Witch Island Read online

  “Okay, everyone,” Jim said. “Make sure you haven’t forgotten anything, or you’ll be rowing your ass back alone for it.”

  Everyone climbed into the canoes. Jim, Gwen, Shay and Paul were in one boat, while Darren, Melinda, Steve and Julie were in the other.

  “It’s party time!” Paul yelled as they set off for the island. He leaned forward and wrapped Shay in a hug, squeezing her tits. Shay jumped and the canoe rocked.

  “Watch it or you’ll make us tip over,” Gwen snapped.

  “Chill, Gwen,” Paul said. “We’re in a canoe, not a boat. These things are almost impossible to flip.”

  “Well almost isn’t never, so wait until you’re alone if you want to act like an asshole.”

  “Whoa,” Paul said, holding up his hands in surrender. “Did I do something to piss you off?”

  Yes, you piece of shit, Gwen thought. You almost fucked up our little group. Brought down friendships. Oh, how she wanted to kick him in the face and throw him overboard, then tell Shay everything, and watch Darren pummel him when he made it to shore.

  “No, why?” Gwen said, changing her tone.

  “Cause you’re being a bitch,” Shay said, answering for Paul.

  Gwen’s mouth dropped open. Fury flared in her bones. She stared at Shay, the words that would damage all their friendships on the tip of her tongue. If only Shay knew the truth. What would her friend think then? Shay wouldn’t think she was acting like a bitch anymore, would she? Then again, the crazy girl might not care that much. Shay and Paul were going to be done soon, off to separate parts of the country. There was no way Gwen would say anything, but it sure felt like she should, just to shut Paul up if nothing else.

  But she knew who would care. Darren, even though he probably would be too busy to do the whole long-distance relationship thing with Melinda, besides the fact that women would be throwing themselves at him.

  None of that mattered now, she knew. Living in the present meant that Shay and Paul and Melinda and Darren were still couples, still friends.

  “If anyone’s a bitch,” Gwen said, forcing a chuckle as she said it, “it’s you, Shay.”

  Shay’s face was deadpan. Gwen held onto her smile, staring at her friend, then Shay broke into laughter.

  “Don’t you know it,” Shay said, then reached out and high-fived Gwen.

  Gwen looked past Shay and caught Paul eyeing her. He looked quizzically at her.

  “What?” she asked, putting her chin up and shrugging. “Can’t take another bitch in your life?”

  “No, I can’t.” Paul’s tone was cold. He continued to stare at Gwen, who met his eyes unblinkingly. She refused to look away, letting him know he wasn’t the leader of the pack. Finally, he smirked, then leaned forward again and hugged Shay from behind. “Only room for one bitch in my life.”

  The canoes cut through the water with ease, as if gliding over nothing but air. The clear sky above was a welcomed sight, and the complete opposite of how Jim was feeling. He continued to row, Gwen taking up the task too, while Shay and Paul sat back, relaxing in the beautiful sunshine.

  The other canoe pulled even with them. “Race you to the island,” Darren said, then he and Steve rowed faster, and pulled ahead.

  Jim had no desire to get there any quicker, and was trying to take in the beauty of the day. He hoped Gwen felt the same and was in no rush.

  “Screw that,” Paul said, as if right on cue. “No point in breaking into a sweat and tiring ourselves out. We all need our energy for tonight. Am I right, Jimbo?”

  “Easy for you to say, you aren’t rowing,” Gwen said.

  Jim turned around and caught sight of Gwen, her face twisted into a sneer of disgust. He wondered what was going on with her and decided to ask her when they arrived on the island. Maybe Paul had done something to piss her off. Whatever was going on, he was grateful Gwen didn’t want to race.

  Paul shook his head in response to Gwen. “It’s way too nice of a day to get all worked up, and besides, you and Jim are doing a great job.”

  Jim saw Gwen turn red. Hang on, babe, he thought. Don’t do or say anything yet.

  “You’re such a naughty boy, aren’t you?” Shay said to Paul.

  Gwen thought she might gag. She didn’t know how she was going to get through the night, save Paul leaving. Just hearing his voice was driving her mad. Paul and Jim had been friends for years. Thank goodness Paul and he weren’t going to the same colleges. All she had to do was grin and bear it for the night, then on occasion, during the summer when they got together. She could do that.

  Jim and Paul were very different. Paul’s reputation had been the reason Gwen had been hesitant to date Jim. Until Shay, Paul had been a pig. She’d made Jim wait just over a month before sleeping with him. Yeah, he wanted to have sex from the start—what guy didn’t—but he’d been patient and understanding. She saw right away that Jim was a good guy, but she knew guys could be deceiving, simply looking to score, then move on to the next girl.

  Paul could be okay at times, but if it wasn’t for the guy being Jim’s best friend, and Shay’s boyfriend, she didn’t think she’d talk to him.

  Sitting there, rowing, building up a small sweat, her shirt sticking to her back, she grew more furious with Paul. The prick hadn’t even offered to row, and acted like an asshole when it was brought up—you and Jim are doing a great job. And Shay, rich, spoiled Shay. Yeah, they were best friends, but once in a while the girl got on her nerves, like today. Shay could’ve made Paul row, threatened to withhold sex for tonight. It might not have worked, but she should’ve tried. But she was too much like Paul—stuck up, pompous at times, and acted like the world was hers. If her man didn’t want to row, then screw it, let someone else do it. Shay was a different person when Paul was around, always thinking about herself, him and having fun. If some kind of work was involved, then she wasn’t, unless it was something she enjoyed, like sex, lifting a beer can to her mouth or digging in the dirt with her archaeological tools. Gwen still couldn’t believe her prissy friend loved playing in the dirt, and was going to college to master it.

  And what further annoyed Gwen was that Paul had been correct. She did enjoy canoeing, not just the cruising part, but the rowing too. The workout felt good. But still, the asshole should’ve offered.

  Gwen forced the idiot from her mind, hoping he didn’t piss her off so much that she lost her cool and spilled the beans about Paul’s sleeping with Melinda. No, she wouldn’t do that, no matter how upset she might become.

  She focused on Jim, watching him row, his sexy arm muscles bulging beneath his T-shirt. Then she saw the island come into view, getting larger as they neared it. She was really looking forward to tonight, and to getting Jim alone, but every time Paul spoke or laughed, it was like hearing nails on a chalkboard.

  “Look, we’re almost there,” Shay said, pointing.

  Jim’s stomach felt like it knotted up. With each row of the oar, his dread grew. Anxiety reared its ugly head, causing it to seem like he couldn’t catch his breath. No, he wasn’t doing this here, wasn’t having a panic attack. He hadn’t had one in a while.

  He practiced his breathing exercises and reminded himself that what he was feeling was an illusion. He wasn’t really in danger. His body was simply reacting to the situation in a fight-or-flight response. Of course, his mind begged for flight, or rather begged him to turn the canoe around.

  Jim continued on, fighting against himself. He forced a smile and looked across the water at the mainland’s shoreline. It wasn’t too far away. A quarter mile maybe. If he absolutely had to, he could take the canoe there and that would be that. He didn’t have to stay on the island. Gwen would understand. Hell, they all would.

  He looked at the ring on his hand and imagined it was special, then managed to gain a small amount of security from it by telling himself that he was safe with it on. He slowly began to feel better.

  Except now he felt silly, like a little kid believing in some magical toy. Damn, hi
s mind was really wound tight, screwing with him. He’d been good at hiding his true feelings. Had practiced it after his brother’s death, not wanting people to see how much he was hurting. Today, with his friends, including Gwen, was no different. He was putting up a great front.

  No matter how much he focused on having a good time, on being with his close friends, the woman he loved, he couldn’t fully stop thinking about the negative stuff—Greg’s drowning, his grandparents’ and parents’ warnings, the legend itself. How had it started and why?

  Staring at the ring, he wondered if he should have kept it at all. The thing was a constant reminder of his fears and nightmares. It kept the superstition alive, gave it credence. No, he was glad he kept it. It could only help, right? It felt good to have it. He was probably being childish, but so what? Whatever helped, helped.

  He wanted to knock himself in the head. The fucking island, Witch Island, wasn’t cursed. People had been there and survived, hadn’t they?

  Jim thought about his friends, and his stomach sank a little. They didn’t have rings. And Steve, poor Steve—the kid was like him, a member of the original settlers. He wondered if someone in Steve’s family had a ring. Jim’s grandparents had said there were others that had them too, but never said who. How cool would it be if Steve had one, and was wearing it?

  Yeah, buddy, he thought. Steve is afraid of the island, just like you. He wore his mommy’s ring to protect him from the mean witch. You two can protect your friends if she shows up, and save the day. Gwen will be so grateful, she’ll offer you a lifetime of blowjobs with swallows whenever you want them.

  Jim closed his eyes for a moment, unable to believe what he was thinking. He was such a tool. Yes, a real loser. That was the appropriate word. Thinking about magical rings and worrying about his friends because they weren’t protected like himself? LOSER!

  “Jim,” Gwen said.

  Jim opened his eyes. “What?”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then why’d you stop rowing?”

  “Oh, sorry. I must have zoned out.”

  “Cut the guy some slack, task-master Gwen,” Paul said. “The guy’s saving his strength for—”

  “I know,” she said, cutting him off. “Saving his strength to rock my world. I get it. We all get it.”

  Jim shook his head as he eyed Paul, then picked up rowing again. He needed to get Gwen to the island and find out what was eating away at her.

  “It looks so fucking spooky,” Shay said, staring at the island, then she and Paul broke into laughter.

  “Witch Island,” Paul said, “Ooooohhhhh wwwaaaaaa!” He made claw-hands and grabbed Shay, pretending to attack her.

  A chill ran down Jim’s spine. His pulse quickened. He was so damn close to the island. He hadn’t been looking ahead, but down, as he rowed, not wanting to see the place.

  Almost there, he couldn’t avoid seeing it, and looked up. Jim shivered for a moment, as if a cold blast of wind swept over him. His breath caught in his chest. Then he looked at the ring and drew his kid-like power from it. He forced himself to study the island, glancing at all the trees, then realized it looked like any other woodland area, save the water surrounding it.

  What did you think you’d see? A place covered in blood? Devils and monsters patrolling the shores, looking to snatch up passersby?

  Jim took a deep breath and almost laughed with relief.

  “Looks like we found a great place to dock the boats,” Darren said. “A natural beach.” He and Steve rowed in until the canoe hit land. Steve hopped out, held the boat steady as the others departed, then Darren pulled the canoe onto land.

  Jim couldn’t believe how easy it was to come ashore. Most of the island’s perimeter was crammed with trees that hung over the water. Vines, like starved anacondas, draped from the branches. At least the police wouldn’t be anywhere near here, nor be able to spot their campfire. The forest looked like it swallowed whatever entered it.

  Jim and Gwen paddled to the shore. Darren pulled the boat halfway out of the water.

  A small grassy area extended about twenty feet to the sides and fifty feet back. Jim sat still, gripping the oar with sweat-slicked palms. He watched as everyone exited the canoe, taking bags of groceries and other supplies with them. Jim wasn’t sure he would be able to leave. Now that he was at the island, the reality of where he was going hit him full on. He held his breath waiting for something to happen.

  You’ve got to do this, he told himself. Stand up and step out. Don’t be a pussy. You’re here and you’re not backing out now.

  “Jim,” Paul said, “you coming or what?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jim couldn’t wimp out. He’d ruin the night for everyone. Even if they all stayed, Gwen wouldn’t. Sure, they would understand, but… He’d had the opportunity to change the party’s location, and didn’t. Again, he glanced at the antique ring on his finger. Screw it, he thought, then stood. He walked to the front of the boat and stepped out.

  Chapter Twelve

  Billy Montgomery sat on a worn computer chair in Damien Reynolds’ room, rolling a fat joint.

  “Damn,” Damien said, “I wish I had your skills.”

  “It comes naturally. Now quit hanging over me.”

  “Sorry, man. Are we smoking that now?”

  “It’s for later,” Billy said. “Stop pestering me about smoking it, you fiend.”

  Billy finished the roll, picked up the joint and ran it along the tip of his tongue, wetting the rolling paper and sealing the deal. He admired his work, like he always did, then tucked the green, leafy smoke behind his ear.

  He turned around in the chair and stared at the items on the bed—two flashlights, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s No. 7, a hammer and a battery operated drill that Damien had borrowed from his dad, of course, without his dad knowing.

  “Looks like we have everything we need for tonight,” Billy said, then rose from his chair, picked up the drill and pulled the trigger. The device roared.

  “I told you I charged it,” Damien said. “Man, don’t you trust me?”

  “Get the bag.”

  Damien went to his overflowing closet, pushed aside old jackets and flannel shirts and pulled the black backpack from its hanger. He tossed it to Billy.

  The items on the bed were loaded into the bag. Billy took a long swig from the bottle of Jack before placing it into a separate compartment to keep it from clanging against the drill and possibly breaking. His face scrunched up as the whiskey made its way down his gullet. “Good shit.”

  “Let me get some,” Damien said, holding out his hand.

  “We’re taking your car, remember? Mine’s too noticeable. And unlike myself, you can’t drive worth a shit when you’ve had a few. Besides, if we get pulled over, we don’t need any bullshit.”

  “Man, Billy,” Damien whined. “That ain’t fair. I want to get fucked up.”

  “I know, that’s the problem. You can’t control yourself. You’re either stone-cold sober, or on your way to total Annihilationville.” Billy gently slapped his friend’s cheek. “Tonight’s too important. We can’t risk getting pulled over. On a normal night, I’d say screw it, let’s get wasted, and we will, but we need to be clear-headed until the task is complete.”

  “I guess you’re right.” Damien’s shoulders slumped.

  Billy rolled his eyes and sighed. “All right.” He pulled out the bottle of Jack and handed it to Damien. “Fuck it, we’ll walk to the lake. It’s only twenty minutes. But don’t drink too much. We need to get this done, and I want some of this shit to celebrate with.”

  “Walking is a better idea,” Damien said enthusiastically. “This way there’s no proof we were anywhere near those assholes.”

  “Exactly my way of thinking.”

  Damien removed the cap, then lifted the bottle to his chapped lips. Billy watched the air bubbles rise through the golden liquid as Damien’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. After a f
ew gulps, he swiped the bottle back.

  “Hey,” Damien protested, his chin glistening.

  “Give me the cap.”

  Damien handed it over, and the bottle was sealed and placed into the bag. “We’ll party hard later. You should get a nice buzz from what you just swallowed.”

  “Bah, maybe. Truthfully, I think I do my best work when I’m fucked up.”

  Billy laughed.

  They left the house as twilight was settling in, the neighborhood dwindling under the low light, houses and yards fading away. They reached Lake Road and headed down it, hiding off to the side whenever a car came along to avoid being spotted in the area.

  They came upon the vehicles parked alongside the road. A grin spread across Billy’s. He looked at Damien.

  “We shouldn’t,” Damien said. “Fucking with their vehicles will involve the police, insurance companies too. If we get caught doing what we’re about to do out on the island, they’ll tie it to us.”

  “No one’s around,” Billy said. “No one saw us here. We hear a car coming, we hide, like we’ve been doing.”

  “All right.”

  Billy approached the first vehicle, a Toyota. It was Gwen’s car. It was old, not worth doing anything to. He moved to the next vehicle, a beautiful, shiny red pickup, the huge tires making the truck look like a miniature-sized monster truck. Normally, trying to slash such thick tires would be difficult, take time, but they had the drill.

  Billy knelt by the rear tire, unzipped the backpack and removed the drill. “Keep an eye out for cars.” It was dark enough that drivers should be using their headlights, but it was best to be wary in the event a car came along without them on.

  “Dude,” Damien said, giggling, “this is so fucked up, but so awesome too.”

  Billy pressed the bit against the side of the tire and pulled the drill’s trigger. The machine was loud, seeming thunderous in the quiet evening. It ate hungrily, churning out slivers of rubber as it sank deeper and deeper into the tire. Billy pushed and pulled, easing the bit in. The rubber proved tougher than he imagined. Sweat built along his skin.