Chapter Eighteen Hell Is Finding a Dead Body
Chapter Eighteen
Hell Is Finding a Dead Body
Looking at Anton’s body, I know CPR’s not going to save him, but I try anyway. As I pound on his chest, my mind starts categorizing every small detail: Anton’s wide-open eyes, the shocked look on his face. How perfectly styled his blond hair is, still fresh with gel. The bloody bruise around his eye. The mud caked on his shoes and along the hem of his pants. The way one of his hands is scraped and bloody. How still he is, even when I try to breathe air into his lungs. The tacky sensation of blood on my knees where I’m kneeling in it.
My eyes fill with tears for this person I barely know. The last time I saw him alive, he was pushing one of the walls of the labyrinth with Freya. Well, more like he was letting Freya do most of the work while he pretended to push. Not to speak ill of the dead, but from the little I saw of him, it didn’t seem like he got along with either the cast or the crew. But he was a living, breathing person less than half an hour ago. That counted for something.
After several minutes, I sit back and just look at him. How did this happen?
Above us, the walls of the labyrinth frame a clear sky divided up by a network of scaffolding. During the competition, I’d done my best to forget that an entire film crew was up there, capturing our every move and every stumble—but I know Leah had been up there at one point, and most likely the other producers and production assistants had been following their own couples.
Anton, I realize, must’ve been up on the scaffolding too. It was the quickest way for him to move from one place to another in time to help move the walls or report to a producer. One of the beams making up the walkway is splintered, jagged bits of wood breaking up the neat symmetry of the paths overhead.
Anton had to have fallen from there.
“Alice!”
Almost as soon as I hear my name, Daniel is pulling me to my feet and embracing me, and I hug him back as tight as I can. The thrum of his heartbeat grounds me, and when he lets go, he takes my hand. I twine our fingers together, desperate for the contact.
Behind him, several members of the cast and crew come running in, stopping only when they see the body. For a moment, no one seems to know what to do, but then one of the medics breaks through the crowd and starts checking Anton’s pulse. I bury my face in Daniel’s shoulder and breathe deep as his hand rubs circles into my back.
“I’m here, Alice,” Daniel murmurs.
When I finally look up, I accidentally make eye contact with Dawn Taylor, who’s standing at the back of the crowd. Her heels put her above almost everyone else, and she’s watching the scene with a detached expression. She doesn’t seem to notice me. Her gaze wanders, and when it finally lands on the body, her lips curl in disgust.
Above the din, Peter is getting everyone’s attention.
“That’s a wrap for today,” Peter Dixon says, his voice hoarse with emotion. He’s blinking back tears, but he soldiers on. “Everyone back to your rooms. Let’s let our medical staff do their jobs, okay?”
Anton is carried out on a stretcher.
—
We’re all hustled back to the villa and told to stay inside until further notice. When Daniel and I are back in our suite, I start pacing the floor, my feet sinking into the plush carpet with each step.
“Anton—” I can’t even say it. “He’s—”
“It’s okay, Alice,” Daniel says softly. “It’s going to be okay,”
But it won’t be for Anton.
I barely knew him, but I’m shaking with grief and horror. All I can think about is how senseless Anton’s death is. Everything that made Anton who is he and every possible path he might have taken in the future, it’s all gone now because of an accident.
“Alice.”
There’s a moment when Daniel and I just look at one another. Then we come together like magnets drawn to each other. He wraps himself around me, solid and certain. I rest my face in the crook of his neck. All I want right now is to feel connected to someone tangible and real and alive. He holds me tight for a moment that stretches into a small and precious eternity.
Then I pull back, my gaze searching his face. His fingers brush my cheek, and I can feel myself falling into him.
“God, I just—” I start. Then I flinch back at the knock on the door. I swipe at the tears tracking down my face while Daniel goes to open the door.
Lex is standing in the doorway, a grim look on their face.
“Lex! Are you okay?” I ask.
“Not really,” Lex says. They look tense and jittery, more unsettled than I’ve ever seen them before. Their eyes dart over me, and I lift my arms.
“I’m all clear. We left our mic packs with the producers,” I say. “What’s going on?”
Lex folds their arms. “We shouldn’t even be talking. We should be packing our bags and getting on the first flight out of here. But Dawn Taylor is insisting that ‘the show must go on,’ as if a death didn’t just happen on set, and Peter Dixon is backing her up. I tried to make contact with my union rep, but the signal is shit right now. There’s nothing getting in or out from this side of the island, thanks to the storm. No flights, no calls.”
“We’re trapped here.” I sink onto the bed.
“Yep, we’re trapped,” Lex confirms. “I have a meeting with Shawna in ten, so I don’t have much time. You wanted to exchange information? Let’s exchange information.”
“I’ll tell you everything. But first, sit.” I lead Lex to the suite’s only armchair and push a pile of yesterday’s clothes off of it.
“Let me get you some water,” Daniel says. I take a seat across from Lex on the bed. Daniel hands Lex a bottle of water we’d squirreled away from catering, then sits beside me.
Lex takes a sip, and I can see their hands shaking. That’s enough to make me nervous.
“I lost my shoe during the challenge. Daniel and I, we went to look for it. But then we saw someone on the ground.” I squeeze my eyes shut, and there, in the darkness, is Anton’s body, blood pooling around him.
The image is seared into my mind. I can recall every gruesome detail with horrifying clarity, and I know I’ll be having nightmares about finding Anton for years to come. I make a mental note to search for an in-network therapist when I get off this island.
My heart starts to race as I struggle to find the words for what happened. Daniel presses his shoulder against mine, and I take a deep breath.
“He was on the other side of the pit. We crossed the bridge, and we found Anton. I tried to give him CPR, but it was too late.”
Lex is almost vibrating with tension. They lean forward. “Do you know how he got there? He should’ve been outside with the other PAs.”
“He must’ve fallen. One of the walkways was broken, probably from the storm,” I say, thinking back to the scene of Anton’s death. The jagged bits of wood above me. The fathomless blue of the sky. The metal bars that made up the scaffolding.
“Alice?” Daniel says, his gaze on me. “You look like you’re puzzling something out.”
I shake my head. “I just don’t get it. The walkway planks had splintered, but there wasn’t enough of a gap for someone to fall through. And the scaffolding had safety rails. There’s no reason he couldn’t have hung on to the railing and made it across.”
“Could he have jumped?” Daniel asked.
I picture the way Anton’s body was sprawled out on the ground, face up. “I don’t think so. The way he landed, I just don’t see it.” I focus on the memory of his eyes, wide open and—I may just be imagining it—fearful. “He had a bruise around his eye.”
“But Anton didn’t have a black eye when we saw him last,” Daniel muses. “And there wasn’t anything he could have hit on the way down that would’ve given him that kind of injury.”
Something clicks for me. “It looked like someone punched him.”
“There were also signs of a struggle,” Daniel adds. Then, when he sees the look I give him, he adds, “Hey, I took forensics for a semester in undergrad and a few criminal law classes in law school.”
I hold up my hands. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Alice can correct me if I’m wrong,” Daniel says, “but I think there were tracks in the mud around his body. Like someone had been dragging him.”
“Look at you, Nancy Drew, Esquire,” I say.
“Thanks, I loved playing the Nancy Drew games as a kid,” Daniel says.
“Same. My favorite was Ghost Dogs of Moon Lake ,” says Lex.
“This is very cute, and I love this for our friendship,” I say, waving between Daniel and Lex, “but can we get back to the topic at hand? The fact that Anton’s dead and maybe…” I don’t want to believe this could happen, but I have to admit the possibility. “Maybe someone killed him.”
“There’s a nonzero chance,” Daniel agrees. “Whatever the case may be, whether it’s negligence or murder, we need to involve the authorities at this point. Get a real investigation started so the chain of custody on any evidence is airtight.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” Lex says. “Nothing and no one is getting off this island. Help isn’t coming.”
The three of us fall silent.
Finally, I say, “We may be trapped, but we’re not helpless. We can do something about this. We have to. For Anton.”
“Anton’s dead. It’s over for him. We need to make sure that we get off this island alive,” Lex says. They sag back into the chair, the shadows below their eyes deepening. I wonder how much sleep they’ve been getting.
“These goals aren’t mutually exclusive,” I reason. Now that I have a purpose, a plan is forming and I’m back on familiar ground. “Step one: We figure out if Anton was murdered, or if he died because of a massive OSHA violation. Step two: If Anton was indeed murdered, then we make a list of suspects.”
“That won’t be easy,” Lex says. “I can tell you for a fact that everyone hated Anton, including the whole crew. He was an asshole.”
“Doesn’t help that he got a lot of people injured with those fireworks he botched,” I agree. “Even Dawn Taylor got hurt.”
“Hang on,” Daniel says, looking from me to Lex. “Are we sure this is a good idea? You’re proposing that we play detective.”
“It can’t be that hard. I’ve watched all of the Benoit Blanc movies, and I was the best individual contributor during our Escape the Lab teacher team-building exercise back in October,” I say. I drop the false bravado and look Daniel in the eye. “But seriously, it makes sense. We’ve had too many ‘accidents’ on set, and at this point, I’m fairly sure all of those were intentional. If we want to stay safe, we need to know if there is a murderer loose on the island—and if so, who.”
On that cheery note, Lex’s walkie-talkie lets out a burst of static, and we all jump as Leah’s voice tells Lex that she’s en route to the villa to pick up the contestants.
“Sounds like you’re being summoned,” Lex says, rising. “I gotta head out.”
“Be careful,” I say, and Lex nods. They slip out, closing the door silently behind them. Barely a few minutes later, Leah arrives, her face pale with exhaustion.
“Anton didn’t make it,” she says bluntly. “We’re filming a memorial in ten. Get ready and meet me outside.”
“Wait, Leah,” I say, grabbing Leah’s arm.
She hisses, her face contorting in pain. I snatch my hand back. I forgot she’d been hurt the other night during the storm. “Sorry, Leah. I just wanted to ask if we could sit this one out. I just don’t think I can stomach filming right now, after what happened.”
Leah looks almost sorry when she says, “Order from the top, Alice. You don’t get a choice. Put on something dark, okay?”
—
We file down to the beach in silence. The sparkling blue of the ocean and the verdant green of the palm trees feel at odds with the sober atmosphere of our procession.
While we were cooped up in our rooms, the production crew must’ve been hard at work setting up the memorial. A circle of candles—the same ones that were used on our first date night on the beach—have been placed in the sand, and there’s a bonfire going in the middle. Lit by the firelight is a heap of things—a pair of aviator sunglasses, a tie-dyed bucket hat, and a duffel bag. In front of it all is a sign that reads In Memory of Anton Brophy in Times New Roman font.
It’s clearly designed to be a camera-ready moment, and honestly, it’s not even a good one. The whole thing is obviously staged so that it can be fed straight to US Weekly.
“This sucks,” I say, but I don’t know if I mean the cheapness of the effort, the entire murder situation, or Anton’s actual death.
Daniel says, “Bet they’re doing this so they can flash In Memoriam at the end of this episode.”
Some of the crew are wearing black uniforms, but that’s the closest to funeral attire that we get. All of us couples are dressed for the beach. After all, that’s what we packed, though some people have made an attempt to don something appropriate. Chase is wearing his dark-blue shark shorts instead of something in a brighter color, and Selena has changed into a black sports bra and leggings. Jaxon is holding his cowboy hat in his hands.
“Any reason there’s trash on the ground?” Noah asks, and Ava shushes him.
Seth is the one who answers, “That’s Anton’s stuff. It’s for inspiration. To help you with your eulogies.”
We have to give eulogies? I shoot a look at Daniel, who grimaces. Bringing out Anton’s belongings feels macabre, but I guess it makes sense. The only thing the cast knew about him was that he was the PA most likely to ignore orders and get caught hiding behind a palm tree while scrolling through Instagram—not exactly the kind of reputation that lends itself to a heartfelt speech. And from what people said last night while we were huddled around the space heater, there was no love lost here.
But would any of us kill him?
“This is just so sad. I—” Mikayla is openly sobbing now. Trevor wraps her into a hug, but that only makes her cry harder. “I can’t believe this happened!”
“Oh, honey,” Brittany says sympathetically. “He’s in a better place now.”
“Doubt it, unless he’s got Wi-Fi,” Noah cracks, and Ava subtly steps on his foot. “Ow! What was that for? We all know he was an asshole. The guy didn’t do his job. Dying didn’t magically make him a good person.”
“Seriously?” Brittany shoots a glare at Noah. “I mean, okay, I didn’t like the guy either. I found him following me around—twice! And right after that, some of my stuff went mysteriously missing.”
“Britt, maybe now’s not the time?” Jaxon mutters.
“I know, Jaxon, I’m not a child!” Brittany shrugs Jaxon’s arm off her shoulder. “What I’m saying is, he may have been a creep and an asshole who used a gallon of hair gel, but that doesn’t mean that he deserved to die—”
“All right! Let’s get started,” Dawn Taylor calls. We fall quiet as she walks over to join us, resplendent in a skintight black dress with a silver statement necklace draped around her neck. “As some of you may have heard already, we’ve had a tragic accident on set. Anton, one of our production assistants, fell to his death from a section of scaffolding that was damaged during the storm, and our medical staff was not able to revive him,” Dawn Taylor says, like she’s reading off a script. Then she claps her hands. “Now! Who wants to go first?”
No one wants to go first.
“DT, go easy on them. Why don’t you kick us off?” Peter Dixon says.
A flash of anger crosses her face, but it quickly smooths into a solemn look. She looks squarely at the camera and says, “We’re gathered here today to say farewell to Anton Brophy, a valued member of our hardworking crew. He was taken from us in a tragic accident, but his memory will remain in our hearts forever.”
Dawn Taylor bows her head, and a single tear tracks down her face. For a moment, we all listen to the crackle of the fire and the roar of the ocean behind us.
“Great, are we done here?” she says briskly. “Do we need another shot of me crying?”
“I think we’re good in the crying department, DT. But could you share a memory you have of Anton real quick?” Peter Dixon asks.
“What do you want from me, Pete? All I know is he never got my coffee order right,” she snaps.
Peter Dixon shakes his head. “We can do better than that for him. This’ll mean a lot to his parents.”
Dawn Taylor turns back to the cameras. She’s quiet for a moment. “He…he always showed up,” she says victoriously, like she’s one of my students announcing what they think is the right answer to a tough math problem—only to get it completely wrong. “Pete, you should reach out to Chris and see if he’ll give us a soundbite for this.”
“I don’t think that’s going to fly, given the circumstances,” Peter says somberly.
“Hold up,” Noah interrupts. “Who are we talking about?”
“Anton’s related to one of the good Chrises,” Dawn Taylor explains. I’m not sure which one she’s even talking about, but everyone else seems to be in the know and takes this in stride.
“Ohmygod,” Mikayla breathes. “He was a nepo baby !”
“Sweetie, we talked about this,” Trevor mutters to her. “You can’t be using slurs. It’s bad for the brand.”
Dawn Taylor insists on doing another crying take for the camera, and then points at Ava and Noah. “Go on, your turn. Let’s hear it.”
“Gimme a sec.” Ava clears her throat, putting on an appropriately mournful look. “We’re devastated. We didn’t have much of a chance to get to know Anton, but it was clear that he was a valuable team player.”
Noah is nodding along, like he wasn’t talking shit about Anton a mere fifteen minutes ago. He says, “Anton’s death really shook me to my core. It reminded me that we only have this one life to live. That’s why I always start my day at five in the morning, to make the most of the time that I have. Thank you, Anton, for that reminder.”
The camera moves on to the next person. Soon it’ll be my turn, but my mind is completely and totally blank.
I squat down and survey my options—designer sunglasses, a bucket hat, and an unzipped duffel bag, the contents of which are spilling out onto the sand. Maybe there’s something here that I can use in my eulogy. Inside the duffel bag is a pair of Crocs. A small bottle of gummy vitamins that I suspect are actually edibles. A worn-down pocket-sized notebook.
I pick up the notebook. It’s a nice one, not one of my trusty Mead Five Stars or Composition notebooks, but an honest-to-goodness Moleskine, and— that’s not important , I tell myself, and start flipping through. It’s a mix of to-do lists, food and drink orders for catering, and the occasional drawing of a dick. I leaf through most of it, and then my eye catches on my name written in the back:
NOTES
Alice—totally faking it with Daniel, thinks she’s smarter than everyone else, mom sick, probably desperate
What the fuck? But I don’t have time to be outraged because there are more names and more notes.
Kendall—suing Get Real
Mikayla—cheater, hounds the crew members for info on challenges
Jaxon—fake accent, actually from NYC
Brittany—takes prescription pills. should we “lose” them for her?
Selena—daddy issues. desperate for approval, afraid of the dark bc of childhood
Chase—head empty, thinks with his dick if smashed on jell-o shots
Dominic—very short fuse. rage issues, has history of disorderly conduct
Ava and Noah—would kill anyone who gets in their way. snuck in a secret phone (can use this)
There’s a line drawn under this list, dividing up the page. Below it, the notes continue.
Leah—unable to function without a fatal amount of caffeine in her system, nose job
Freya—sleeping her way to the top
Peter—enough botox to kill a horse
Dawn—washup, trying to make a comeback with her show. will shell out if she thinks that
I don’t get to see what Dawn Taylor’s going to shell out for because the next couple of pages have been ripped out. The notebook is blank after that, but I can make out faint lines where Anton pressed his pen too hard while writing. I trace the grooves, wishing I had a number 2 pencil I could use to color the paper and reveal the message, like a kid from a detective novel.
I angle the notebook, but all I can read is a number: 398
“Hey, what’s all this crap doing here?” Bryan asks, spotting me by the duffel bag.
“Dawn Taylor told me to set up the memorial,” Seth says. “Figured Anton’s stuff would make for a good visual.”
“All of his belongings should go to his next of kin,” Bryan snaps. “Pack it up.”
“Fuck off, Bryan,” Seth says, scowling. He gestures at the filming in progress. “I can’t, not until after they’re done. Unless you want to take responsibility for borking the continuity?” Seth must be having a bad day—his hair is sticking up every which way, and there’s gauze wrapped around his right hand.
Before anyone can notice I’ve been paging through Anton’s notebook, I quickly drop it in the sand and straighten up. My mind is going a mile a minute as I process what I just read. I’d suspected that Anton was murdered, but this is confirmation. He was gathering blackmail material. It can’t have been a coincidence that he ended up dead, with a black eye and a scraped-up hand.
But who did it?
Most of the cast and crew already had a reason to dislike Anton. If you mix that with the pressure to succeed—either on the contestants to win or on the crew to make Dawn Tay’s Inferno a hit—then almost anyone could be a suspect. The producers, for instance, were already willing to poison and endanger us to manufacture drama. What if they went too far?
And why are there pages ripped out of the notebook? Did Anton do that for a reason, or did the person he was blackmailing do that to cover their tracks?
I drift over to Daniel’s side and tune in to what Mikayla is saying.
“Anton will greatly be missed. His aura was too bright for this world,” she says, looking mournful for the camera.
It’s nine-thirty by the time Dawn Taylor claps twice, calling us all together to wrap things up.
“Thank you for coming out to remember Anton. I know you all need to catch up on your beauty sleep, so I won’t drag this out any longer,” Dawn Taylor says. “I just want you to know that this cast, this show is everything to me. You are all my top priority, and we will be reevaluating our safety measures to ensure that all of you feel safe and supported on set. Rest assured that I’m going to be personally looking out for all of you. All of the fame, money, and success in the world isn’t worth anything if even one of you gets hurt on the path to stardom.”
Dawn Taylor presses a hand to her chest, the rings on her fingers glinting in the firelight. “I promise, I would stop this show in a heartbeat if I thought there was even the slightest chance that any of you were in danger.”
We all nod like we believe her. Leah even wipes a tear from her eye.
But I get the feeling that the only one buying Dawn Taylor’s bullshit right now is Dawn Taylor.
r/Dawn Tay’s Inferno
“Wrath” [Post-Episode Discussion S01E05]
Babes, welcome to the Dawn Tay’s Inferno live discussion thread!
NOTE: I know everyone is excited about the latest episode, but PLEASE keep threads consolidated here under this post. We don’t need fifteen different live discussion threads. THANK YOU!
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TOP COMMENTS:
u/realitybites787
Love Dawn Taylor, so glad she’s making a comeback. But I’m so sick of the IG girlies on there like Brittany and Mikayla. Trevor and Mikayla caught major drama for being in an MLM right before they went on the show. The producers should have vetted their cast better.
Reply: u/SlutForMothman
wait which mlm? was it the 2-in-1 nutritional supplement / vaginal douche that’s going around? if so, trekayla is responsible for so many yeast infections
Reply: u/unending-possum-scream
Doesn’t seem like they vetted the cast, period. Dominic is where the Venn diagram of toxic masculinity and fragile masculinity intersect.
u/lonelyoens
Gang who are we all rooting for? I want Brittany and Jaxon to stay in, mainly because seeing the two of them wear cowboy boots on a beach is absolutely sending me lol
Reply: u/glammygirl123
i’m all in for chase and selena. don’t @ me about chase, i know he sucks. but he is legit hilarious, that man has not a thought in his head. and i read in an interview that selena went to san jose state on scholarship + financial aid and she’s putting her baby bro through college too. we truly love to see an underdog thrive
Reply: u/SlutForMothman
step on me selena
Reply: u/lonelyoens
Sorry OP, but I’m rooting for everyone except Brittany and Jaxon. They’re so fake! I googled their “farm” and it’s basically a bed and breakfast that Jaxon’s parents run.
Reply: u/glammygirl123
Damn that’s wild. I’m also a sucker for Daniel. He seems like a sweetheart and he’s hot. IDK why don’t they show more of the math girl
Reply: u/fizzfuzzbizzbuzz
she’s def getting a purple kelly edit.
Reply: u/SlutForMothman
?? what’s that
Reply: u/fizzfuzzbizzbuzz
sorry it’s a survivor reference. it’s when the editors erase a player for no stated reason. idk, maybe she’s terrible in interviews or she pissed off someone in production. but they’re definitely going out of their way to ignore her, which is weird for a character who’s been at the center of so much drama and has made it this far in the game.
Reply: u/510153029402
Don’t forget these are actual people, not just “characters”