Enter the Phantasma

Chapter One

Autumn:  that was when the masses came to Greene Island.  Each year, like clockwork, they washed across this small barrier island off Georgia’s coast in one grand and raucous wave:  college students, oodles and oodles of college students, all looking for a place to party on the eve of the annual face-off between the University of Georgia Bulldogs and the University of Florida Gators; after the game, win or lose, it would be time to party some more, that is until Sunday rolled around, whereupon those same students would head back to school, vanishing as swiftly as they had appeared.  The hoteliers, landlords-for-a-weekend-only, restaurateurs, merchants, and barkeeps celebrated their arrival, while the locals tended to do their grocery shopping and banking well in advance, for the traffic on this quiet, good-natured island could become rather difficult once the kids invaded.  In this milieu our story begins—

***

“You’re not serious.”  When Bryson Elliot, a twenty-one-year-old senior, spoke these words he did so as a plea, not as an observation.  He knew quite well his girlfriend, Phoebe, was serious.  He was just astounded she would actually make such a ridiculous proposal. 

“You don’t want to?”  Phoebe’s brow furrowed in dismay.

“No, Phoebe, I don’t.”

Since arriving on Greene Island earlier today, Bryson and Phoebe had spent most of their time on the beach as part of a larger group.  The parents of one of Bryson’s fraternity brothers owned a condominium two blocks from the shore, and a big chunk of that group would be lodging there tonight and tomorrow night.  Bryson was content to stay on the beach and drink—ahem, hang out—all day, but for some reason Phoebe had wanted to come off the sand and take a walk around the seaside village of restaurants, bars, gift shops, and clothing stores at Greene Island’s southern tip.  Bryson had resisted her entreaties at first, but she quickly reminded him how he’d promised her they would find time to exactly this on the way down from Athens.  Bryson soon realized he was caught up in a tree by a lion of his own making, and so he agreed.  Then, at the last minute, Phoebe had invited a sorority sister, Jessica, and her boyfriend, Caleb, to accompany them.  Again Bryson said fine.

They had made for a handsome quartet as they strolled down the sidewalk that afternoon, all of them tanned, young, fit:  Phoebe, blond and delicate, almost elfin, in appearance; Jessica, a dark-eyed brunette; Caleb, tall and thin, square-jawed, also a brunette; and Bryson, about the same height as Caleb but possessing the size and powerful musculature of the rugby prop he was, crowned with a mop of thick sandy brown hair that was almost shaggy but not quite.  But their stroll had come to an end rather abruptly when Phoebe suggested they stop to rest at a small café.

“We’ve only been walking for ten minutes,” Bryson had argued.

“Well, I was just hoping we could stop for a little bit,” was Phoebe’s reply.  “Would that be all right?”  

Then, shortly after they were seated at one of the café’s outside tables, Phoebe had blindsided the group with what had to be the dumbest idea Bryson had ever heard—an idea from which he was still reeling.

“Come on, Bryson,” Phoebe pleaded.  “It’d be something to do.”

“Yeah, I know, but—I mean, do we really have to do anything?”  He leaned back in his seat.  “And do we have to do that?”

Rather than addressing his question, Phoebe looked at Caleb and Jessica.  “What do you guys think?”

Though Bryson kept it to himself, he was not happy to see her turn to their companions for reinforcement.  He had made abundantly clear, he thought, that he was not keen on her suggestion; in fact, was very much opposed to it.  He suspected Caleb and Jessica did not like Phoebe’s idea much better, but would go along with her to avoid confrontation.