Paradise Thriller

Vanished

Maybe the whole thing was just Gwennie being embarrassed that the plans for the big TV debut had been cancelled before they ever got off the ground. But Alison didn't believe it. Even if that had happened, Gwennie would have resurfaced by now, with her own humorous spin on the reality TV show that wasn't. No, something had happened.

But no one else seemed to take her sister's disappearance seriously. Not her roommates, two other aspiring actors Gwen had only given vague explanations to when she prepaid her share of the rent for two months and took off, refusing to tell them if she got the part she'd auditioned for or had other plans. Certainly not the overworked police detective who had taken down Alison's information, then said there wasn't much he could do on a missing person report unless there was some evidence of foul play.

"The rule -- the only rule -- is that you are never to talk to the cameramen," Brogan continued. If you disobey this instruction, there will be serious consequences."

The group exchanged a look, and a young woman raised her hand timidly. "What kind of consequences?"

Brogan fixed a piercing look in her direction. "And you are . . . ?"

"Miranda. Miranda Collins." She reminded Alison of a Manga character, with her short, spiky hairstyle, big eyes, and her delicate, heart-shaped face.

"Well, Miranda, break this rule and you'll be off the show, sent home and forfeit the chance of winning the prize money."

He paused while the group digested this information. It seemed to Alison that he was making rather a big deal about what would really be nothing more than an outtake that would never make the final edit. She wondered if Gwen had disobeyed this prime directive and been thrown off the show before the taping had even really begun. Gwennie's approach to rules had always been to see how far she could bend them before they snapped.

"Everybody clear on the rules?" Brogan said, pausing for any additional comments and continuing when there were none. "Fine. If you encounter a problem you should try to solve it yourself. Or enlist the help of one of your fellow contestants." He looked around the room. "If you're going to ask where your zone of privacy is, don't bother. You don't have one."

A few people murmured nervously, and his voice became more clipped.

"If any of you were introverts, you wouldn't have auditioned for a reality TV adventure, now would you? You've all seen these programs. The human psyche is stripped bare, and the audience eats it up."

There was a giggle. The girl who had introduced herself as Miranda spoke up. "How much else is going to be bare to your cameras, Mr. Brogan?"

"Just call me Brogan. The cameras will be on you 24-7. Of course, most of what goes on at the Island ends up on the cutting room floor. Rest assured, no one is interested in seeing you squat down in the woods and pee."

A quiet voice in the back of the room spoke up. "I think the young lady was really asking about sex."

Miranda giggled again and flushed slightly. Other nervous laughter was heard in the room.

"Yes, sex, of course. I'm so glad you raised that question. Let's just get it all out on the table. Our audience expects to be titillated. In essence, they are peeping Toms, getting their weekly fix by looking through the electronic keyhole at all of you.

"They're watching for glimpses of you ladies in various states of undress, hoping to see some wet clothes clinging to your body as you walk through the surf. You get the picture. And our female viewers are expecting to see ordinary men responding to extraordinary circumstances and flexing their muscles, preferably with their shirts off."