Jack sits on the dry beach just above the reach of the waves, watching Marie and Havel scour the shoreline in search of stand-out rocks and shells. Marie had told them about what she heard Phineas and MaryAnne talking about on the porch that morning. Of course, she is too young to fully understand the delicacy of which they were speaking and hadn't even listened to the entire conversation—as she was preoccupied with a hermit crab that originally led her under the cabin. But what Marie had heard, and recalled to her siblings, was what their grandfather warned about the jungle. He said something took Grandma, she tells them.
For Marie and Havel, the conversation came and went. They speak about it for some time, brewing theories and imaginative conclusions. But they grow bored with the subject and go off to collect rocks. However, the topic floats with Jack like a balloon tied to his collar.
Occasionally checking over his shoulder, Jack finds himself feeling unjustifiably alone in his curiosity.
"Do you think we should ask Grandpa about the jungle? Or maybe we could just go and look?" Jack ponders, trying to rehash the conversation.
His attempt proves useless — they go on collecting without even batting an eye. The ocean rides up and down the beach, colliding and surrounding the children up to their ankles. Pulling and distributing fresh shells with every wave.
"Remember? Mother said we can't go in the jungle," Marie responds after a reserved moment, fumbling with an assortment of shells and rocks in her little hands.
"Aren't you interested at all?" Jack challenges, standing up.
They both ignore him. Not out of spite or lack of curiosity, but because of Jack's history of mischievous acts and schemes, actions that always seem to end in punishment.
Havel has grown to be especially inclined to avoid all of Jack's plans, as they usually involve him as a significant instrument of deceit, destruction, or denial. Sometimes all three.
Once, around a year ago, Mrs. Zarate had given the boys an assignment for their homeschooling. They were tasked with painting a small piece of clay tile to resemble Mexican Talavera, as they were learning about art from different cultures around the world. This was the last project of the unit, and Mrs. Zarate told them whoever's tile was most colorful and cleanly painted would receive a golden star on their report card and a candy bar.
Zarate saw this system as a way of teaching her children the rewards of hard work, thus influencing them to do their best. What she hadn't realized when constructing the system, and failed to notice in the months she had been incorporating it, was the facilitation of a bitter rivalry between the boys.
Havel and Jack worked in the same room. They would consider each other's progress when they got a chance as they worked toward their strict due date. If they didn't finish by this date, Zarate would disqualify them from winning the gold star. Over the two days they were given to complete the painting, Jack noticed Havel's tile was remarkably better than his.
On the last day, Jack decided to work in the garage, away from Havel. In the garage, he had coated his dark red finished tile in a polyester gloss that, when dried, gave his piece a luster and made it feel smooth to the touch, as opposed to the original chalky texture it had. When Havel saw Jack's tile, he begged Jack to reveal his secret. So, all according to his plan, Jack smiled wide when pouring paint thinner into a small mason jar to bring it to Havel.
"This is what you need," Jack advised, "just paint it on fast and leave it."
"How long do I leave it?" Havel excitedly asked.
"Just one hour, but no longer," Jack told him, "or it will be ruined."
Havel joyously lathered the paint thinner onto his neat, complexly painted tile and left it on his window sill in the sun. Havel's tile was a brilliant green color, as green had always been his favorite color.
Jack proceeded to distract Havel with as many fun activities as he could conceptualize for as long as he could. He challenged Havel to race him, they played jokes on their sister, played tag, hide and seek, and in a desperate moment when Jack could no longer think of anything fun, he timed who could balance the longest on one leg. All the while, Havel was floating in awe at how much fun they were having.
It was then, two hours and fifteen minutes later, Havel's dream ended as he balanced his right leg.
"Oh no! My tile!" Havel panicked.
He ran off into the house, leaving Jack standing confidently behind.
Jack felt victorious, but he was not without morals. When he saw Havel sobbing over his paint-cleaned tile, he felt remorse, but not enough to come clean. He kneeled next to Havel and put his arm around his shoulders.
"I'm sorry this happened, Havel. I told you one hour, remember? This is what happens."
Havel cried for a while longer but wiped his snot and tears on a handkerchief and began repainting. It was already six, but he worked on his tile into the night—even having to pretend he went to sleep when his mother came to check on them.
In the morning, when homeschooling commenced, they turned their tiles in. Jack's was cleanly painted and glossed, while Havel's tile was an unorganized mess he prepared in the dark. Jack got the star.
It wasn't long before Mrs. Zarate had to abandon the system out of pity when Havel seemed to rarely get a star, and Jack managed to keep corrupting it.
▶︎◎◀︎
"I got the newspaper," Phineas tells MaryAnn while she prepares a cup of coffee in the kitchen, "isn't looking good."
"What happened?" she asks.
He hands her the paper, and she holds it up. Numerous headlines and articles show that things haven't gotten any better in the states since they left. The paper talks about tension rising in eastern Europe between Russian-backed separatists and NATO forces. The report is shocking, but it is also relieving to find out there were never any bombs dropped. She had almost forgotten how scared she was when they rushed to the plane—confident they would drop a bomb somewhere. But in her time on the island, it has almost entirely slipped her mind.
"I'm sure it will all turn out okay. It is good you all came here," Phineas says. "But it begs the question: did you really think they would drop bombs on new york? That seems... nervous."
"Our neighbors were packing up, they told Timon we should too. We didnt think about it much, really. And of course there was the bomb threat at the office — does it say anything about that?"
"No, nothing about the company. Seems like that was handled."
MaryAnn contemplates bringing the paper to Timon but decides against it.
She walks off, tossing the paper onto the kitchen counter. While passing the guest room, she pauses and listens, pressing her head against the door. But she doesn't hear his loud breathing or moans, so she slowly cracks the door open and finds Timon sitting up on the bed, looking out the window.
"Honey?" she says.
Timon sits still, unaware of her entry. She rounds the bed and sits beside him. The bandages on his hand are torn and dirty, and his back is glossed with sweat.
"Maybe we should wash your hand up? Get some new bandages on you. It smells like you could really use a shower, too," she says light-heartedly.
MaryAnn smiles wide and tries to get Timon's attention by leaning into his view, but he continues to stare out the window.
"Come on, talk to me, dear," she begs, kneeling beside him.
After a moment, she rests her head on his naked leg. Timon brings his hand up and runs his fingers through her hair.
"I'm so sorry..." he whispers, his voice low and tired.
MaryAnn sits up and pulls Timon into her arms.
"I don't know what got into me. I got that bottle from a cabinet, and after that, it was all a blur. Now I'm here—my hand is wrapped up, I'm sweating, I feel like throwing up."
"It is fine, darling. We all just need you to get healthy, then we can talk," she says. "Can I get you anything?"
"I think I need more rest," he says, "maybe some water?"
She stands without a word and kisses him on his sweaty forehead. Wiping her lips, she turns back in her leave and watches him lying back in the bed.
▶︎◎◀︎
Jack wanders the border between the beach and the jungle. He observes how the first few yards into the jungle can be easily traversed. But as you venture deeper, it becomes much more crowded with growth. He turns behind to his siblings, who pay no mind, utterly distracted by their ongoing shell search.
With a hastily developed decision, Jack finds himself stepping into the jungle.
His shoes sink shallowly into dead leaves, which top a damp layer of naturally processing sludge. The sound of a gallery of strange bugs buzzes like a television with no input. It is only a faint hum from outside the jungle, but when one crosses the border, you come to face the wealth of insects.
A creeping, yellow and red caterpillar crawls along a thin branch beside Jack. He studies it closely. Winged insects soar by his ears, buzzing loudly—he swipes them away.
As Jack presses further, he finds himself in a mangrove forest. To him, it is an alien world. At least compared to the suburbs. The slim trees grow from the ground with raised roots that draw nutrients from the coming and going tide. Around the puddled ground, he spots mud crabs scuttling through the complex system of roots, some of which spike out from the mudflats, resembling the inside of an iron maiden.
Jack becomes weary and claustrophobic. He takes another step forward, hoping for a thorough search. He notices a peculiar blue object sunk into the mudflat. He hesitates, but if he leaves this stone unturned, he will only be coming back to investigate later. He carefully navigates the wet spikes of the mangrove toward the anomaly. The raised roots are tall enough to offer Jack stability, using them like railings through the maze.
He stands above the smooth, blue object, which appears to be plastic. Jack crouches and guardedly inspects it, patting it with his hand, wiping mud from it. He runs his hand along the side, his fingers cutting through the mud the object has sunk into. Finding a grip, he tugs it out with all his strength. With a sloppy sound of the shifting mud—out comes a blue suitcase.
Jack wipes the accumulated mud from the suitcase, exposing the latch which holds it closed. He tugs on the rusted latch until his small fingers hurt, then wags his hand loosely in the air, attempting to shake off the pain. Undeterred, he goes at it once more—wrapping his fingers around the working end of the latch, achieving the best grip he can, tugging back at it hard with his foot propping it from sliding. With a snap, the weathered metal piece cracks off from the suitcase, and jack falls back into the mud, scraping his back badly on a mangrove root.
He rolls around in the mud painfully, moaning and grabbing at his back. The scrape only slightly breaks his skin. He stands and hikes back out of the mangrove like a failed Indiana Jones.
He reaches the beach and finds his siblings had wandered off.
...
"What happened?" MaryAnn implores.
Jack paces through the living room, trying to distract himself from the pain. He has gotten blood smeared on his hands from holding the wound on his back.
"Just hold still!" Phineas demands, grabbing Jack by his shoulders. "Let's clean it up."
Phineas hands-off Jack to MaryAnn who pulls a white metal first aid kit from under the sink. She unpacks it on the dining room table and rips open a sealed bag containing an alcohol-soaked wipe. Phineas dabs the wipe on Jack's back, which brings him to jerk and try to escape.
Afterward, MaryAnn sends Jack to the shower to wash off the mud from his body.
▶︎◎◀︎
Phineas finds Marie sitting on the porch steps alone.
"Hey there," he says as he steps out of the cabin and sits on the step beside her.
"Hi," she says without looking.
"What are you upto? Looking at the ocean?"
"Yeah."
"Are you okay? Jack got scraped up pretty bad today."
"I'm okay. I never went in the jungle. Its scary."
"Thats good," he says. "I feel the same way, you know. I get scared just thinking about it."
Phineas smiles.
"Really? But you live here."
"Even so. I dont trust it, you know."
"Is that what happened to grandma? She went in there?"
"So you did hear us talking, didnt you?"
Marie peeks up at him timidly.
Phineas looks out to the horizon as the sun lowers in the west.
"You know, it was around this time when I last saw her. I just miss her so much."
"How come you couldnt find her? Did you try calling out her name?"
Phineas smothers his mounting irritation.
"Yes, dear. I tried everything. I loved your grandmother more than words can express. I would have done anything for her, you know. I bought this island for us, so we could escape the city. But dont worry about all this, little Marie."
"Did you look for her again? Maybe she is there still."
"I believe she is there in spirit."
"Maybe we can look for her together. I could get my brothers too."
"It's too dangerous, dear. You are much too young to help this situation. But thank you, it is nice of you to try."
Marie doesnt respond. Phineas stands.
"Will you be alright out here?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, I'll check on you in a few."
▶︎◎◀︎
The sun drops below the horizon as MaryAnn crawls into the dried bed next to her husband.
Up in the attic, the children huddle as Jack attempts to convince them to explore the jungle. He tells them of the suitcase, but it does not amuse them. Marie considers telling them about their grandma, but she realizes it would only reinforce Jacks exploratory aspirations.
The air in the cabin is warmed by the fireplace, which now snaps and cracks as the bright orange heat dies into a pile of grey ash. A light wind brushes the windows, and joustles the jungle's massive cover of green. The ocean is calm outside, hidden by the darkness.
The generator behind the cabin growls and pops in conversation with the fireplace.
Phineas sits alone at the wooden desk in his bedroom, wearing a pair of prescription glasses while reading the newspaper. A dim, yellow antique lamp lights a portion of his room. Outside his only window, the trees of the jungle all sway in the building breeze. He thinks a storm must be coming, but he has learned never to anticipate the weather in his time living here because you will most often be wrong. It is better to adjust to whatever card one is dealt as it comes, rather than preparing for the next hand.
He slides his chair out from the desk and leaves his room. It feels odd to him each time he remembers there are other people in the cabin. As he sits down on the living room couch, he humors himself on forgetting he is not alone. He became not only used to isolation but he has grown accustomed to it.
When his wife died, Phineas was a gutted ship, abandoned on the island. He felt he would rather live alone for the rest of his life than share this space that had been so special to them. He would often imagine himself dead, lying in his bed—peace. He wonders how long before people would come searching for him. It would likely be the company that brought him supplies. They would be the first to be suspicious. But when would they check-in? Weeks? Months?
He can hear the muffled voices of the children up in the attic. He checks his watch and sees it is past ten. As he rises from the couch, he overhears Jack speaking.
"If we cover ourselves in mud, there is no way we can be seen," he says.
"Jack, Mom said we can't do it."
Phineas climbs up the ladder, startling the children. He inspects each of them, snarling as he speaks.
"I really hope you aren't all talking about going into the jungle," he says.
He stares at them, unflinching. His face, partially hidden in the darkness of the attic, is shined on by light from the living room.
"It is not a game. The jungle is dangerous—and is not worth the trouble. That is a dumb idea, children."
He continues to stare at them for a brief time until he feels he has intimidated them and climbs back down the ladder to return to his bedroom, shutting his door softly behind him.
The children all still stare where he had been, as if he is has turned them to salt.
"I told you so," Marie says to Jack.