surprised that I slept at all.

  It couldn’t have been more than two hours, but it’s more sleep than I’ve had at once since the accident.

  “Wakey, wakey, eggs and bacey.” Joely calls back from the cockpit. Flying the plane has made her downright perky, and it’s fascinating to watch the absorption play over her face as she expertly maneuvers the small aircraft down through the air. It’s because of this that I don’t look out the window until the plane has coasted to a stop.

  Suddenly desperate to experience it up close rather than through a pane of glass, I pry open the door. Toeing off the hand-tooled leather sandals that a former assistant purchased for me for some warm weather vacation in a previous life, I jump into the water feet first, not knowing or caring how deep it is.

  It’s warm, like a tepid bath, and wets my jeans to the knees as I shield my eyes and take a first look at my island.

  My sanctuary.

  It’s small enough that I can see how far the land extends, even from this close up. And yet there are swathes of sparkling white sand, rocks that slopes upward into a small mountain, the thick canopy of a verdant forest.

  Paradise.

  The only sound is that of the water rippling in the warm air, and the quiet tick of the plane’s engine as it cools off.

  The sun is low in the sky—not long until sunset. The heat is intense, a damp kiss—reminding me of Greece in a way that New York never did.

  As I stand there, momentarily overcome, I feel that heat start to melt the ice inside of me.

  “I’ll help you get your things to shore.” Joely breaks the silence by plopping into the water behind me. She’s rolled the legs of her overalls up above her knees, and she has my new knapsack strapped to her back, and a cardboard box in her thin arms.

  “You’re far too small to be lugging around things like that,” I snap and take hold of the box. I’m more irritated that she’s interrupted my moment of peace than I am that she’s carrying things. “I can manage it.”

  She holds firm to the box. I’m reminded of some of my childhood friends, and the way they would glare at their irritating siblings.

  “Joely. Let go.” I can’t even remember the last time someone so blatantly ignored my orders. It’s... weird.

  “You’re awfully bossy,” she comments, relinquishing her grip on the box so suddenly that I stumble backward a step. “Used to being in charge, I’m guessing. It’s not your most attractive quality, big guy.”

  “You have no idea,” I murmur as I adjust the box in my arms. I stand six foot two, and I have a lot of muscle, but damn it, this thing is heavy. She has no business trying to lift it, let alone haul it to shore.

  “So is it a rich thing or a Greek thing?” Hooking her hands in the straps of the bag on her back, Joely starts to wade to shore. I resist the urge to dunk her in the water—someone needs to teach her a little bit of respect—and instead decide to shock her.

  “Actually it’s a sexual dominance thing.” As I speak I think that this wide-eyed sprite probably doesn’t even know what that means.

  But she just shrugs, much the same way as she did when she took in my scars. “Whatever makes you happy, guy. I’m just here to fly the plane.”

  Her comment weighs heavily on me as we splash closer to shore... not because there are any sparks between us, but because deep down I wonder if I will ever feel sparks like that again. Not long ago I was what many would consider a playboy...or a sexual deviant. I enjoyed women—as many as possible—enjoyed controlling their pleasure.

  I wasn’t a complete cad. Just a traditional Greek man, like my father before me. I craved passion and experience, but I knew that when I found the right lady, I’d want to marry, have a family.

  My future was stolen from me, gone forever now. Anger bubbles up inside of me again, and though I know it isn’t fair, I lash out at Joely.

  “Just here to the fly the plane... because you know things, or because you can’t stomach this face?” I regret the words as soon as I’ve spoken them.
“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. Perhaps I’m a beast after all, eh?”

  She glances at me from the corner of her eye.

  “We all have scars, Mr. V. Some of us are just better at hiding them.” Pausing for a second, she tugs at her ponytail, her expression contemplative. “You’re not even interested in me, big guy, so don’t be so sensitive. I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m not interested either. In anyone. And I didn’t just happen to be at the charter office when you needed a pilot. I woke up and knew I had to come down. I wasn’t even planning to stop in Miami before I ...but you don’t need to know all that. What you need to know is that you and this island—this entire day seems weirdly familiar and it scares the shit out of me. But I have a feeling you can handle weird, and it’s too late to fire me since I’ve already brought you to your destination in one piece so...” She takes a breath. “...there it is.”

  Before I can comment, she’s pushing the rest of the way to shore. I press after her, and we both step onto the sand at the exact same moment.

  A sonic boom deafens me and forces me to my knees. The ringing in my ears grows louder and more insistent as I grab for Joely, my instinct to protect her from this, whatever it is.

  She’s just out of reach, and she too falls to the ground, though she seems to be moving in slow motion.

  The ground beneath us trembles, the sand rising up in a pale arc that slices through the shimmering air between us.

  And then, just as suddenly as it started, the shaking stops. The auditory assault is over.

  When Joely and I stare at each other with wide eyes, push off from where we are both crouched on the sand, the movements are no longer exaggerated.

  I swallow—my mouth is dry as dust, though it was fine just moments ago.

  “Earthquake?” I finally manage, though even as I say it, I know it’s not true. Before I ever bought this small spit of land, I researched it. The local weather patterns are unpredictable, and severe thunderstorms, water spouts, hurricanes... though not common, they’re possible.

  A small earthquake like what we just felt? Not out of the realm of possibility, but as Joely slowly shakes her head, I know, deep down I know, that something very, very strange just occurred.

  “We’re in the Triangle, Mr. V,” she says slowly, sliding the straps of the backpack from her shoulders and letting it drop to the ground. I note the way that the sand, the ultimate silence of the island swallows even that noise, which makes me wonder what on earth it was that just assaulted our eardrums. “Other pilots have shared some pretty strange stories over the years.”

  “You believe in all that? Ships lost at sea, aliens and UFO’s, magical mysteries?” I knew when I bought it, of course I knew, that the unnamed island was within the perimeter of the area known as the Bermuda Triangle. The so-called disaster zone is encapsulated within apexes at Miami, Florida, San Juan Puerto Rico and Bermuda, and it is undeniably an area of the world with an unusually high incidence of tragedy.

  It is also a huge tourist draw, one that I figure a smart business man should capitalize on. Never, until this very moment, have I seriously considered the possibility that there might be something to the stories.

  Joely looks at me, takes in my expression. Her face set in inscrutable lines, she wades back into the water. “There are some things in this world that just can’t be explained, Mr. V. Doesn’t mean they’re not real.”

  The words are grim, full of... acceptance, perhaps? But she doesn’t give me much time to think on what she means, instead splashing her way back to the plane.

  I chase after her—what kind of a man would let a woman haul all of his supplies? Though she doesn’t look at all open to the idea of talking further on the subject, I can’t stop turning things over in my head.

  She knows things, she’d said. What does that even mean?

  It would be easy to tell myself that she is crazy. But I can barely bring myself to entertain the notion. The fact is, she was there at exactly the moment I needed her, and even she doesn’t have a good explanation for that.

  And something just happened on that beach. I might be a skeptic—actually, it’s probably more accurate to say that I’ve never paid any attention to the supernatural at all. My topics of choice were sex, money and power, usually in that order.

  But whatever just happened... like Joely, I’m not afraid. I’m... curious. Energized.

  I feel truly alive for the first time since that bitch Celeste watched me burn.

  Joely and I each take another armful of gear and wade back to the shore. At the edge of the sand I shake off the excess water, dump my cargo, turn back to my pilot.

  Rather than stepping back onto the island herself, she hands me the box and remains ankle deep in the water.

  “Thank you.” From my pocket I pull out yet more cash. Her eyes widen slightly at the sight of the thick roll, and for a brief second I wonder if this has all been an act, an elaborate hoax to get at what everyone wants from me—money.

  My body tenses as my mind flashes back to the fire, the fear, the utter betrayal.

  But Joely shakes her head vigorously, again stuffing her hands into her pockets, something I’ve noted that she does when she’s uncomfortable.

  “I can’t take your money. I thought I could, but I can’t. I told you; I think I was supposed to be here.” She eyes the sand with distrust and undeniable curiosity sparking in those bright green eyes.

  Is she as interested in this place as I now am? Digging my bare feet into the sand feels like home.

  “Do you want to explore the island with me as payment?” Even as I say it I know that isn’t what I want. It’s mine. I’m supposed to be here. I need to see it for myself.

  Joely shakes her head again. “No payment needed, and I think you came here for some alone time, right?”

  “Yes.” Seeing that her mind is made up, I slide the money back into my pocket. But something makes me hesitate. We just shared something unexplainable, me and this strange girl who has too much pain in her eyes.

  And she doesn’t notice my scars.

  “I don’t have everything I need,” I speak swiftly, without thinking. “I believe they shorted me on supplies. I’ll get myself set up and then I’d like to make another run to Miami and back tomorrow. I want you to be the one to pick me up.” I don’t give her a chance to say no. “Where shall I radio you from?”

  I have a satellite radio, somewhere in one of these boxes. I have everything that I might need until I can find the nerve to return to the world. But I’m not ready to be completely alone just yet. Not after today.

  She shakes her head again, and another sliver of that brotherly annoyance works into me.

  “I don’t have a phone,” she hesitated. “But if it’s okay with you, I’ll stay here.” Crossing her arms over her chest, her expression just dares me to argue. “In the plane.”

  Something inside me, as loud and clear as if someone were whispering in my ear tells me Joely has nowhere else to go. It just doesn’t tell me why.

  “You can’t stay in the plane.” Exasperated, I run fingers through my hair. After the day I’ve had, I know it’s standing up in thick black spikes all over my head, but I don’t care what I look like. In fact, if I never have to think about what I look like ever again, that will be just fine with me.

  “Come camp out for a bit.” I hold out a hand, scowl when she steps back.

  “I’ll be in the plane,” she repeats firmly. “Best camping spot I know.”

  And then she’s gone, her steps making small waves in the crystal-like water of the lagoon. Shading my eyes, I watch as she climbs back into the tin can with wings, sliding the door shut behind her. Her actions speak of competence, but I wonder if the reason she’s so familiar to me is because my own loneliness recognizes its twin in her.

  But standing here, on the beach of my own island, I find an anchor. Clutching tightly to it with both hands, I watch the sun set, blazing streaks of apricot and amethyst painted by the
fingers of God.

  And beneath that miraculous view, a small metal plane, bobbing all alone on the darkening water. It looks as solitary as I felt, right up until I set foot on this island.

  Chapter Three

  I’ve done many things in my life, but I’ve never slept under the open sky. I’d thought it might feel strange, being out here all alone, when I’m so used to the crush of the city. Instead, I haul my sleeping bag out of my tent and lie on my back under a velvet dark sky dripping with silver stars.

  I’m exhausted, but I feel as though I could stay awake forever like this and be perfectly content, lulled by the gentle sound of the waves lapping at the shore, washing away my pain—the cold light of the stars filling me back up with something new and clean and pure.

  I’ve always been a man with a plan, but right in this perfect moment in time, I could care less about where I go from here. Instead, I wallow in the strange sensation of peace. And I’m not afraid of sleep the way I have been since the accident, which is yet another triumph.

  For the last six months, my memories have terrorized me each time I close my eyes. Haunting me. Reminding me of the pain I’d brought on myself. Of bitterness and betrayal.

  Here, I fall asleep without even being aware that it is happening.

  The next time I open my eyes, I am standing in the middle of the woods. My toes curl, digging into a tangle of roots and the moistness of soil.

  In front of me is a small, rugged wooden shack of sorts. It’s barely bigger than two outhouses placed side by side, constructed roughly from branches, woven together with plant matter.

  “What the fuck?” I’d be lying if I said that my pulse doesn’t pick up speed as I blink the grogginess from my eyes and realize that, somehow, I’ve made my way into the island’s forest in my sleep.

  My body tenses, a human’s instinctual response to the possibility of danger. But as I take a deep breath, the calmness of the night filters back in, the quiet of the island soothing my inner animal.

  When I purchased the island, every scrap of information that I could find on it said that it was deserted, and likely always had been. But this tiny, crude building is evidence that someone was here first.