What Happened In Paradise?

Home: Return to the Island

Shirts, pants, shorts, Maxwell randomly grabs clothes from his closet and stuffs them into his suitcase. He rushes to the bathroom when he remembers his toothbrush, then back to his closet, to the lockbox on the top shelf. He retrieves his passport, flips the top of the suitcase over, and slips his passport in the small compartment. Passport stowed, he returns to the closet, pulls a few more shirts from hangers. He’ll take the first flight out to Water Island. What if he is under police surveillance? What if Detective Guber sees his impromptu trip as an attempt to flee? He’ll just have to explain that he’s a Water Islander by parentage. Maxwell sighs; zips his suitcase close. For the first time in a very long time, he’s willing to claim something of his mother’s. That counts for something.

***

Four hours until the next flight to the island; the last one out. On his last trip, he remembers they left on the very first flight. He remembers the rush to get checked in and how exhausted they were when the plane had finally taken off. He remembers the before; he can remember nothing of the after. Not truly. Though slowly, more images are emerging from the fog. In his mind, there is an airport much different from the one he’s currently in.

***

Without paying much attention to the signs, he makes his way across the airport after the plane lands on the island. His muscles remember this place and it’s not long before his mind does as well. They’d all arrived on the island. Brian went ahead of them to collect his luggage, but they reconnected. At least in the airport, they were all together and safe. He also knows that the airport is where he first saw the ring. He takes it out, examines it, then slips it back into his pocket.

When he’s outside the airport, he realizes how idiotic his plan actually is. It’s already dark and he has no idea where he’ll spend the night. Without the sun, the heat isn’t as penetrating. The night is cool, but the night air feels thick, heavy on his skin. A group of taxi drivers rush up to him, each of them wants to know where he’s headed; they all claim to be cheap (he suspects none of them are). One or two of them reach for his bag while trying to lure him to their ride. He maintains a tight hold of the handle and stares at them blankly. The gathering begins to thin; they find him rude or not mentally sound enough to be of profit to them. Eventually, only one is left. Maxwell breaks; he needs help.

“I need a place to stay.”

“No problem,” the driver says, reaching for Maxwell's bag. “I will take you to The Inn.”