When he woke up, everything was a sea of blackness. Rainsford yawned and opened his eyes, only to see an unfamiliar, blurry scene before him. "What the...?" He muttered, trying to get his eyes to focus. After blinking a couple of times, the scene cleared and the memories came rushing back. "Well, now that that's taken care of..." Rainsford trailed off, "How on earth am I going to get off this bloody island?!"

Now tromping through the jungle, Rainsford was at least glad to have regained his nerve and that he was no longer being hunted by a madman. He finally reached the shore of the island where he had arrived. Rainsford was usually a resourceful man, but in this situation, there was not even anything he could do, he realized. Without a yacht there to swim to, swimming was pretty much not an option. Perhaps he could build a boat, but he had no idea how, as boats are not used in hunting. Therefore, that one was out. The way Rainsford saw it, he had two choices: sit around and pray to be rescued, or try to live alone on the island without dying or losing his mind. He decided the second option was more preferable, as he was never one to sit around and wait. Anyway, if he chose to wait on the shore, he might die from hunger, but if he decided to live there, then someone might come and take him from this godforsaken place, at any rate. Making up his mind, Rainsford turned around and strode deliberately into the jungle.

First, Rainsford thought, there was the matter of food. Sure enough there was food in Zaroff's chateau, but who knew how long that would last. Besides, he hadn't the faintest idea where Zaroff had received his supplies from except that in involved an ocean trip and probably a lot of money. "How useless money is when one is all on one's own," Rainsford thought to himself. Sighing, he considered his options. Hunting was ruled out. He shuddered. Never again would he lay a finger on another living creature. The memory of Zaroff's smirking face as he blew smoke rings still haunted him in the back of his mind, just hovering there and coming into focus only when he didn't want to think about it, which was most of the time naturally. He guessed that he was to eat plants for the rest of his life then. He would have to scour the island for anything that appeared to be remotely edible.

As Rainsford did a patrol of the island, his thoughts drifted in a direction they had not gone in a while. He wondered about what had become of his dear friend Whitney, and whether or not he was missed, or if Whitney had given up searching for him, or if he had even tried. He also realized just how right Whitney had been about the jaguars, about all animals. He laughed in irony at the thought of his own arrogant reply to that theory. Perhaps, he thought, he had brought this on himself, after all. Shaking away these thoughts and needing to do something constructive, Rainsford kept foraging.

Days passed. Weeks passed. Months passed. Years passed. Rainsford had acquainted himself with the rhythm of life on the island, and it no longer seemed strange or unusual to him. It was just life. No more, no less. He had trained himself to force his musings away from his previous life, and little by little, the pesky memories bugged him no more. Finally, one day, Rainsford thought he saw something in the distance. "What?...Lights?!" he exclaimed, his tone turning from puzzled to absolute shock. It was a boat, a large one, looming in the dark distance. "Turn now!" Rainsford yelled "You're going to hit the rocks! Turn away!". The boat, mysteriously, almost as if it had heard his cries, which it could not possibly have, turned and angled itself neatly alongside the beach. He rushed down from the chateau to the beach. What could a boat possibly be doing here?

A stocky man with a thick, black beard scuttled down the gangplank. "Good God man! What could someone like yourself conceivably be doing on an evil island like this? It practically reeks of cruelty," the man, appearing to be the captain, said rather bluntly. "I could pose a similar question to you yourself. I had heard that this place was a cursed place to sailors, a place to be avoided at all costs. As for myself, I fell off of a boat around five years ago and somehow ended up on this island. I killed the wicked, cruel man who called this place his domain and used it for his sickening games. Now I am here, all alone," replied Rainsford, somewhat warily. How could henot think this suspicious? "I saw lights on this island, like the lights of a house or mansion. That made me pause, and my crew and I came to a realization: the evil aura that surrounds the shore was extremely weak. Curious, I directed the crew to change course. Some, of course, said I was mad as a hatter and decided to jump overboard rather than come here, but I suppose that was their loss. I am Captain Stanley Williams. If you wish to leave this disgusting place, you may join my crew if you work," explained the unexpected visitor. "Anything is better than staying here," Rainsford answered with a shudder. "Well, everything is settled then," Williams said with finality.

They left at dawn the next day. Just as Rainsford closed his eyes to go to sleep that night, an all-too-familiar voice coursed through him to his very soul with its silky tones. "Good night, Rainsford," it said with a sadistic laugh, "and know that you won't be seeing tomorrow. You are finally finished. You lost the game."