RockFord Island

Chapter Eight

          I can't even begin to comprehend what I'm staring at. Gone. Vanished into thin air like a ghost. The only remains of Oscar are his blanket and pillow, along with an extra T-shirt in the back corner of the tent. I glance around for any clues that could lead to a reasonable explanation, but my mind is yet again left with the unknown. There's no way Oscar had the strength to exit the tent, let alone get up and leave the beach, or wherever the hell he went. Not with the condition I saw him in.

          Agitatedly, I make my way over to my own tent, to make sure this isn't just my mind playing tricks on me. I erratically pull down the zipper to the door. As I expected, there's no sign of Oscar. Deep down, I already knew that he wasn't in here, but just the thought was soothing enough for me to play along.

           Regardless, things have gone from bad to worse. My anxiety gradually turns into anger, and I start to blame myself for the terrible situation we're stuck in. Why did we have to come to this bloody island? How could I be so stupid to let someone drop us off by boat in the middle of nowhere? I got lost up in the hype, and now we're paying the price for it. We could have just spent the night hanging around in Hanoi and paid for the hotel later.

          "Fuck!" I scream under my breath, pulling at my hair in frustration. With all the commotion going on, it takes me a moment to realize that Christina is still with me. She's standing down by the shoreline again, her back still turned to me, obscuring her face.

          "Christina, I can't believe this! Oscar is gone!"

          I wait for a reaction—anything—absolutely anything. But just like the last few hours, Christina is completely unphased by my words. She continues to just stand there casually with her arms crossed, glancing out to the horizon as the wind blows through her long, black hair.

          "Christina...please?" I practically beg.

          Again, nothing. I feel the combination of both fear and frustration building up inside me like a tea kettle boiling over on the stove. I can't hold it back any longer.

          "Answer me, Goddammit!" I shout. "This isn't all about you, Christina! Oscar might be fucking dead, and you're just standing around acting like a—"

          "Hey, guys!" interrupts a familiar voice.

          I turn around and see Shawn at the bottom of the ridge, a big, wide smile spread across his face. He's standing at an angle, and has his hands placed on his hips as a superhero would.

          "How's it goin'!" he asks triumphantly, that smile still present.

          "Oh my God, Shawn!" I sprint over towards him, ready to spill all the horrible news. I know that he'll at least listen to me.

          Though once I get to him, it's like the words are stuck in my throat. "Oscar! He—he...Oscar, he's—"

          Shawn looks at me with a raised brow, his white teeth flashing through that mysterious grin. "Is everything okay, Jane? You seem a little out of sorts."

          "No! O-Oscar, he—he's not—n-not inside the—" Jesus. This is beyond aggravating. Why can't I just form a simple sentence? I feel like I'm a toddler again, having to re-learn how to use basic vocabulary words. It's driving me nuts.

          But again, absolutely out of nowhere, I begin to feel a strange sensation inside my body. It's the same anxious feeling I had yesterday when we first arrived on the island—that whole snake inside my belly thing. This time, however, it's in my throat, and it's starting to feel like there's perhaps a...cockroach...trapped inside my windpipe. Just like last time, I can literally feel its little legs scurrying up my trachea, gradually crawling to my larynx, forming a small bulge in the front of my neck. My entire body freezes in panic.