The Island

Chapter 1-2

He shrugged. “In my home country, the age of consent is fifteen. She’s an adult, and she shares the burden of paying her father’s debt just like the rest of you. So go to the police, or do what you wish, but know for every step you take, you’ll pay for it ten times over.”

He straightened his jacket and stared at me for another moment. I thought perhaps he was waiting for me to beg him to reconsider, to allow me to w***e myself out for him and his friends in the place of my sisters. I was prepared to do a lot to save them, including dropping out of school and finding a full-time job to try to support us and make ends meet, but I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t surrender to his filthy suggestion without trying to find an alternative first.

After a half-minute of silence, he nodded once more before turning away from me and striding to the door. His goons flanked him, and none of the three of them looked back as they swept through and slammed the door behind them.

I collapsed in the chair as soon as they were gone, losing all ability to stand. Silent tears swept over me, and they became sobs I couldn’t quite stifle. I gave in to the storm of weeping, which wasn’t the first over the last few days since finding my father’s body in the bathtub in the master suite.

This time, the tears were prompted by fear and rage, not just grief and sadness. I’d held low-key anger toward my father since discovering him and realizing he chose such a selfish route to escape whatever his problems were, but now it swelled to outright fury. His body was still at the crematory, preparing to turn to ash, or I would’ve pummeled it with my fists at the moment, I was so angry.

And terrified. I could freely admit that to myself and didn’t have to try to hide it now that Dmitri Ivanov and his goons had left, for at least the time being. I had no idea what I was going to do, and I could empathize for a moment why my father had chosen the route he had. I still didn’t understand why he’d gone through with it, but I could see why suicide was an option he considered viable to escape Ivanov. I doubted he’d even given it a thought that the girls and me would inherit his debt.

I was wrung out and emotionally drained, but forced myself to leave his office after trying to restore some semblance of order. My gaze darted around the room as I rejoined the others in the living room, and I let out a sigh of relief when I didn’t see any sign of Dmitri or his men.

Others had started to leave, so there were only a few sparse hangers-on still mingling. Somehow, I managed to deal with them and get them all out the door within the next twenty minutes.

I went to check on Carrie, and she’d fallen asleep behind her tablet. I laid the iPad on the table and covered her with an afghan from the couch, running my fingers down the intricate threading. My mother had crocheted it when she was pregnant with Sasha. Tears blurred my eyes for a moment, and I wished with all my might to have my mother back, so she could enfold me in her arms and protect me from the horrors awaiting.

Since that wasn’t an option, I straightened my shoulders and went upstairs. Sasha was in my room, having taken refuge there to avoid the gathering downstairs after we attended my father’s service at the funeral home. She was asleep as well, and I left her sprawled on the right side of the queen-size bed, taking just a moment to remove her glasses and lay them on the nightstand.

After that, I moved into the bathroom and quickly shed the black dress and pantyhose worn for the funeral. Once dressed in more comfortable yoga pants and a T-shirt, I left the room and went downstairs again. I returned to my father’s office, this time knowing I needed to investigate to see what kind of money he’d left, if any at all.

I lucked out, and he hadn’t shut down his computer before deciding to kill himself. He used a password management program, and it was still signed in, so I was able to check his account balances and spreadsheets.

It didn’t take long to realize we were f****d. There was eighteen hundred dollars in his checking account, and absolutely nothing in savings. My sisters had personal savings accounts tied to Dad’s, and they had another two thousand dollars between them, but I bet they would’ve expected to have more. I checked the history and discovered he’d been slowly borrowing from their accounts on months when he didn’t have enough to cushion the shortfall. Of course he had. If he would borrow from a loan shark, he wasn’t above emptying his daughters’ savings accounts. I was almost amazed that there was any money left in them at all.

Fortunately, I had my own savings account in another bank, but it was rather anemic too. I’d used a majority of it to pay for my last two semesters of school after Dad cut me off. He claimed it was time for me to stand on my own, but now I realized why he hadn’t paid my tuition. He simply hadn’t been able to afford it.

When he refused to give me his tax returns for grants and loans, I’d had to quit for a semester and work a full-time retail job in order to cover the two semesters myself, putting me off schedule to graduate. I’d been furious at the time, but it seemed inconsequential now.

It got worse as I searched through a drawer full of correspondences. It seemed like he owed everyone. There were multiple collection agencies attempting to get him to honor his debts. I wasn’t so concerned about those, because they weren’t my debts now. Unlike Ivanov, none of those companies could try to force me to pay them off.

My stomach sank when I came across a letter from the insurance company. It was short and terse, reminding him that since he hadn’t paid his premium for the last three months, his life insurance policy of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars had been canceled. The letter alluded to a refund check for the balance he’d paid into the policy that was attached, but all I saw was a stub. Going back to his bank account, I saw he had deposited a check that was for a balance of eighteen thousand dollars, and then transferred it to his business account. Apparently, he’d used it to pay payroll, which was admirable, but left us without any protection at all.

I wasn’t even sure if life insurance would’ve paid out since he committed suicide. With a sigh, I leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen as I tried to think of what I could do. There was literally no way I could think of to get together five hundred thousand dollars in two weeks.

The only other option seemed to be to take my sisters and run, but I was scared to do that. If we were caught, that would bring CPS down on us. I wasn’t officially their guardian, and I wasn’t sure if they would allow me to be since I wasn’t twenty-one yet. I’d planned to keep things discreet and try to stay off the radar of schools or anyone else who might cause us problems until my birthday in a few months.

A pinging sound distracted me, and I looked at the screen in time to see a new screen pop up. I hadn’t touched anything, so it was completely unexpected to see the program loading. A moment later, a logo popped up, along with the words “The Island.”

A British male voice started speaking, but the camera didn’t show the narrator. Instead, it showed scenes that looked like something out of a hunting show to start with. As I listened to the narrator recapping the last episode, one of the images featured a slightly overweight man grappling with a shorter black woman. He held her down, forcing her onto all fours before climbing on top of her.

It was obvious he was about to mount her when the screen cut to another scene of a woman running. The footage appeared to be shot from a camera mounted to her head, so the audience could see what she was seeing. Abruptly, a man jumped out in front of her and grabbed her, and the footage skipped to another couple.

I was appalled, yet still confused about what I was seeing.

“That was just last week’s exciting recap. Sit back and prepare for the next episode. This week, we have four contestants, along with twenty-five hunters. Hold on as we see if they’re successful in evading their captors, or if they’re forced to give up everything.”

Reluctantly curious, I leaned forward, able to see fairly well on my father’s large monitor. A disclaimer quickly came up, and it appeared to be reminding the viewers that if the men captured the women, there were no safe words, and anything went. The only things f*******n were murder and extreme bodily harm. Neither the women nor the men could kill each other. There was also a reminder that cameras followed every moment, and staff of the show wouldn’t hesitate to intercede if things got out of hand.

The show started with a brief introduction of the four women, along with a few soundbites from them. The hunters, as they were called, didn’t get individual introductions, but the screen moved to what looked like a party. The women and all those men were mingling and appearing to chat amicably in a twisted get-to-know-you sort of scenario.

I was starting to piece together it was some kind of show that was probably illegal, and if not, was definitely morally questionable. My father appeared to have a subscription to it, which made me uneasy. I never would’ve guessed he would like that sort of thing, but I’d never spent even a moment wondering about his s*x life or s****l interests.

In spite of that, I was still surprised when the camera footage moved to the next morning, and it showed the women outfitted in running shoes and sturdy clothes, all wearing backpacks. They split up when there was a siren, each going their separate ways.

The camera panned to the group of hunters, who appeared to be waiting for their turn. A few minutes later, their siren sounded, and they took off after the four women. It was impossible to deny the show was about men who hunted women like prey, with the intent of doing whatever they wanted to them if they caught them. It appeared to be consensual, but it was shocking.

I watched for the next twenty minutes as each of the women were pursued, falling one by one. Only a tenacious black girl seemed to be giving them a run for their money. The other three had been captured and taken to cottages.

Each time they were “claimed,” as the narrator called it, the screen offered an option of following them to the cottage, or continuing to watch the women who were still running. I didn’t follow them to the cottages until the last contestant was captured by two men who appeared to be working together. There didn’t look to be any rules against it, because the show producers didn’t intercede, and they quickly had her in a cottage.

I forced myself to look around the room for a minute as the camera panned, showing what appeared to be a level of luxury on par with a three- or four-star hotel, which was unexpected after seeing them move through the dirty jungle for most of the day.