CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 15
THE HEAP OF COMPACT VIDEO CAMERAS SAT ON THE CRACKED GLASS atop the iron coffee table in the living room. There were different models. Some looked like security cameras, and others more like high-end adventure-capture devices. On the bottom of each one was an asset tag declaring it the property of the Good Things Network.
After making their discovery, Ness and Daisy had gone back to break the news to the rest of the group. They’d completed a search of the interior of the house, finding a dozen more recording devices nestled beneath furniture and wedged into the dark crevices that seemed to abound in their crumbling surroundings. Ness couldn’t help wondering if the perpetrator was among them and had pocketed more of their own goods as they went along.
Everyone was gathered around in the dim mood lighting afforded by the collection of velvet-shaded table lamps, eyeing the pile of tech like they were trying to figure out how to defuse an explosive. A gentle rain pattered against the roof.
“Well, whose are they?” Bradley asked, cutting to the chase.
Everyone executed a perfect “Who, me?” wide-eyed look of innocence. Well, Tyler’s wasn’t the best, but he was also so busy trying to scratch the center of his back that it was hard to tell if he’d even heard the question. His arms and legs were coated with dried calamine, making him look as if someone had dipped him in Pepto Bismol and set him in the sun to dry.
“Listen,” Ness said, perched on the arm of the couch. The wood of the inner frame dug through the remaining padding into her backside. It was still more comfortable than the current conversation. “No one likes the idea of being spied on. It’s creepy and, I assume, illegal. But so far, no harm’s been done. There’s no Wi-Fi or cell service, so there’s no way anyone was streaming footage. Whatever was captured is still on memory cards, on this island. Get rid of it, and we can all move forward with our lives.” She tried not to sound as exasperated and angry as she felt, but she suspected she had failed.
Libby didn’t mind sounding exasperated and angry. “Don’t you think you’re jumping ahead a bit? How do you know anyone here set those up?”
“They’re network-owned, Libby.”
Libby examined her nails, though Ness could see that her hands weren’t particularly steady. No one spoke for a long moment.
“I can’t believe any of us would do this,” Daisy said from a cross-legged position on her mattress. It sounded like she meant she wouldn’t believe it, because that would take an already untenable situation to a whole new level of horror.
Coco went to sit beside her, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders, then gave each of them a hard look. “It’s tough for me to stomach as well.”
Perched on the edge of the sofa, elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward, Bradley shook his head ruefully. “Desperate times can lead to desperate actions.”
“Uh-huh.” Ness tried to keep her voice calm. “Listen, I might be feeling extra paranoid, but . . . should we consider whether the person who set up the cameras is also the one who ‘lost’ our boat?”
“Ugghhh, just admit you fucked up!” Libby snarled, hands clenched at her sides.
“But it makes sense!”
“Nothing about this makes sense.” Ian had moved to his mattress as well and was sprawled out, arm resting over his eyes to block out the light. “But maybe Ness has a point.”
Everyone started talking over each other, simultaneously making accusations and refusing to admit anything nefarious was going on. They all, at great volume, declared they had nothing to do with this. What could they—the successful entrepreneur, cop drama king, limited series darling, movie star, passionate production assistant living his dream—stand to gain from stooping so low?
“Fine,” Hayes said loudly, standing. “You know what? It doesn’t even matter who did it.”
Ness’s head jerked up. Um, what? Yes, it did.
Hayes continued, “Whoever’s responsible, leave any additional memory cards on this table by,” he checked his watch, “nine tomorrow morning.”
“Or what?” Libby asked. “There needs to be a consequence, or why would anyone actually do that?”
Ness ignored Libby and looked pleadingly at the people around her. The people who had maybe never been real friends, but who had history. They shouldn’t be turning on each other. Certainly not like this.
“This is no one’s best moment,” she said to them. “What’s happened here, the things we’ve discussed and done, it’s the product of a traumatic experience. An experience we’re all a part of. No one benefits from sharing this with the world.”
“Um, someone would definitely benefit,” Ian rasped. “You know how much that shit could sell for?”
“Yeah—well, no, actually, I don’t really. I assume a lot. But everyone here has something to lose if those files get out. And no one needs the cash—except maybe me and Tyler. How much do production assistants make these days?”
“Oh, virtually nothing, but my mom owns the second-largest mayonnaise company in North America. I’m good for cash. The PA thing is a passion project.”
Libby looked mildly apoplectic. Even Hayes seemed shocked, but recovered faster than the rest of them.
“Leave the memory cards on the table and we’ll forget it ever happened,” he reiterated, ignoring the sidebar conversation.
“Why would anyone give up all that information?” Libby asked. “By now, they’ve got something on all of us, even if that something is just us looking like garbage on this goddamn rock in the ocean.”
Coco glared at her. “Because maybe, deep down in their cold, traitorous hearts, there’s a glimmer of humanity, and they don’t want to be total shit-heels.”
“Yeah, that,” Ness said, heading for her saggy mattress on the floor and a sleepless night.
* * *
The next morning, nine o’clock came and went. No memory cards appeared. No boats, either, despite the tractor-beam gazes of the group, who seemed to be walking down to the beach or standing vigil on the balcony in a depression-inducing rotation.
The hopeful sheen from dinner the night before had been blasted away and replaced by a cold layer of suspicion, and people drifted through the house alone, looking at each other with carefully blank expressions. None of this was helped by the fact that they’d consumed nearly all their food while celebrating their certain rescue. Ness’s stomach felt like it was trying to eat itself.
The cameras, thanks to a convenient sledgehammer, were now nothing but shattered plastic and metal, collected and tidily swept into a pile displayed on the kitchen counter beside the water jugs.
The thing was, they’d all proven themselves to be totally capable of shit-heelery in the past. The more Ness thought about it, the more tangled a web she wove in her mind, until she was ready to scream.
To distract herself, she surveyed the paltry remnants of their food stores and updated the list.
· 3 bars of one kind
· 1 of peanut butter crackers
· 1 piece of jerky
·
·
·
·
·
·
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· ⒈／⒉ bottle vodka, ⒈／⒋ bottle rye
·
Ness blew out a dismayed breath and listened, hoping to hear the sound of approaching motorcraft. If no one showed up by nightfall, things were bound to get ugly.
“Pass me one of those?” Bradley sauntered across the room, sweating profusely from his second workout of the day, and gestured to the bars. Ness couldn’t figure out how he had energy to do more than exist at this point, and she was appalled by his audacity, asking for what amounted to one-third of their remaining food.
“I can pass you one-quarter of one. This,” she gestured to the items between them, “is all we have left.” Saying it out loud made the situation feel real in a way it hadn’t when the words had been confined to Ness’s head.
“I don’t suppose you have a secret stash in your bag, do you?” She said it jokingly, but a flicker of emotion passed over Bradley’s face. Something that looked very much like guilt.
“Bradley.” Ness walked around the kitchen island, her hand trailing across the counter, fingertips getting covered in the dust that seemed to gather continuously from the disintegrating drywall, no matter how often they wiped the surface. She had to stop herself from grabbing the front of his shirt and yelling in his face.
“Bradley,” she repeated. “We need to work together here. If no one comes for us today, we’re going to have to figure out how to feed ourselves or we’ll starve.” He opened his mouth to speak, but Ness cut him off before he could dive into a soliloquy about the island’s natural bounty and his ability to harness same.
“I’m sure we’re capable of solving that problem,” Ness went on, “but it would be really, really great to have a more than three hundred calories worth of granola standing between us and that moment.”
She looked at him expectantly. He gazed back. Sweat trickled down his temple and dripped onto the floor. Ness wondered how survival had devolved into a staring contest.
She sighed, feinted right, and then sprinted left into the living room, where Bradley’s messenger bag was sitting beside one of the makeshift beds on the floor. Snagging it, she dodged his attempt to grab it, and put the couch between them. She hugged the bag to her chest and tried to figure out her next move.
Admittedly, her current course of action felt immature, disrespectful, and desperate, but Ness could own up, at least internally, to the fact that she was currently all of those things.
“Um, hey, guys,” Daisy said uncertainly from the doorway. “What’s going on?” She spoke casually, as though Bradley wasn’t about to launch himself across the couch at Ness.
“Agnes has decided to police our personal belongings.”
Ness rolled her eyes. “Agnes simply suggested that if people have personal stashes of food, now would be a great time to pool them so we don’t starve.”
“But . . . we’re leaving today. They’re coming back for us.” Daisy looked hopefully out the window.
“And what if they don’t?”
It was Bradley’s turn for an eye roll. “We can worry about that if it happens.”
“Don’t you think having a plan might be better than winging it? What happened to cataloging our resources?”
“Don’t you think you might want to avoid burning more bridges?” He had a point. “Put the bag down.”
“Do you promise to share anything you have if we’re still here at sundown?”
“Do you have to make it sound so ominous?” He looped his fingers behind his neck and then dropped his arms out wide. “God. Yes, sure. If we’re still here tonight, which we won’t be, we’ll pool personal resources.”
Ness leaned over the couch and handed him the bag. He swiped it forcefully from her grasp, slung the strap over his shoulder, and stalked out of the room.
Daisy’s eyes were wide. “Have you always been so good at making friends?”
* * *
At eleven o’clock, after an early lunch of water and one-quarter of a bar that was supposed to be maple donut flavor but landed somewhere closer to stevia-coated wood shavings held together by paste, Ness headed down to the beach for some time alone with her thoughts.
If this were a TV mystery, someone would have said something that sparked a Sherlockian synapse, connecting the cameras to some obscure clue and a barely remembered conversation. Like lightning, the solution would hit her. The culprit would be identified and brought to justice.
What would justice look like? Locking them up in the room full of mirrors, sentenced to watch themselves age from every angle?
She eyed an iguana that was sunning itself on a rock.
The problem—well, one of many problems—was that, as far as she could tell, she was the one with the most to gain from the contraband footage.
Bradley’s career wasn’t a blazing success, but he was working steadily. He’d never fulfill his not-so-secret dream to be the next Bond, but he also wouldn’t find himself waiting tables or moonlighting as a celebrity MC at someone’s wedding anytime soon.
Ian had just finished the ultimate comeback. He’d managed an epic career pivot, going from black sheep to golden boy, beloved for his willingness to be so open. A couple of months earlier he’d announced that he was donating half his book royalties to various charities dedicated to helping those who faced the same challenges he continued to overcome.
Coco was cruising through her career, scoffing in the face of anyone who said an actress’s opportunities dropped off a cliff as soon as they hit thirty. If anything, she was busier than ever.
Libby had Kim Beauty, while Tyler could apparently rely on his inheritance for future security, even if it didn’t fulfill his artistic passion, and Daisy’s time in front of the camera was off to a dynamite start with a one-way upward trajectory.
Hayes was pure A-list. The idea of him stooping this low was laughable. Or was she blinded by lust and barely buried feelings? She kicked at the sand, annoyed at her obvious lack of detective skill.
She was finishing her third trip up and down the beach without making any great deductive leaps when Daisy caught up to her.
“Can I talk to you?” she asked, not at all out of breath and only faintly flushed, despite the unforgiving sun blasting them from above. “Is anyone else here?” She looked around, peering into the scrub and mangroves.
“Just me and my feelings,” Ness quipped. “What’s up?” She lowered herself to sit on the sand, with Daisy following suit.
“I think Ian’s in withdrawal,” Daisy said, spitting it out quickly, as if she was scared she might lose her nerve.
“But he’s written a whole book about sobriety,” Ness replied automatically. Even as she said it, she saw the signs she’d been so resolutely ignoring.
“He’s cranky. Unpredictable. Flu-like symptoms.” Daisy checked these off on her fingers. “Even back in Florida he kept taking off, disappearing in the middle of things.”
“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions.” The leap had already been made, but Ness felt as though she had to be a voice of reason. Someone had to try to keep this roller coaster on the rails. She sighed, hearing her therapist’s voice in her head. Ignoring a problem doesn’t make it go away; it gives it time to grow.
She rubbed a hand over her face, feeling the grit of salt and sand on her cheeks.
“Okay, well, how long does that last? Maybe he’s through the worst of it.”
But Daisy was shaking her head. “He’s getting worse. Sweats, irregular breathing. Depending on what he’s been taking, he could start having seizures.” Her eyes got big and tears welled. One rolled gracefully down her cheek.
“Okay,” Ness said, nodding reassuringly. “I hear you. This is serious.” She looked out to sea, thinking about the options they had, which were basically none.
“How do you know so much about this? Did you have a role as an addiction counselor or something?”
Daisy laughed, but with more bitterness than Ness had ever heard from her. She crossed her arms over her chest and joined Ness in ocean gazing.
“Or something,” she said.
There was a long pause. The waves whooshed. The wind danced through their hair.
“My brother,” she finally said.
“Your brother’s an actor too?”
“My brother—my twin, actually—is an addict. Opioids. Oxy, mostly, but he’ll take whatever he can get his hands on.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “He’s had . . . trouble, dealing with things. I didn’t consider how different everything would be if I, you know, made it. Because, come on, how many girls actually do?” She sighed. “It makes the dream a little bit of a nightmare, but it’ll be okay. He’s in rehab now. Again.” Leaning back, she buried her hands in the hot sand, turning her face fully to the sun, eyes closed. “You know, I took this gig to pay for his treatment?”
“I’m sorry,” Ness said, feeling entirely insufficient and unprepared.
Daisy blinked her eyes open and smiled sadly.
“Me too. And I know there’s nothing we can do to help Ian. I tried talking to him—dumb, but I can’t help wanting to fix things, especially when so much is out of control.” She winced and looked guilty. “That’s where I was when the boat came. In the stupid mangroves, trying to fix a problem that has nothing to do with me. Anyway, I needed someone else to know.”
Another pause.
“Do you think we should tell the others?” Daisy asked.
“No,” Ness blurted, imagining the fuel this would add to an already dangerous situation, while also wondering just how many secrets one person could—or should—reasonably keep. “No,” she said again, more slowly. “It’s not ours to tell. If they figure it out, that’s different.”
Daisy nodded. “Okay.” She rolled her head from side to side, stretching out her neck. “I’m going to try to talk to Ian. Maybe sit with him until someone comes. It shouldn’t be much longer, right?” She shielded her eyes and looked up at the sky, as if a helicopter might magically appear overhead.
“Here’s hoping.”
Ness had pretty much bottomed out on hope, but it seemed like the right thing to say.
* * *
Ness and Daisy stood over an unconscious Ian, eyes darting between his prone form and Libby’s insolent pose.
“What?” she demanded. “He was being intolerable. He kept snapping at me, saying I was walking too loudly. And then,” her voice rose several octaves, “then he accused me of setting up those cameras. Can you believe it? Like I have any—any—interest in the personal lives of you lot.”
Ness decided not to point out that Libby had a borderline obsessive interest in Bradley’s personal life, despite the fact that they’d been divorced for years.
Libby started pacing back and forth across the living-room-turned-hostel.
“You can understand, of course, can’t you? As you said yourself, Ness, this is a time of trauma. A time of unprecedented strain on our minds and bodies. I had to protect myself.”
“By drugging him?” Ness couldn’t believe this. Well, she could, actually.
“It’s perfectly safe,” Libby assured them. She caught their wide-eyed looks of complete and utter skepticism.
“What would you have done, then?” she huffed. “Offered him another bite of granola bar? Suggested we try to brew up some calming herbal remedy from tropical leaves and parrot feathers? Maybe record him in all his misery and then sell it to the media?” She arched an eyebrow pointedly.
Ness’s mouth dropped open. “You think I did it?”
“Oh, come on, Ness. Of course you did. You’re the one here with the least to lose and the most to gain. Even Tyler has more career aspiration than you.”
“That’s not very fair,” Daisy tried to interject, but Libby’s words ran right over top.
“And you’ve set a precedent for this, haven’t you?”
Ness’s stomach did a flip.
“What, you thought I forgot?”
No, but she’d naively thought they could avoid dissecting all her wrongdoings in great detail.
Daisy’s eyes darted back and forth between them.
“Ness here is a real entrepreneur.” Libby had slowed her pacing and now stood silhouetted in front of the window. She’d always been great at catching the best light. “I wouldn’t trust her with any of your secrets. You never know who she’ll sell them to.”
Ness opened her mouth to defend herself. It had been a mistake. A mistake she’d apologized for profusely at the time. And, if anyone wanted to nitpick, she hadn’t been the one to profit.
She’d been a drunk kid who talked to the wrong person. A down-on-his-luck model named Benji who bore a striking resemblance to Kevin from the Backstreet Boys. Ness had always had a soft spot for Kevin. He never got enough credit.
A few vodka sodas in, she’d let slip that she was out that night with her friend, who was sad about a role she’d been passed over for—her big leap from TV to film. She’d gestured messily at Libby, who was drowning her sorrows on the dance floor.
Benji put two and two together and leaked to the media that Libby had lost her chance to play Spiderman’s love interest.
It’s not like the news wouldn’t have gotten out anyway, but that wasn’t the point.And Ness got that. She got it then, and she understood it even more now, with twenty years of additional life experience under her belt. Libby had felt betrayed by someone she’d trusted, and she was right. Ness had messed up—badly.
“You really know how to hold a grudge.” Ness took in Libby’s ragged nails, the sunburn arcing across her forehead, the purple-tinged circles under her eyes. “Which is totally valid.”
Libby’s eyes widened a fraction in surprise, then narrowed again, this time with suspicion.
“Truly. I deserve every bit of your disdain. But I didn’t do this.” She braced her hands on the back of the couch, ignoring the urge to collapse over it onto the cushions and stay there until someone showed up to take them away. “Believe what you want, Libs, if riding a wave of righteous anger gets you through.” She walked through to the kitchen and snagged half a piece of turkey jerky from the pathetic food pile.
“Daisy, I think staying with Ian is a good idea. Someone should keep an eye on him. I’m going fishing.”
July 27, 2022
Dear Ms. Payne,
Thank you for taking the time to speak with me today. We at Greenmount Haven understand the emotional toll that substance abuse and addiction can take on our clients’ family and loved ones, and we strive to relieve some of this burden through our highly recommended private counseling services, which you can learn more about via our website.
However, despite the trying circumstances, we do require payment for your brother’s time with us thus far. Simon has come so far in these past weeks, and he would benefit from being permitted to complete this initial full cycle at Greenmount.
I have attached the relevant invoice. Please note that, unfortunately, if we do not receive at least partial payment within seven days, and complete remittance within thirty days, we will need to consider more serious action.
Regards,
Martin P. Freehampton
Accounts Receivable
Greenmount Haven