What Happened In Paradise?

First Visit: Befriend the Enemy

Maxwell jumps when the false wall opens up hours later. He has been sitting on edge. Waiting. Waiting to be tortured. Waiting to be dragged from the room kicking and screaming. Waiting to be confronted by the voice that shook the foundation of the plantation.

Someone enters, steps into view. It’s Sarah, carrying a platter. He expects to see forceps, scalpels, and long carving knives. Instead, he sees food; sandwiches, and fruit, neatly arranged on fine china. A teapot and two teacups are also on the platter. Sarah sets the platter down on the table next to him, then sits down in the chair across from him. Maxwell withdraws from her, trying to sink himself deep into the red velvet cushions, trying to escape whatever mental torture Sarah is hoping to inflict on him. She means to poison him. They can't use him the way they want to, so they intend to get rid of him. Save themselves the trouble of keeping him prisoner.

Maxwell eyes the tea, the fruit, the sandwiches. His stomach tightens. He wants to throw up. He should spew all his stomach acid and the stomach walls he's begun to digest unto Sarah. Sarah. Her cheeks are wet…and red. She watches Maxwell while absentmindedly rubbing a bruise on her arm. The red marks on her arms, neck, and cheeks tell the story of what happened in the other room.

“Why did she protect you?” Sarah asks. “Did she send you here? Did she do it after your friends disappeared?”

Maxwell studies the massaging action around the bruise. Sarah mumbles something to herself; redness disappears. Her honey skin appears even.

“There are things I did not miss.” She touches her cheek and repeats what she did with her arm. “Cut, bruises. They are enough to make me want to give it up.” She smiles; it lingers on her lips, avoids her eyes.

“How did you do that?” Maxwell asks.

“You know.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You do,” Sarah insists, “but you do not want to believe it.”

“Magic….this is crazy.”

“As crazy as us being unable to touch you if we mean to hurt you.”

Maxwell shakes his head. “None of this is possible.”

“Maxwell, you have seen too much to have doubts. I know you saw Jess.”

Jess. Maxwell leans back, throws his eyes up to the ceiling. He sees the goat, he swallows his scream before it climbs to the surface.

“It cannot harm you either,” Jess says. “It is just for show. One of Harry’s trophies. If you do not like it, I will remove it.”

Sarah looks up, her mouth moving wordlessly. The ceiling releases the goat head. The goat head descends, weightless through the air, and nestles in the far corner of the room. Maxwell can’t read Sarah. She tried to help her brother kill him; he’s sure of it. Now Sarah is removing Harry’s hunting trophy from the ceiling because it bothers Maxwell. He doesn’t know what’s going on, doesn’t care; he senses an opening.

Maxwell leans all the way forward, his restraints digging into his flesh.

“Do they do that to you often?” Maxwell asks.

Sarah picks up a melon slice from the platter, nibbles on it.

“Your father? does he…” Maxwell lowers his voice and tries again. “Does he beat you all the time?” Maxwell sighs. “That’s not okay. And your brother? He doesn’t defend you?”

Sarah uses a fork to stab a mango slice; she stuffs her mouth with it, chews, swallows, and licks her lips.

“He should…he should stick up for you. I know this was his idea. You told him…you told him to wait and he wouldn’t listen.”

Sarah stands. “I know what you are trying to do. It will not work.” Sarah moves her lips; Maxwell's restraints loosen. Sarah departs. As soon as he no longer hears her, he starts tugging his hands through the leather straps. He yanks and yanks, chafing his hands; he can’t get any of them through the straps.