INTRODUCTORY INFO
Before you start reading . . .
A special announcement about this book
Dear Reader –
If you've read any of my other stories here on Wattpad, you know that like most content on Wattpad they are free to the Reader.
BUT this story - and my contemporary romance ALL'S FAIR - are part of a new Wattpad Paid Stories program, so only part of the story will be free.
HOW IT WORKS. You will be able to buy coins through Wattpad, and use those coins to pay for stories like this one, chapter by chapter. It's not like paying for an entire book without knowing what to expect. The beginning chapters of every book in this program will be free, so you, the Reader, can find out first whether you like the story. Then you decide if you want to help support moving the story forward by paying a few coins to read the next chapter. And if you lose interest in the story, then you can stop reading – and paying – at any time.
WHY I JOINED THE WATTPAD PAID STORIES PROGRAM. Like most authors, I don't make a living writing. I have another job - a demanding job with long hours that doesn't leave me a lot of time for writing. It's simple. If I can get paid for writing, then I can work less at my job and have more time to write, which means I will be able to put more stories on Wattpad, both paid stories and free ones.
SO I'M ASKING YOU TO TRY IT. If you love this story and you want to support the authors who write the stories you love, you can make a difference by rewarding writers like me who spend many hours working hard to bring stories from our heart to yours.
MY PROMISE TO YOU. I know not everyone can afford to pay for stories. Life is expensive. My Readers matter to me and I don't want to lose a single one of you. That's why I will ALWAYS have some of my stories FREE on Wattpad.
Thanks for taking the time to read this. And I hope you enjoy my story PARADISE THRILLER as much as I enjoyed writing it.
LOVE ALWAYS,
-Jane
* * * * *
And now . . .
She Won't Tell
Her heart hammered against her ribs, lungs burning as she sucked in more air. He was getting closer. Not bothering to move quietly, not any more. She should have run sooner, right away, the moment she saw them by the cliff. The moment she understood that something was terribly wrong.
But she'd stood there, frozen in disbelief. Stood there, even when he turned toward her. Even as he looked past her, through her, then said something to the other man. Her first instinct to rush forward, to help, had been cut off by a cold, paralyzing fear. And the realization that what she'd just seen was not an accident.
A sob caught in her throat, choking her as she tripped over roots, as her foot tangled in vines. She pitched forward, landing flat on her face. Her cheek burned where she'd scraped the ground, and hot tears rushed behind her eyes.
She scrambled up and started running again. He was so close now she could hear him breathing. She'd never make it back to camp. At the fork in the trail she turned right, toward the beach. He couldn't hurt her out in the open, not in broad daylight. Not where someone might see her, help her.
She was almost there. The sheer rush of hope as she spotted a flash of blue water ahead gave her a burst of adrenalin and propelled her legs faster. Moments later she was sliding down the slope, spilling onto the warm sand. She pushed herself back onto her feet, half running and half stumbling forward, choking out a sob of relief. The sunlight glistened on the water.
Then her skin turned to ice. He was calling her name softly.
She opened her mouth to scream but no sound came out. She tried to run, but the sand dragged at her feet. Her legs felt weak, and she couldn't move them fast enough. She fell again, and looked back as he effortlessly dropped down the slope and stepped onto the beach behind her.
She found her voice then, and screamed for help, screamed as loud as she could. But there was no one there, no one on the entire length of the beach, as far as she could see. She screamed again, crawling on her hands and knees, turning then falling back on the sand as he walked toward her.
"Who are you? I didn't see anything. I won't tell anyone. Please."
He just shook his head, then unfolded a latex mask and pulled it on, hiding his features.
She'd already seen his face. Why did he need a mask when she'd already seen his face? Images of every horror movie she'd ever watched flashed through her mind as the man in the mask moved toward her.
"Please!" she screamed again. Then sobbed, "I won't tell." She was scurrying backwards now, on all fours, like a crab.
"No," he said, "you won't tell."
When she saw the gun in his hand she closed her eyes and, for the first time in more years than she could remember, she began to pray.
* * *
"Good afternoon." The man leaned against a table in the front of the small conference room in the downtown L.A. hotel. The measuring look in his eyes as he surveyed the room seemed at odds with the casual stance.
This, Alison thought, must be the "ruggedly handsome" director her sister had described in her last, hurried phone call more than two months ago, before Gwen disappeared. She had supposedly left for the taping of a new reality TV show. But as far as Alison had been able to discover, no one in the industry had ever heard of it.
The director was tall and lean, dressed in a loose fitting polo shirt and faded jeans. Although he wasn't overtly muscular, Alison's experience as a fitness instructor told her this was not a man who spent his time sitting behind a desk. She could easily imagine him performing the physical challenges on an old school, survival-type reality show. His steady gaze scanned the forty or so people sitting on the folding chairs, and they immediately fell silent. Nervous excitement filled the air.
While she studied the director, he suddenly looked her in the eyes. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, afraid that somehow her face would reveal that she was no ordinary contestant. Answering the ad in a movie trade paper and coming here to the audition for the next taping of "Reality Island" was her last, desperate attempt to find out what had happened to her sister. The director seemed to measure her a moment longer, then moved on.
She exhaled slowly, unaware until that moment that she had been holding her breath. There was no way he'd recognized her as Gwen's sister. Gwen was movie-star gorgeous, in a classic cinema sort of way that belied her adventurous spirit. Alison, on the other hand, was a throwback to the Irish ancestors on their father's side of the family. She told herself to relax. The longer she kept her identity a secret, the better chance she had of catching the director off-guard. That is, if she ever got the chance to speak with him alone.
His voice, like the appraising look he'd used to survey the room, had an undercurrent of steel. "My name's Brogan. I want to congratulate all of you on being selected as possible contestants for Reality Island. I'm here to answer any questions you have. Then we'll be interviewing each of you briefly, and you'll be notified of our final selection by the end of the week.
"Understand that if we could, we would choose you all. But the success of our program requires the proper mix of contestants. For those of you who aren't selected today, we'll keep you on our list for future tapings."
Had Gwen sat here, maybe in this same room, listening to this same introductory speech? Alison wished she'd paid more attention to her sister's last phone call, but it had just been one more of Gwennie's crazy adventures. A slot on a new reality TV show that she was certain would catapult her into the acting career she'd been dreaming of since her first taste of the theatre back in high school. And it had nothing to do with housewives, cocktail parties, or the lives of the rich and not so famous.
No, this was some sort of wilderness survival competition. At first Allison had been appalled. The only survival reality show she'd heard about in recent years was one where the contestants were dropped off naked in a jungle and ate bugs and rotting parrot heads for twenty-one days before catching malaria or some other disease and spending the next three months in a hospital. Naked and Afraid? How about naked and completely insane?
But no, Gwennie had assured her it was nothing like that – it was a revival of the kind of survival show they'd watched as kids. Totally retro. Campfires and beaches and silly contests and maybe a little romance with a hot guy. These shows might be passé here in America, Gwennie insisted, but there was a huge foreign market for it in direct to video streaming. And there was a good chance it would get picked up in the U.S. by one of the more obscure networks.
While Gwen rattled off the names of all the reality show contestants who had spring-boarded into careers in movies and TV, Alison had tuned out. She'd been dealing with the day to day problems of running her health club in New York, and wasn't really in the mood to hear the details of her younger sister's plans to frolic in the sunlit coves of a tropical island for what appeared to be an all-expense-paid six-week vacation.
Brogan was still talking, giving what sounded like a well-rehearsed speech.
"First, is there anyone here who would have a problem dropping all their other commitments on short notice if you were selected for the next six-week segment?"
The room was silent.
"Good. At your personal interviews we'll be asking each of you to sign a confidentiality pledge. If you are selected you'll be given advance information about the program. Any leaks about the show's content, location or other details could be very detrimental to the success of the entire production.
"I want you all to understand that revealing even the existence of this program is grounds for immediate disqualification."
Probably that was why her sister had sworn her to secrecy, Alison thought. Don't expect to hear from me for six weeks, she'd said. I shouldn't even be calling now, but I was afraid you'd worry. But it didn't explain why now, more than two months later, she'd still heard no word from Gwen. Or why it had been impossible to find out anything about the producers of the show and when – or if – it was going to air.
She could understand keeping the actual episodes of a reality show under wraps, but even the existence of the show? In the end, it was only through sheer luck and perseverance that she'd found the ad, sandwiched between the personals and job listings in one of the free weekly trade papers. And she'd felt her first glimmer of hope when one of Gwen's roommates had recognized the ad.
Unattached and looking for adventure? Alternative producer seeks free spirits for reality-based programming. Exotic location. Cash prize awarded. Call 1-800-REALITY.
She fingered the worn slip of newsprint and listened anxiously as Brogan continued.
"With a $100,000 cash prize for the last remaining contestant and extensive media exposure and contact opportunities for all eight of you who are selected today, I'm sure no one wants to risk being disqualified for the sake of a little advance bragging to your friends or family."
A man in the back spoke up. "Are you casting more than one episode today?"
"No. Just the initial taping. Although, as I said, we'll be calling some of you back later for future casting, assuming things go as planned on our first shoot."
His words fell on somber ears, as everyone looked around the room and gauged their own odds of being selected as one of eight from the group of forty or so hopeful contestants.
"Excuse me," Alison said, "does 'first shoot' mean this is the first episode to be taped?"
"That's right." Brogan smiled. "So I guess you would be our guinea pigs."
Alison shifted uneasily. What could have happened at - or before - the first taping to cause the production company to scrap it altogether? Had Gwennie ever made it to Reality Island? And if the taping had been canceled, why had she disappeared?