Disclaimer: For the characters, setting, the story plot, and the poem.
Breathing was difficult. It was harder when you had just killed someone; Vera Claythorne knew better than most. With the ocean wind biting her gun hand, her thoughts frantically scrambled for leverage in her brain.
Did I actually kill a person directly? Vera thought. Her brain transported her back to her past. Her indirect murder was flashing back.
Cyril, I couldn't save you. I can't say I'm sorry, because I just killed a man.
She dropped the gun. It was a weapon that symbolized murder and hate. Vera was supposed to be a level-headed person, but her fear dominated her.
She was filled with regret; however, her remorse faded as she calculated the reward. It meant that she was the only one left and no one could kill her.
"Yes!" cried Vera hysterically. "I'm safe!"
She ran over to a pair of squirrels, they bolted as soon as the madwoman got within five meters of them.
"I'm safe! I'm safe as an egg in a mother bird's nest!"
However, eggs are fragile. Their shell of armor will help no one when struck. Unfortunately, Vera's armor has broken for a while now. Naturally, it wasn't as if Mrs. Claythorne knew that.
oO0Oo
"Oww," groaned a voice. It was Philip Lombard. His body was bitter cold due to the unforgiving waves crashing over him. The doctor attempted to sit up on the spot, but his left shoulder was agony.
"Alright, let's try this slowly," hissed Lombard, as he used his right hand to prop himself up. His eyes watered as the doctor ignored his pain. This process was slow, but the doctor knew it would be an attempt to resist death.
After a little less than an hour, Lombard was coughing out blood into the damp sand. His strength was rapidly seeping as if he was trapped in a cage of ice.
Lombard sat back and looked at the drizzling terrain, with his eyes in slits. The vapor had fallen on his bullet wound, just above his heart and just below his shoulder. The injured man knew he was going to die; but how soon?
Philip Lombard decided to wait. Waiting for his unjustified death; he was not the murderer.
oO0Oo
"One little Indian boy," Vera started. She padded heavily up the porch steps in a drunken manner.
"Left all alone," she recalled. She touched the doorknob where corpses did many times before. The condition of the door knob was still nearly perfect.
The elegant house, which once inhabited ten, only had one occupant left. The lone girl entered the once joyful place with a sigh. The stillness of the air became mobile as Vera exhaled thoughtfully.
"Now that I killed the murderer, what do I do?" Vera asked herself. She decided to rest for the night and recover from all the hours she had lost. On her way to her bedroom, she past her acquaintances' corpses. However, she did not feel anything but indifference towards the dead men and women.
She paused in front of her room. It seemed to bring back horrible memories of terror and restless nights.
"This room is haunted. I will relocated somewhere else," Vera declared. "No one would care, because I'm the only survivor."
She decided to quickly go in and collect her belongings. Then she would move to a more sane, secure, and clean room.
One...two...three...Go!
Vera burst through the room and grabbed her black suitcase. She rushed blindly to the closet and looped her arm around her wardrobe. Her jacket, pants, and shirts were still attached to their hangers when Vera surged out the door. She did not look closely at her former room. If she had, she would have noticed a lurking figure under her bed.
oO0Oo
"Open your eyes!" a voice said. It shook Lombard's consciousness. However, the soldier's eyes stubbornly refused to open.
"Hurry up! Or I'll shoot you!" This time, the voice was laced with impatience.
As soon as the stranger uttered the word 'shoot', Lombard's eyes shot open. The former soldier did not lose his sense of precaution, even though he was on the brink of death.
"Finally, you opened your eyes," the voice said relieved. Lombard, no matter how hard he tried, could not focus his vision. Everything was displayed in quick slides and flicks. Lombard slowly opened his mouth. The air was still cold as the depths of the ocean.
"How..." Lombard started to croak, but his injury resisted sound from hissing out from his mouth.
"Don't talk. I was only ordered to tend to your injuries," the gruff voice commanded. With those words, Lombard's chest felt as if it was on fire.
"This may hurt," the voice warned, but Lombard slipped nearer to death before he could finish speaking.
oO0Oo
Vera slumped on her new bed. It felt nice to finally fall asleep. She had chosen a room on the opposite end of the house; where no one had been killed. She was reminded of the carefree days of joy when she snuggled in her warm, borrowed blankets.
The night would not be forgiving, especially to occupants on Indian Island.
oO0Oo
"Hey! Watch it!" a voice shouted softly. It was nearly dawn.
"It's hard to carry a body okay?" the voice's partner snapped back.
The two figures stealthy opened the door. They slowly padded towards the farther end of Mr. Owen's house on Indian Island.
"Drake, watch your foot there," the first speaker cautioned. "I just wish we were allowed to use a flashlight."
"I sometimes wish it too," Drake said wistfully. "Hey, Steven."
"What do you want?" Steven whispered.
"Don't you think this plan is foolish?" Drake asked in a way that allowed debate. "I mean, we have to drag this thing up to a room and leave it there with a woman. I don't see why it's so important!"
"It doesn't matter, Drake. Just do the job and collect the money," Steven primed.
Finally, the two men reached Vera's old room. All was still.
"Ready?" Steven mouthed. In the dark, the men's eyes were glowing.
All Drake did was nod. He held up five of his fingers and dramatically dropped one.
4...3...2...1...
In unison, the men silently opened the door and threw the human-sized sack onto the floor several feet away. No one was there.
"That's strange!" Steven remarked. "There's supposed to be a woman here!"
"Well, there isn't. Let's check with boss," responded Drake. He rummaged through his pockets for his satellite phone. He clicked some buttons.
Click, click, cluck.
"Hello? Boss, the woman isn't in her room!"
"Oh, okay. Yes, I get the message. I'll tell my partner...Yes...Goodbye."
After the phone call, Drake turned to Steven. "Apparently, she moved to the west wing. And we have to travel over there."
"Imbecile," Steven muttered under his breath. The bag was heavy as a miniature elephant.
"Let's not waste time," Drake stated.
And so the men awkwardly shuffling towards the west wing. They did not notice something drop out of Drake's pockets.
Plop.
oO0Oo
"Nearly there!" Steven hissed. The sun was creeping up above the horizon. However, the world was still.
Drake nodded. This time, the men could hear the women softly breathing. They cracked open the door and slid the bag through it. After they did their job, Steven smiled.
"We're done here. Now get the boat ready!"
"Sure!" Drake readily agreed. He shoved his hands in his right pant pocket for his keys. "I got my-"
"What?" Steven interrupted when his partner broke off.
"I think...I lost the boat key," Drake said in a sheepish voice, but it became concerning within the second.
"Drake...where is it?" Steven said in a strange voice.
"I-I don't know!" Drake said truthfully.
Steven stomped outside in a fury. "Do you realize if we lost the key...we are stuck on this blasted Island?"
Drake gulped. He replied, "I know! Just...give me some time to find it."
"Don't take your time! Run!" shouted Steven. His eyes were flashing with fury.
Drake shot up the stairs as if there was a crowd of murderers behind him. He retraced their steps. Drake came to the conclusion that the keys were dropped in Vera's old room when he was rummaging through his pockets for the phone. Fortunately for Drake, Vera's old room was close to the entrance.
Or rather, it was very unfortunate. Drake ran to his death. A silencer was heard from Vera's old bedroom.
Remember the lurking shadow? That was the murderer.
oO0Oo
Steven impatiently tapped his foot when the sun rose another centimeter. Drake was taking a long time looking for the key. When Steven heard the sound of the morning birds, he decided to haul Drake back to his feet.
"Drake!" hissed Steven from the bottom of the eerie staircase. "Where are you?"
"Psst!" a sound came from behind him. Steven whipped around. Who was there?
"C-come!" a person whispered.
"Drake, if this is a joke, I'll tell boss to reduce your paycheck," Steven retorted. Nevertheless, he followed the voice to his inevitable downfall.
When he turned a corner, he saw a trail of blood-red rose petals. He also spotted a tipped vase on the floor. It seemed as if the fallen petals dropped in their place.
"Drake..." Steven whimpered.
When the man received no response, he followed the trail. He had a rock in his stomach; something wasn't right.
Steven had reached a door. The air around it was cold, which meant it led underground. After a deep breath, Steven pushed opened the door.
A corpse. It was already rotting, and the scent burned Steven's nose.
A rope, a stool, a corpse. Steven was going to die.
oO0Oo
Back in Vera's room, Lombard was starting to arose from his drugged state. He opened his eyes and saw under Vera's bed; this time, there was no difficulty. The nagging pain in his chest receded. However, he was still gagged.
Vera Claythorne, also had aroused but she did not realize Lombard's presence. She smiled to herself.
Today, is going to be the day of pure joy and purification. I must cleanse myself from murder.
Philip Lombard made a muffled sound; it was the loudest he could make it with his injured body.
Vera jumped in shock and stared at Lombard.
"W-what? L-lombard! I thought I-I.."
Her voice trailed away. She couldn't to admit she shot a bullet at a human being.
Lombard tried to explain to Vera about the man who had help him, but the gag blocked and muffled all the sound.
Vera leaped from her bed and undid the gag. The knot took a while for Vera to untie. Finally, after a nimble tug, the bandana fell to Lombard's lap. "Now explain!" Vera demanded.
Philip Lombard happily obliged. He had forgiven Vera for her reckless shot because he knew, deep down, that he would have done the same.
"So. What are we going to do now?" whimpered Vera. Her fragile mind frantically tried to grasp things, but without success.
"I say, we try and get out of here!" Lombard interjected.
"I'm not undoing the rope around your hands. I don't trust you," Vera simply said.
"I understand, but how else would you-" Lombard broke off.
"What?" Vera demanded when Lombard's face turned into a look of concentration.
"I smell smoke," Lombard observed while his eyes widened with fear.
Vera stopped and sniffed the air as well. "Yes, I smell it too."
Without another word, she launched herself furiously at the door. It was locked.
"Vera, release my bonds. We're on the same side!" Lombard feverishly said. The smoke was getting stronger.
"No! I'll survive! You could be a decoy!" Vera shouted insanely. Her circuit of thoughts was clearly jumbled with the other events occurring With that, she jumped out of a three-story window. The wind, coming from the sea, blasted Lombard backwards as he attempted to stand.
"No!" Lombard said helplessly. In a distance, he heard Vera's screams of pain and the excited bark of wild wolves.
oO0Oo
"Ten little Indian boys went out to dine;
One choked his little self and then there were nine.
Nine little Indian boys sat up very late;
One overslept himself and then there were eight.
Eight little Indian boys travelling in Devon;
One said he'd stay there and then there were Seven.
Seven little Indian boys chopping up sticks;
One chopped himself in halves and then there were six.
Six little Indian boys playing with a hive;
A bumblebee stung one and then there were five.
Five little Indian boys going in for law;
One got in Chancery and then there four.
Four little Indian boys going out to sea;
A red herring swallowed one and then there were three.
Three little Indian boys walking in the Zoo;
A big bear hugged one and then there were two.
Two little Indian boys sitting in the sun;
One got frizzled up and then there was one.
One little Indian boy left all alone;
He went and hanged himself and then there were negatives.
Ghost sister jumped towards the sun;
She fell and there was one.
Ghost brother was left all alone;
He went and starved himself and then there were none."