HARPER'S ISLAND 2

EPISODE NINE: "BOOM"

Amanda

Andrew

Dale

Graham

Julie

Luke

Rachael

Shea

Yulissa

The blackened, charred corpse of Ryan MacPherson lay motionless on the ground as Dale Mooney cried over the corpse. And all the while, Rachael Bingham, the woman who had been responsible for killing this man, was grinning as she watched the scene.

Rachael loved witnessing the pain of others, and she liked it even more so when said pain had been inflicted by her own doing. She was undoubtedly a very troubled woman with a very troubled past, and this was her way of coping with that. She loved to murder people, to watch people suffer, to see people deal with pain just like she had done all of her life.

"YOU FUCKING BITCH! YOU'RE A FUCKING PSYCHO BITCH WHO'S GONNA FUCKING ROT IN HELL!" Dale screamed as loudly as his already tired out voice would allow.

Not giving him any verbal response, Rachael simply just smiled cynically back at him. It was this reaction that had set him over the edge. He could no longer even look this evil woman in the eye anymore. He needed to get out of here, to get away from this psychotic monster, to get off the island safely and to properly mourn the loss of his boyfriend whom he had so hoped to marry one day.

Though he was much smaller physically compared to his now deceased lover, Dale mustered up all his strength and lifted the body of Ryan MacPherson, and he briskly walked away from the scene and into the woods, hoping to find the boathouse that all of the other survivors had gathered at.

He soon broke into a jog. And then a run. He just wanted to get away from everything. He panted as he lugged the heavy body through the thicket of woods, but his mind was only set on one thing, and that was to survive.

Amanda Mathis and Shea Allen, who had fled the electric fence scene after Dale had insisted they do so, had made it to a relatively large beach after exiting the woods. Sure enough, they found what they had been looking for.

On top of a small hill, with a wooden staircase leading to it, was the boathouse.

"Oh, thank God," Shea breathed. It almost felt as good as being rescued and safe from all this chaos.

"You think they're all in there?" asked Amanda, wondering if the other half of the survivors had arrived here before they did.

"Only one way to find out," said Shea.

Shea and Amanda made their way up to the boathouse, proceeding with extreme caution. They knew Rachael had been at the electric fence, but that didn't stop them from fearing she might be here in this boathouse, just waiting for them to enter so she could kill them both off.

Amanda slowly opened the door and breathed a heavy sigh of relief when she saw Andrew McCaffrey, Graham Deeley, Julie Mathis, Luke Bingham, and Yulissa White were inside; they had all made it there safely, and Graham was currently trying to get the radio working.

Amanda rushed to Andrew and threw herself at him, hugging him tightly. This was all she wanted right now: she wanted someone to comfort her and make her feel relaxed. And Andrew was doing just that for her.

"How long have you guys been here?" asked Shea as she sat down on one of the wooden chairs in the boathouse, breathing another sigh of relief.

"We just got here," replied Yulissa, who was leaning against one of the walls with her arms folded across her chest. "We've been having some trouble getting through to anyone on this radio."

"I know the Coast Guard has some kind of distress channel, I'm trying to figure out where it is..." said Graham, sounding very concentrated as he carefully turned the many different knobs and dials on the large, old-fashioned radio.

The boathouse was dead silent aside from the sounds of static emanating from the radio. Everyone within the small wooden shack held their breath, praying for an answer, praying for someone to hear their cries for help, praying for someone to finally come rescue them.

Shea Allen glanced around at everyone inside, at all her fellow survivors. Amanda's arms remained wrapped tightly around Andrew's waist as they both watched Graham fiddle with the radio. Yulissa remained stoic as she stood against the wall. Julie's face was buried in her hands as she sat on one of the stools. And Luke seemed to be standing guard, gripping his shotgun tightly, almost seeming ready to open fire at any moment.

Shea began to wonder about the fates of Dale and Ryan, if they survived the brush with Rachael. She began to think back on the past few days, about how close she had become with Rachael and how she had considered her a true friend. It made her sick to her stomach knowing she had befriended such a coldblooded killer.

"Mayday! Mayday! This is Harper's Island, we're in need of assistance! Do you read me?" said Graham into the radio, repeating the phrases several times, hoping for some kind of response.

After what seemed like an eternity, a distorted voice finally emitted from the large metal box.

"This is U.S. Coast Guard Port of Seattle. Person in distress, please give us your location, over."

In spite of the heavy distortion and static accompanying the voice, the words could be understood loud and clear to everyone in the boathouse. They had finally reached the outside world. Graham's face lit up as he spoke once again into the radio.

"Yes, this is Graham Deeley. We're on Harper's Island right now and we need help," he said, his voice shaking.

"Roger that, Harper's Island. What's your emergency? Over."

"There's a killer on the island... my sister... she's already killed almost two dozen people, including police officers. She's on the loose right now, we have no idea where she is, and we need immediate assistance if you can," said Graham as calmly as possible.

"Roger, Harper's Island. Stay calm and sit tight, we'll have police and rescue teams on their way as soon as possible."

"How long is that going to take?" asked Graham desperately.

"We've got some heavy fog over here in Seattle at the moment but we'll do what we can. It should take no more than four hours. Stay by the radio so we can reach you."

"Right, roger that. Thank you," said Graham as he set down the mouthpiece, a smile spreading across his mouth.

Julie leaped out of her chair and rushed to Graham, throwing her arms around him and kissing him.

"You did it, baby! You did it!" she giggled as she continued to smother him with kisses.

Yulissa glared at the scene with a gleam of jealousy in her eyes, when suddenly, the boathouse door burst open. Luke immediately raised his gun to point at the intruder as several other people jumped and shrieked, startled by the sudden entrance.

"Luke, wait! Stop!" yelled Graham as soon as he saw who had entered.

Dale Mooney, his cheeks still wet from his tears, stood at the threshold of the boathouse, looking tired, beaten, and emotionally spent, and in his arms was the body of Ryan MacPherson. A few people gasped and Shea clasped her hands over her mouth.

"She got to him. He was too late," croaked Dale, having hardly any voice left.

Shea walked over to Dale and placed a hand on his shoulder to comfort him.

"I'm so sorry, Dale," she whispered. "But we've called for help. The Coast Guard is on their way."

This news caused Dale to break down in tears once again. He handed Ryan's body over to Graham, who gently placed it in the corner of the room, as Dale sat down with Shea, who continued to comfort him through his loss.

About 30 minutes had passed, and all eight survivors remained cooped up in the boathouse. The time seemed to drag on forever; the half hour that had passed felt more like 10 hours as the survivors continued to wait for their rescuers to take them off this horrible island.

And many of them couldn't help but wonder where Rachael was, if she was on her way, or if she even knew where they all were.

Julie Mathis remained optimistic, as she had always done in life. She knew that Rachael had no idea where they could be right now, and that this boathouse was just a tiny speck on a relatively large island. She felt there was no way Rachael could find them before the Coast Guard arrived. Instead, she rested her head peacefully on Graham's shoulder, stroking her fiance's arm, looking forward to returning home with him and trying to start things over.

The minor scandal involving Yulissa had indeed been a speed bump on Julie and Graham's road to eternal happiness together, but Julie was willing to overlook that, as she had now forgiven Graham and realized that his feelings for her hadn't changed.

Yulissa, on the other hand, had completely different thoughts in mind. These past few days she had spent with Graham had done nothing but solidify her feelings for him. She loved him now more than ever before. And with all the pain and suffering they had both endured - the fact they had both lost their fathers along with several other close friends - it had only made Yulissa feel more drawn to him, more emotionally connected with him.

At this point, Yulissa felt almost certain that she and Graham were meant to be together.

The first hour had finally passed. Time continued to move at a snail's pace for the survivors, but they were almost there. They were so close to safety.

A few of the survivors napped while others stayed alert. They had all barricaded the door with any heavy objects they could find to keep Rachael out if she were to come by. They didn't want to have come this far just to be found by Rachael and murdered on the spot.

But their efforts to keep themselves safe had all been in vain.

The survivors were all startled by the loud sound of glass breaking. The butt of a shotgun had smashed through one of the windows of the boathouse. Andrew, Graham, and Luke all jumped to their feet and raised their shotguns, aiming them at Rachael Bingham, who had just appeared in the window.

As Rachael pointed her own shotgun into the boathouse at the eight survivors, Andrew, Graham, and Luke all hesitated. Emotions aside, they all should have shot her dead on the spot. But each of these three men had a connection to this woman. Andrew had grown up on Harper's Island with her. Graham knew her as his only sibling. And Luke was Rachael's own son. For each of them, it was much easier said than done to pull the trigger and end Rachael Bingham's life, no matter how deranged she had become.

After nobody had fired, Rachael climbed through the broken window, planting her two feet firmly on the ground as everyone in the boathouse held their breath. They didn't know what to do; nobody but the three men were armed, and none of them were shooting. Everyone was left at a standstill.

"Hello everyone," said Rachael, breaking the silence with a surprisingly chipper voice.

"You bitch," murmured Dale.

"I'm just here for a chat," continued Rachael, the tone of her voice sounding nothing like that of a killer. "I'll put my gun down if you put down yours. Deal?"

Luke was the first to drop his gun. Following suit, Andrew and Graham did the same, though they were both much more cautious about it. Once the three shotguns had been set to the floor, Rachael placed hers there as well.

"There," she said with a smile. "Now I think we all need to talk."

"How the hell did you find us?" said Graham suddenly, as if the act of lowering the guns had suddenly given him permission to speak.

"That's not important," snapped Rachael. "I'd just like to get the chance to maybe explain myself, if you don't mind."

"There's no way you can explain what you've done," said Shea with a clear tone of hatred in her voice.

Rachael suddenly turned her eyes from the three men in front of her and walked over to Shea, stopping a mere feet away from her.

"What was that, Shea?" she asked sweetly, though everyone knew it wasn't genuine.

"How can you possibly explain killing your friends? Your husband? Your father? Your own daughter, for Christ's sake!" replied Shea, almost shouting the last part.

Rachael didn't respond at first, so Shea took that as an opportunity to continue.

"I have a daughter of my own, and she means the world to me. I can't even imagine what my life would be like if I ever lost her. And you... I came here to this wedding not knowing many people, I'll admit, but I made some friends. And you, Rachael, you were one of the people I really felt a connection with. You were a fellow mother, and you really seemed to love your children as much as I love Madison. And I respected you for that. But now, you've turned into this... this monster. You've killed your own daughter. How the hell can you live with yourself after that? What kind of soul could you possibly have left after taking the life of your own child, much less the lives of so many other innocent people?"

As she finished her monologue, Shea's voice cracked and she began to cry. All the while, she looked Rachael plainly in the eyes, hoping to get through to her, hoping that she would see the light and realize what a horrible thing she had done.

But Shea got a reaction that she certainly hadn't expected or hoped for. In one quick maneuver, Rachael swirled around, snatched one of the shotguns off the floor, turned back to face Shea, and aimed the gun right at the woman's chest. Gasps were heard, screams were heard, and Andrew quickly reached for his own gun to fight back.

"No, stop!" shouted Luke suddenly, grabbing Andrew by the arm, stopping him from grabbing the gun.

Before Andrew could question why Luke would stop him, Shea continued to speak.

"Rachael, if you're going to kill me, a fellow mother, someone whose daughter is waiting for her mom to come home safely... if you're going to leave that poor girl back home without a mother... then I truly think you've lost all hope in life. You'll have nothing left. Rachael, the woman I met a few days ago wasn't a murderer. And I'm sure Graham and Andrew and Luke and everyone else in here that knows you can vouch for me when I say that. You're not like this. Don't do this, Rachael. Stop while you're ahead. Please."

Tears were now streaming down Shea's face as she practically pleaded to Rachael for her life. And suddenly, the stern, angry expression that was etched on Rachael's face had melted away. Shea had finally hit a nerve in this woman. Rachael had finally begun to realize the monster she had become.

A surge of memories suddenly went running through Rachael's mind. The memory of her childhood and how horrible it was. She hated life so much back then, she had been so traumatized by growing up in a broken family with a father that was nearly clinically insane. All those memories had filled Rachael with hatred and made her want nothing but revenge on people who had it better than her.

But then some other memories consumed her brain. Though there were not many of them, there were also some good things Rachael had experienced in life. She had gone to college, she had met Henry Dunn, she had fell in love with him once, she had given birth to two children whom she loved, one of whom was now dead because of her. And all these feelings came crashing down on her, consuming her with guilt.

Rachael dropped her gun and began to sob.

She thought of Bri. She thought about why she had killed her; at the time, it was because she thought Bri had lost trust in her, that she no longer considered herself a part of the Bingham family, because she thought her own mother was a murderer. But Bri had been right. Rachael was a murderer. And now Bri was dead for no good reason. Rachael had taken away one of the only things in life that made her truly happy, and that was her family. Franklin was dead, and now Bri.

Rachael looked over her shoulder at Luke, her son, who looked at her in bewilderment, and she began to cry even harder. She ran over to Luke and hugged him, crying into his shoulder, but he just looked uncomfortable and confused.

That was when Yulissa grabbed the metal stool she had been sitting on, slowly approached Rachael, and whacked her over the head with it. Rachael slumped to the floor, knocked out cold.

"Well, that takes care of that," said Yulissa matter-of-factly.

"Maybe we should do the cops a favor and lock this bitch up," said Dale, towering over Rachael as she lay unconscious on the floor.

"Yeah, I don't think we should risk her waking up and going apeshit on all of us," said Yulissa.

"Well, why don't a couple of us stay here by the radio, and the rest of us take her to the police station, lock her up in a cell until the police get here?" suggested Andrew.

"I'll stay here," Shea offered.

"Yeah, I will too," added Dale, as he eyed Ryan's body still laying in the corner. Even in death, Dale didn't want to leave his side.

"Alright. The rest of us can haul her over to the prison, maybe get some food in us. I know I'm sure as hell starving." He took a breath, then smiled a bit. "God, we're finally getting off this damn island."

Andrew had now lived through three massacres on Harper's Island, and for him, the third time was definitely the charm. There was no way he was ever coming back to this strip of land.

Graham and Andrew helped carry Rachael back across the island to the police station, while Luke, Yulissa, and Julie carried the shotguns, remaining armed, just as an added security.

Back in the boathouse, Dale sat next to Ryan's body. He absentmindedly stroked Ryan's lifeless hand, somehow wishing that it would miraculously help to breathe life back into him. Shea couldn't help but watch the scene and feel heartbroken. Dale had lost the love of his life because of Rachael Bingham. So many other people had lost loved ones, all to mindless acts of murder, committed by a woman who was just severely mentally unstable.

Shea approached Dale and stood in front of him, her cold hands stuffed in the pockets of her overcoat.

"Dale... I'm so sorry," she said softly.

Dale looked up at Shea and managed a smile for the first time in hours, but Shea could easily see the glisten of tears forming in his eyes again.

"We're gonna make it, Shea," he replied, his voice raspy. "We've all gone through so much shit, but we're gonna make it off this island. You're gonna go back home to Madison. That bitch Rachael will be sentenced to twenty lifetimes in prison."

"...But what about you?" Shea asked sincerely, after a slight pause.

Dale wiped a tear from his eye as he continued to stroke Ryan's cold dead hand. "I'll give Ryan the memorial service he deserves, and I'll move on. We're all going to have to move on, Shea. Julie and Amanda lost their mom and their sister. Yulissa lost her dad. Andrew lost his brother. Graham, he lost his dad and now his sister is a psychotic killer. We've all got a lot of shit we'll have to live with, for the rest of our lives. But we'll move on, Shea. Just like you did ten years ago. You're the strongest person I know, and I think all of us will be able to come out of this just as strong as you were."

Shea's eyes fluttered as tears of her own began to form, and she smiled at Dale as she leaned in and gave him a hug.

After all the pain and all the suffering that everyone had dealt with, and even after coming face-to-face with Rachael herself, Shea finally had high hopes that things were going to turn out okay in the end.

The trip from the boathouse to the police station didn't seem nearly as long and treacherous as it had been going the opposite direction. Perhaps it was because the survivors finally had hope that they would be okay, that they would be rescued, and that all the killings were behind them, at last.

Rachael had begun to stir, but before she was able to fully reach consciousness again, she had already been tightly locked up in one of the jail cells. After making sure the killer was finally behind bars where she couldn't hurt anyone, the six survivors began to file out of the jail room, until only Graham, Andrew, and Amanda remained.

"Graham," said Rachael in a pleading tone, walking up to the bars of her cell and grasping onto them tightly. "Wait."

As he made his way out of the room, Graham stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder at his sister. He had never been all that close with Rachael, but he had never hated or even disliked her at any point in his life. But now, he felt absolutely nothing but rage and extreme hatred towards the woman with whom he had grown up.

"Please, Graham. Please," breathed Rachael, almost forcing herself to cry.

Graham didn't answer her pleas. Instead, he turned to Amanda and Andrew, and he handed Amanda his shotgun.

"You two stay in here and keep a close eye on her," he said firmly, to which Andrew obediently nodded.

And with one more disgusted glance at his sister, Graham exited the room and shut the door behind him.

Rachael sighed sadly as Andrew and Amanda each took a seat on one of the chairs placed inside the somewhat small jail room. Each of them held their guns in their laps, willing to use them as scare tactics if Rachael started misbehaving.

Several minutes of silence filled the room, until Andrew had finally mustered up the courage to ask the one question that had been plaguing his mind for the last several hours.

"Rachael, I've known you since I was a kid... what possessed you to do all this?" he asked with both contempt and curiosity in his voice.

Rachael, who was now sitting on the floor in the corner of her cell, shifted her position a little before speaking.

"You know the kind of childhood Graham and I had. You were his best friend. You knew our dad. He was the most unstable person I've ever known, and 18 years of a shaky, unstable childhood is enough to traumatize anyone," said Rachael matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, but Graham had the exact same childhood, and he turned out to be one of the most respectable guys I know..." said Andrew, but he was quickly interrupted by Rachael.

"Well, I'm not Graham, now am I?!" she said, slightly maniacally, her cheeks turning a bit red out of anger.

"I know, I know... but did you really have to kill people? I mean, you killed... you killed my brother Mikey," said Andrew, his voice cracking slightly as he got the last few words out.

"18 years of being depressed, feeling neglected, feeling alone... that's enough to drive anyone off the edge. When I got older I started loathing other people around me. I started to realize there were so many people out me who grew up great, they had great childhoods, great families, people who loved them and cared about them. I had a dad who spent more than half of his life on meds to keep his brain in check, and it wasn't until the last few years of his life that he finally shaped up and started caring about us. But for me, that was too little, too late. The damage had already been done."

At this point, Rachael got to her feet and started slowly walking in circles around her cell as she continued talking.

"So I finally left home after high school, I felt free, I wanted to do everything I could to rebel against everything, against life. I did pretty much everything you could think of that was outside the norm of the 'ideal woman'. I slept with more guys than I could count. I tried every drug under the sun. I experimented with Satanism. I mean, I did some pretty crazy stuff. But none of that felt satisfying enough. I still felt this... this extreme hatred towards people, towards everyone who had things better than I did. I mean, I've been living with these feelings for more than 20 years now. All that time, I still never felt satisfied. I never felt like I had made up for the horrible childhood I had. I felt like I still needed to get my revenge, in some way."

"So you got invited to your brother's wedding, and that's when you decided killing people," said Amanda in disbelief.

"Bingo. For me, this was the perfect opportunity. Most of the people I knew during my childhood were going to all be gathered in one place. On top of that, they would be gathered in one place for a wedding, a celebration. Now, me personally, I don't like to celebrate. And I especially don't like to see other people celebrating. If they lived the kind of life I've lived, they'd realize they don't have much to celebrate. I hated the idea of coming to a wedding, but it was just a golden opportunity. Not only would I be able to get revenge on my own family, but I'd be able to slaughter one of the richest families on the west coast: the Mathis family."

Amanda's expression suddenly changed to complete horror.

"I didn't know much about the Mathis family, but I did know how stinking rich they were, and how materialistic they were. I mean, obviously, the Mathis family is everything I loathe about people all balled up into one. I felt like this wedding would be a double whammy for me."

"I think I'm gonna be sick," muttered Amanda, turning her gaze away from Rachael and looking towards the floor, closing her eyes. Andrew, on the other hand, kept his eyes upon Rachael the whole time.

"So you came to the wedding to kill your family, the only people in your entire life that loved you, along with tons of other innocent lives?" he asked, wanting clarification.

"Absolutely. I saw it as the perfect way for me to finally release myself from all the pain and suffering I've gone through in life. I figured that by inflicting even worse pain on other people, it would help minimize my own pain and help me feel better about myself."

Andrew shook his head in disgust. "Well, you got it totally wrong, Rachael. Murder was not the answer. And now you're going to pay for it. Every single person that's died in the past few days is dead because of you, and you sure as hell aren't gonna get away with that."

Rachael suddenly stopped, then approached the bars and grasped onto them again, peering through the gap at Andrew and Amanda, who had now returned her gaze back to the killer. A grin suddenly appeared on Rachael's face as she looked at them.

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong. Not every single person is dead because of me," she said quietly and eerily.

There was a pause as both Andrew and Amanda looked at her confusedly.

"What... what do you mean?" asked Andrew.

Rachael's smile grew a bit bigger.

"Well I'm not Superman; I couldn't have killed all those people by myself. Someone's been helping me."

Graham, Julie, Luke, and Yulissa all sat out in the office area, munching on bag lunches they had found in one of the desk drawers. None of them cared how old the lunches were, or if they had been partially eaten already; they were all famished after not eating for days.

"How much longer you think it'll be before they get here?" asked Julie, continually looking at the clock on the wall.

"Well, they said four hours at the most... I'd say it shouldn't take any longer than two hours by now," said Graham optimistically.

Julie lay cuddled beside Graham on one of the benches, and Yulissa took a large bite of her ham and turkey sandwich as she watched them both. She kept trying to push her feelings of jealousy aside. She wanted so badly for everyone to make it off the island alive, but at the same time, she knew that once they all got back to the mainland, Julie and Graham would start where they had left off, and they would live happily ever after.

Yulissa White had so badly wanted her happily ever after with Graham. But now she knew that it was slipping away from her by the second.

Several more minutes passed by, and the survivors had finished their food when Luke dramatically stretched his arms out and yawned loudly.

"Wow. Well I dunno about you guys, but I'm exhausted. I think we should get some shuteye before the Coast Guard gets here. The time'll go by faster that way anyway," he said as he set his gun down and leaned his head back.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. I'm sure all of us could use some rest now anyway. And Andrew and Amanda have things all under control in there," said Graham.

In a matter of minutes, they had all fallen asleep.

All except for one.

Andrew McCaffrey and Amanda Mathis had fallen asleep as well, unable to stay awake, their guns laying limply at their sides. Rachael simply sat in her jail cell, literally twiddling her thumbs.

Suddenly, the door to the jail room opened slowly. Rachael immediately perked up; it was just who she wanted to see.

It was her accomplice.

Without saying a word, Rachael eagerly pointed at Andrew and Amanda, her eyes practically bulging out of her head. The accomplice stealthily walked toward the sleeping couple and pulled a small yet very sharp knife out of their pocket. The accomplice stopped right beside Andrew and Amanda, and all the while, Rachael watched from within her cell with excitement, as if she was watching a thrilling action scene from a movie.

With one fell swoop, the accomplice took the knife and cut deeply into both Andrew and Amanda's throats. They both awakened instantly, but the only sounds they could make were gurgling noises as blood gushed from the fresh gashes in both of their necks. Rachael's accomplice then stood in front of both Andrew and Amanda, who were now writhing in pain, clutching at their bleeding throats.

With the knife still firmly in their grip, the accomplice stabbed Amanda forcefully in the chest, and immediately after, took the knife out of Amanda and shoved it through Andrew's heart.

Both bodies crumpled off of the benches and landed on top of one another in a bloody mess. The accomplice wiped some of the blood off the knife, then placed it back in their pocket before turning around to face Rachael in her cell. She looked elated.

"Brilliant," she said, her eyes gleaming.

However, her accomplice didn't look quite so pleased.

"What the fuck happened?"

Rachael's smile immediately faded, and she backed away from the bars. She could tell her accomplice was not happy.

"Wh-what do you mean?" she stuttered.

"You know EXACTLY what I mean!" the accomplice shouted, looking furious. Realizing how loudly they had just spoken, the accomplice lowered the volume of their voice considerably. "This... this was not part of the plan."

Rachael did not answer. She simply stood against the wall of her cell, looking slightly frightened.

"You had the perfect chance to kill Shea Allen. I gave you all the help you needed. I told you exactly where we were going. I told you we were going to the boathouse. You had a shotgun. That was your chance to kill Shea!"

"I know, but there were other people with shotguns..." said Rachael, still stuttering slightly.

"That's a bullshit excuse, and you know it," snapped the accomplice angrily. "You know I would've stopped anyone from hurting you. Shea Allen needed to die then. That was part of our plan. And you blew it. You let your damn emotions get the better of you and now look where we've ended up."

"I know, and I'm sorry... but I'll still end up going to prison. I'm okay with that. That's what we decided. I go to prison, you get off scott-free. It was all part of our plan!" replied Rachael.

"No, our plan was to kill everyone. And I don't think everyone's dead."

"But... so you're saying you still want everyone dead?" said Rachael. "We already got our whole plan to work... what's it matter if a handful of people make it off the island...?"

"No. That's not okay. I came to this island with the intention of killing every single person. That was the only way I would've left this island feeling satisfied. I wanted everyone dead." The accomplice made sure to emphasize the word "everyone" each time, and each time the accomplice gave a menacing look towards Rachael.

Rachael's heart began to race. She didn't like the sound of her accomplice's voice.

"What... what are you saying...?" she asked.

The accomplice grabbed one of the shotguns that lay resting on the floor. Rachael's eyes widened in horror as her own accomplice stepped closer to the bars. The accomplice cocked the gun and pointed it directly in between two of the steel bars.

"No... no..." stammered Rachael as she stared, terrified, at the barrel of the gun aimed directly at her head.

"You've given me no choice. You've been a huge help to me, but now I'm going to finish my plan. Sorry it happened to be different from yours," said the accomplice with a simple shrug.

"No... please don't...."

The trigger was pulled.

BOOM!

Rachael Bingham's head exploded from the force of the blast, and blood and body parts splattered all over the walls. The headless body immediately collapsed in a heap on the floor.

The thin, wispy smoke cleared from the barrel of the shotgun. Luke Bingham stared at the dead body of his mother and triumphantly lowered the gun. He then looked towards the door leading back out into the police office.

Time was running out. There were still five people alive out there.

And not one of them was going to make it off this island.