Chapter 25

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     Jasper and Callie trudged up the beach toward the jungle. Dense and lush, the wall of vegetation towered over the woman in the sun hat waiting for them at its edge. The hot breeze tugged at the thin folds of her wrap and teased the brim of her hat.

     “I watched this survival documentary once,” Jasper said, “that was basically about how everything in the jungle wants to kill you.”

     “You really know how to instill confidence in a girl. Are those drinks?”

     Jasper squinted in the woman’s direction. She held a glass in each hand. “I think so.”     

     “Thank, God,” Callie said. “I’m so thirsty, I was about to drink my own pee.”

     “That was in the documentary, too.” He paused, then added. “I don’t recommend it.”

     She flashed him a look of total disgust. “You tried it?”

     “The documentary made it seem like this really amazing life skill.”

     “Sorry, but the ability to drink your own pee isn’t a life skill.”

     “I mixed it with Mountain Dew.”

     “You need to get out more.”

     The woman held out the drinks as they drew near, deep red slushy concoctions in tall glasses beaded with condensation. A small paper umbrella poked out of the top of each glass. “Compliments of Mr. Fisk.”

     The wide brim of her hat cast a shadow across her face, but Jasper had no trouble recognizing it. He’d never been great at remembering faces (also names, dates, lock combinations, internet passwords, directions, or where he’d put nearly every single pen he’d ever owned), but he remembered hers.

     Where were the others? Edgar, the old man who reminded him of his grandfather, only without the dress (the subject of Jasper’s grandfather had been a hot-button issue in his family for as long as he could remember); and Alice, with her pale skin, blue eyes, shaved head, and fangs (a completely inaccurate, yet perfectly fitting detail that his mind insisted on adding).

     Lulu’s hair, blond when he’d first seen her, was now chestnut brown. Fine strands poked out from under her hat. She hadn’t lost her French accent, though. Mr. Fisk had come out sounding like Mr. Feesk.

     They took their drinks. The glass cooled Jasper’s palm and sent an icy shiver up his arm.

     Callie finished hers in three large gulps, and then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Who is Mr. Fisk?”

     “He owns the island.”

     “This is an island?” Jasper asked.

     “Yes. A big one.”

     Lulu pointed to the camera slung around Jasper’s neck. “I’ll take that.”

     Jasper hesitated, then pulled it over his head, flipped it around, and snapped his picture.

     “You never took yours?” Callie asked.

     “I was waiting for the right moment.”

     “You mean you chickened out.”

     “Yes.”

     He looked at the display. Alice stared back at him, her eyes blue and cold, her mouth a cruel slash.

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⏰ Last updated: Sep 03, 2014 ⏰

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