What Happened In Paradise?

First Visit: We Investigate Crime

On either side, the hill is flanked by heavy vegetation. Tucked away in the midst of the jungle by the sea, it doesn't seem to have a neighbour. Still, they peer into the bush and call out as they make their way down the rugged terrain to the main road. Where Maxwell is from, the beachfront is a prime estate. With the exception of The Villa, the stretch of land by the sea has been neglected, left to be consumed by grass and trees. Its true location, the flickering lights, the description of The Villa left out so much information. Much to the annoyance of Maxwell’s friends and his chagrin. When they arrived from the airport, they felt as if they had been deposited in the middle of nowhere, though truly they hadn’t. The villa is only a mile off the main road and the rest of civilization. Brian and Steph must have lost their way between the villa and civilization.

The rocky pitted stretch of land - that passes as the road to the villa - opens up into what passes for a Water Island highway. Not very wide, it’s a two-lane roadway. Daring drivers convert it into a three-lane speedway when they are trying to overtake. The road is busy enough for Maxwell to witness some drivers undertaking the risky feat, but no one stops for them. They wave, jump, point up and down the road; they’re ignored.

Maxwell gauges the distance of an oncoming vehicle, he steps into the road and waits. The driver sees him. The blaring horn confirms that the driver has seen him; he doesn’t stop either. The car gives Maxwell a wide berth and continues along the road. They make the decision to walk. Jess points out that she doesn’t recall seeing anything that looks like a police station on their way to the villa, so they decide to walk in the direction opposite to where they arrived.

They walk another mile up the road. Houses are off the main road. Some are built on flatland and some are much further back, over the hill that rises to their right. He had only seen shanties as the plane came in over the island. How had these lavish homes hidden from his eyes? The shanties seem to be restricted to the communities around the airport. Another upside-down Water Island fact.

As they walk, they stop and shout for help across the fenceline, whenever they come across a house. Another house; another cry for help. This time, Maxwell clearly sees a curtain move.

“Someone’s in there. We should go over.”

“We really shouldn’t.” Adam walks away from the fence, taking Jess by the hand and heading back to the road.

“We need help, Adam.”

“If they wanted to help us, they would.”

“We just need to go to the front door and explain.”

Adam and Jess continue up the road.

“Maybe they think we’re beggars. Maybe they’re just trying to be safe.”

“Exactly, Maxwell.”

“We don’t know where we’re going, Adam.”

“If we cross that fence, we won’t need to find the police, they’ll come to us.” Adam stops, faces Maxwell. “If we are tourists causing trouble, they may not take the case of our missing friends seriously.”

“So what?” Maxwell asks. “Are we gonna walk until we find the ocean on the other side of the island?”

“Maxwell,” Jess says, “he’s right. We can’t cause trouble. For Steph’s sake.”

A few more metres up the road, Maxwell spots a familiar jeep.

“There.”

Lacking a sign, conspicuous colours, and a distinct shape; there’s nothing about the building he’s pointing at that suggests that it’s a police station. It looks like The Villa...like a place of residence, not a police station or military headquarters. If it weren't for the jeep in front, Maxwell wouldn't be convinced that he’s indeed looking at the right building.

***

The building behind the jeep is white; the columns of the first and second floor (as well as the rest of the second-floor balcony) are all painted a deep shade of blue. The colour reminds Maxwell of a trench - a piece of the sea where he and an entire ship can disappear without leaving a trace. The white walls are pristine. It makes it a little easier to spot the WIC fixed to the top left of the building. The letters - the same shade of deep blue as the columns - are far too small to serve as a practical marker, especially on a building constructed so far away from the main road. Water Island only caters for its residents. WIC is only for those who already know where to find it.

Maxwell hates to say it, to think it, but Water Island is a little...backward. That must be what his mother had been trying to escape.

Stephanie and Brian have disappeared, yet Maxwell still struggles to tell his remaining friends the truth, that Water Island was once his mother’s home. She coined her expression, hell in heaven, while she lived on the island. Maxwell has seen the shanties - from afar. There is poverty here, though not as abject as Patricia had made it seem. Upside-down, backwards, there is a lot that doesn’t make sense on the island. The Villa, the houses they’ve seen along their walk, there is also abundance here.

Maxwell has never seen a police station with only one vehicle and no presence around the building. Water Island must not have a high crime rate. Military or not, they are still the local police. He expects them to operate like the police he knows. The jeep is empty. Perhaps there are more jeeps, littered across the island, idling at bars, swarming with soldiers who are waiting to pounce at boisterous tourists, snapping them back in line.

Inside the building, they find a large book sitting open on the desk. Blank. Well, mostly. December 23, 2015, is the heading of the page. Pencil lines are drawn down the pages, creating five columns that are labelled accordingly: name, matter to be reported, location of the crime, time, and signature. No one’s behind the desk, or close enough to have heard them come in.

“Hel-lo,” Adam calls out, tentatively. He tries again, a little louder. “Hello. We’d like some help.”

There is a pencil nestled between the exposed sheets. That can’t be how they record information. Maxwell scoffs. If not digitally, at least use a pen. Maxwell flips over a page and then another page. It occurs to him that he is privy to the identity of individuals who have reported crimes - he doesn’t stop to read the names, or the crimes listed. This is all too reckless for an organization that's responsible for the security and safety of its citizens. He slams the book shut and shouts, “Hey, we need to report a crime.”

A door that they hear - but do not see- creaks open. A pungent flowery smell assaults Maxwell’s nose. It’s thick on the air though it does a poor job of masking the vinegar, baking soda, and bleach smells that also reach Maxwell’s nose.

“How can I help you?” A female soldier emerges. Her black hair is pulled back in a braid that hangs down her right shoulder. Her hair reflects the light as she walks over to the desk; she opens the book. “Would you like to file a report?” She smiles; her lips pink and full. Maxwell feels drawn to her. If his mother had stayed, would he have met this woman, this soldier, under different circumstances? Much better circumstances? Maybe they could have met as kids, became friends, perhaps more. But if Patricia had remained on Water Island, she wouldn’t have met his father; therefore, he wouldn’t be Maxwell. He’d be junior to some unknown Water Islander.

“It’s our friends,” Maxwell says, “they’re missing.”

“How long have they been missing?” The soldier unhooks the walkie-talkie at her waist. Her hands are wide, fingers long and strong, not the hand he’d picked to match her face.

“A day,” Maxwell says.

“Two maybe,” Adam adds.

The soldier holds the walkie-talkie by her face while she studies theirs.

“We came in on the twenty-first,” Jess says. “We couldn’t find them that night, but we assumed they went for a walk by the beach.”

The soldier narrows her eyes, sets the walkie-talkie down on the desk, next to the book. “Where have you been staying?”

“By a villa a few miles down the road,” Max says.

“It’s actually off the road,” Jess adds. “Buried in the bushes.”

Adam moves closer to the desk. “We think that crazy old woman has done something to them. We can’t find their passports either.”

The soldier straightens her; she chews the inside of her bottom lip.

“Can you help us?” Adam asks.

“We will look into it.” The soldier palms the walkie-talkie. “But if you suspect the old woman has done something foul, you should probably leave.”

“Oh,” Maxwell says, “you know the caretaker.”

She nods and adds, “We know everyone.”

“Our things are there. Our trip is already paid for,” Maxwell says, “We don’t have anywhere else to go.” Maxwell speaks into his chest. “We don’t have any proof she’s done anything.” His mother’s words are in his ear...stay close to the old woman. It makes no sense that he’s certain that he needs to stay by the caretaker’s side.

“Are you stupid?”

“Adam…” Jess rubs Adam’s arm, trying to calm him. He pulls his arm away; he’s not interested in being calm.

“You brought us to this hellhole. Our friends have gone missing and you’re telling us you want to remain in the place where they went missing. If I didn’t know better I’d think you and that old woman are a psycho team. You brought us here so she can butcher us.”

“Adam!” Jess gets in between them again. So many times on this trip, Jess has had to assume the role of peacemaker, the role Adam usually assumes. Everything has reversed. Adam is right; it is Maxwell’s fault. His friends are missing or transforming into people they aren’t.

“Okay.” Maxwell throws his hands up in surrender. “We’ll leave.” He turns to the soldier. “Where else can we stay?”

The soldier bites her lip, stares past them, as if in thought. “You can stay at The Inn.”

Adam exhales. “Great. The Inn? Which Inn?”

“There is only one.”

“Can you give us a ride to The Villa? Help us clear out?”

The soldier shakes her head. “We Investigate Crime. We are not movers.” She turns, heads to the back room.

“What about our friends?” Jess calls out.

“I have the information. We will look into it.”