Long Weekend

Robert sits silently and I watch as the cogs in his mind wrap themselves around the truth presented to him. Then, as though a piece of fabric has gotten caught amongst his brain’s inner workings, his face drops. It’s expressionless. His eyes are blank.

“There has to be an explanation.” he mutters before snapping back to reality. Some things are too painful to accept. Or in this case, too terrifying to contemplate. If we’re right, if Lucas didn’t kill himself, then we have much bigger problems right now than when the police will arrive.

If the killer realises we’re onto them, they might behave rashly. They might lash out to keep their secret buried. A shiver runs up my spine and I look over my shoulder. I can feel eyes upon my skin but I see nobody around.

“You know what the explanation is, Castro.” She calls him by his surname, a sign of familiarity between them. A way to get him to accept the truth of the matter.

“Are you suggesting someone on this island had something to do with it?” he asks.

“How much do you know about them? The others, I mean.” I ask suddenly, nearly cutting over Robert’s question.

I can’t help interjecting. My journalistic instincts have kicked in and I need to gather evidence, opinions, and statements. I need to build a picture of those on this island so I can better protect myself.

“Penny and Michael? Only what I’ve seen on the news. And it’s not exactly like Michael has gone international. The only reason I know his name is the effect his sacking had on the British economy.” replies Fiona. Of course, she doesn’t pay attention to UK news unless it directly affects her business. Why should she care about some small-time politician’s attempt to rise through the social echelons?

“The same, pretty much. I’ve met Penny a few times at premieres and parties...” Robert pauses, alluding to the fact he has more of a story but isn’t quite willing to share. It’s a clever technique to make sure the surrounding interest is focused on you before a big reveal.

“Well, she certainly doesn’t seem to be a fan of yours.” I raise my eyebrows as I state the obvious.

“That may have something to do with her wife. I slept with her. Twice.” he replies, looking bashful. Attempting to channel his inner naughty schoolboy to lessen his moral crimes.

“ROBERT!” exclaims Fiona, her face genuinely contorted in disgust. “Twice! Christ, if I were her you’d be six feet under by now.” Her hand flies to her mouth as soon as the words leave her tongue. Now isn’t the time for jokes like that.

Robert’s revelation has me worried for that exact reason though. If Penny was willing to kill Lucas for writing some kind of exposé on her, what fate would she bestow upon the man who disrespected her marriage?

“It takes two.” Robert defended himself to Fiona.

There’s a glint in her eye as she speaks. History laced into her barb that I have no knowledge of.

“I thought we were past that?” Robert replies, matching the intensity in her features. It’s as though they’ve forgotten I’m present, forgotten the whole reason we’re sitting out here alone.

“I think we need-“ I interject. Hoping to get us back on track.

“She was my best friend, Bobby. You don’t get past something like that. Not really.” Fiona snarls.

“I told you back then how sorry I was. I never meant to hurt Catherine.” Robert defends.

“Well, you did. And I hurt her when I kept you in my life. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen her?”

“No.” Robert’s tone is flat. He knows the question was rhetorical.

“Six years. Six years without my best friend, Robert. Because of your stupid mistakes.”

“I never asked you to choose me.”

“I didn’t choose you.” Her voice drops as she finishes her sentence. “I just didn’t choose her.”

The two of them turn away from each other, not quite like children, but not that far from it. The pain between them is tangible and I’m not sure how to handle this situation. On one hand, I should let sleeping dogs lie. Wait for their exchange to lose its sting and attempt to regroup later on in the day when we’ve all had a little space. On the other hand, we might have a murderer in our midst.

Fiona makes my choice for me as she stands, glass in hand. Wordlessly, she picks up the vodka bottle, forgoing the orange juice, and tops her drink to the brim.

“I’m going for a walk.” she announces and without waiting for a reply or any pushback, she walks away from us. Something tingles in my gut as I watch her saunter off. Splitting up is a bad idea. We need to stick together. There’s safety in numbers.

Robert sighs and shakes his head. He’s watching her disappear into the distance just as I am. I wonder if he has the same reservations as I do, but as I’m about to ask him, he speaks.

“Shit.” He rubs his hands across his face. Before his argument with Fiona, I would have noticed how attractive a movement this was. But now that I knew more about the man he was, he had lost his gleam. Never meet your heroes and all that.

“She’s not wrong. Mistakes are my specialty.”

“We all make them.” I offer lamely.

“Not you, I imagine. Not like this.”

“Well, no. But I’m sure some of my exes might disagree.”

He smiles ruefully at my comment. As though it’s impossible to him that I too may have broken some hearts along my path in life. But I’m sure I have. Statistically speaking, we all have, whether we meant to or not.

I cheated on Christine with Simon. That was the truth of it. I hadn’t been shy about it either. I purposefully sprayed his aftershave on my jacket as I snuck out of his flat and returned to my bed with her. I left my phone unlocked in the hopes she’d find his messages. I was too much of a coward to break up with her myself, I needed her to call time. And I suppose, there was a part of me that loved the drama of it all. I was so certain she’d catch on to my betrayal, my cheeks flushed every time I lied to her. She knew that was my tell. And yet she kept any suspicions to herself. Until she could no longer bury her head in the sand. Until one of our mutual friends caught me in Simon’s arms. She couldn’t cope with the embarrassment of publicly forgiving me and thankfully she left our flat the very same day.

Simon hadn’t known about Christine. Well, he knew of her existence but he’d just assumed she was my roommate. I never told him otherwise, not even in the nine months we openly dated. I guess in a way I’d cheated on him too, at least for the first month. Eventually, I broke his heart too. Left him to concentrate on myself. Thought life would somehow be more fulfilling and exciting without his steady presence. And it had, at least for a while. I couldn’t tell Robert any of this though, I didn’t want to taint the image he had of me. The innocence of me.

“We should probably all stick together, shouldn’t we?” I say, hoping he’ll agree instantly and we can follow Fiona together. Instead, he smiles at me.

“Look. I get that it’s a bit strange, the Lucas thing, and maybe it is more than it seems on the surface level. But it’s not like there’s a maniac on the loose. For all we know, if this was something more than a suicide, it was someone with a personal vendetta. Lucas Jones wasn’t as clean as he liked to make out.”

“It is more than it seems Robert. You have to believe me.” I push.

“What I have to believe is that anyone in our position in life has left behind a string of enemies. And Lucas had just as many as the rest of us should rumours be believed.”

“He was working on something. Something about Michael and Penny.” I say, instantly wishing I could take the words back. I hadn’t meant to share that spot of information with anyone. It would only lead to questions. The most prominent one being how I knew. Which would lead to me having to explain that I’d been snooping around the crime scene. Which would just make me look guilty and as the outsider of the group, I didn’t want to look guilty when the truth about me was revealed.

“He was a creep, Emma. Plain and simple. If he was killed by somebody else, then he finally hit on the wrong girl. And if he killed himself, I can think of numerous reasons why he would have done so,” says Robert, ignoring all my interjections.

I’m stunned by Roberts’s outburst and have to look away from him as I process it. Lucas had been so kind to me on the jetty, and so excited to be playing the part of Robin Hood against Michael’s crimes. Somebody who believed so passionately in righting a wrong couldn’t possibly be guilty of what Robert was insinuating.

“I’m just saying, there’s a moral difference between liking older girls and liking younger women.” He adds, not blind to his own romantic fallacies.

It was undoubtedly true that Lucas’s fan base was predominantly made up of teenagers across the age scale, but there had never even been a whisper of what Robert was describing. Not a single hashtag on social media or a thinly veiled jibe in a gossip column. Something like that couldn’t occur without someone somewhere talking about it, surely. Why was Robert sharing this with me anyway? Was he trying to cheer me up by letting me know that Lucas was a bad person? Did that mean he deserved to die? No, absolutely not. There’s no way Robert would suggest that.

“Please. Can we just find Fiona?” I ask. Trying to change the subject and reunite myself with the people I trusted all in one swoop.

“You can do as you like. I’m going to have another drink.” He was frustrated, irritated that his exposé of Lucas hadn’t slowed my fear. Because even if he was right, even if Lucas had been killed by someone with a personal vendetta, what’s to say they didn’t have an issue with anyone else on the island? If what Robert said was true, about leaving a trail of enemies along the path to success, then surely every other guest here might be in danger? And, without doubt, there was no one more successful on this island than Fiona. I had to find her and warn her.

I stand without responding, part of me still believing that he’ll follow, but as I walk away from the bar, I hear the slosh of liquid being poured into a glass, and it’s clear I’m on my own.

I don’t remember the paths in the resort feeling so claustrophobic when I arrived, but now the tropical plants and bushes feel like they’re closing in on me. Obscuring me from view. I want to call out Fiona’s name but don’t want to appear desperate. I’m fine. I’m safe here. There is no need to panic. Breathe in for four. Out for eight. Keep the panic at bay.

Mum always said I had an overactive imagination. She wasn’t wrong. When I was a child, every nightmare was shockingly realistic and left me refusing to sleep in my room. I was so sure that the faces I’d seen in the walls were there, hiding. That they were out to get me. Of course, now as an adult, I know they weren’t, but that’s the problem with lucid dreaming. Everything seems so real. Dad used to make up stories about goblins and fairies when we walked the neighbour’s dog through the woods. He stopped eventually though, when I developed a fear of the sweeping trees and the mysteries they could be hiding.

I’ve grown up since then though. Now I know there are no monstrous faces in the walls preparing to eat me, no fairy-tale creatures hiding in trees, or a hero coming to sweep me off my feet. My imagination, as an adult, now manifests itself in an underlying sense of anxiety. Never quite bad enough to require medication, but loud enough at times to stop me in my tracks. This was one of those times.

There's rustling in the bush ahead of me. Something large, a person, is hiding in them. I can hear their staggered breathing as they try to stay quiet. I try to force words from my throat to call for help, but they’re strangled by the tightness rising from my gut. I need to run. No. I can’t run. If I run, then they’ll know I’ve spotted them. They might give chase. My best bet is to feign a need to turn on my heel and then casually walk back towards Robert.

Fiona. Fiona came down this path. What if she’s the one in the bush and her breathing is staggered because she’s injured?

I’m frozen with indecision. On the one hand, danger could be just ahead of me. On the other hand, somebody could need my help. A thought flashes through my mind - I wish I had my phone so I could call my parents. No matter how old or independent I get, I think I’ll always think of them as having all the answers. But they aren’t here. They can’t help me. This decision is mine and mine alone to make.

“Emma?” whispers the bush. It’s a man’s voice. Not Fiona. Now is the time to run.

“Emma?” it calls again. “You have to help me.” Now I recognise the plummy tones. It’s Michael. The chief suspect, as far as I’m concerned, in Lucas’s death.

I stand still as a statue as he emerges from the bush. Stumbling as he does so. His movements are jerky and his head swivels from side to side as he checks who’s around us. In his hand is a notebook, and across his chinos are red splatters. Blood?

“Michael, please,” I beg as I take a step back. But he doesn’t stop moving towards me. I look around. Other than the pool and the small cabin next to it, there is nowhere to hide. I could turn and run towards Robert, but that would mean turning my back on Michael. And I’m not sure I’m brave enough for that.

“Help me. You have to. It’s everywhere.” He says, his words are frantic and too fast for his tongue. He slips over some of his pronunciation.

“Leave me alone. Please. Just let me pass.”

“Don’t know how they did it. Lucas knew. Who else knows? Do you know?” he asks as he takes another step towards me. His pupils are dilated and he chews at his own lip as he talks.

In a second, I make a decision. I need to get away. I run to the left, dodging his outstretched arms, and make my way towards the pool. If I can get to the other side of it, then I’ll be safe. I can’t explain my logic, even to myself, but it seems like a solid plan.

He follows suit, and he’s faster than I expected. His hand grasps the back of my top and he pulls me to a stop. Finally, I’m able to scream but just as the sound leaves my lungs, his palm is pressed across my mouth.

“Be quiet. We need to be quiet. They can’t know what we know. They. I don’t know, they… They were everywhere. They know it all. Lucas. Lucas knew it all. Lucas knew I was a bad man. A very bad man.” He says, emotion beginning to take him over. I use the lapse in his concentration to shove him away from me. He stumbles backwards, through the open door of the cabin next to the pool.

Before he can stand, I pull the door to a close and using a nearby pole, the kind used to clean debris from pools, I manage to prevent him from turning the handle and opening the door.

I watch as the handle jiggles and he pounds on the door, dreading the moment he breaks free. Eventually, the movement stops and I can hear him whimpering from the other side. I need to get help. Michael has snapped under the weight of his guilt and I need somebody to help me deal with him.