Chapter One
Requiescat In Pace

I. Disbelief

"You have got to be shitting me." Kenneth said to no one in particular, folding his paper neatly. Hundreds of kids went to an island, did bad drugs, and offed each other. He couldn't believe it, wouldn't believe it.

Never in his twenty years on the force had he heard about something like this happening. Unlike many of his coworkers, he still believed that everyone killed for a reason. You don't just go to a fucking island, get high, and kill each other. That's not how it was supposed to work.

Only two people survived, and they weren't even on the island during the massacre. So the suits say, but Kenneth had seen the boy, Curien. He had read the sorrow in the boy's eyes. He had the dazed look that first-time soldiers had when they came back home.

He hadn't seen the girl, but he had overheard the suits say she was in bad condition. She seemed to be suffering some kind of psychosis. "Honestly, Rogan," he overheard one of them say that day, "she doesn't even look like she's alive. We'll have to watch her."

Kenneth frowned as he pulled up that forgotten memory. There were rumors that there was—or had been—something on that island. Something had attacked those kids. His partner told him a legend about a Spanish scientist who was exiled from his country because of the extreme nature of his experiments.

This scientist somehow escaped and claimed that island for his own where he continued his experimentations. He said the island was cursed, damned. The government had dismissed it as hype. Don't believe everything you hear. Monsters are just bedtime stories used to scare children.

He pulled the records for people who had gone "missing" when they visited that island. He wasn't the superstitious type, but he did believe that island wasn't meant to be inhabited by anyone.

Kenneth unfolded his paper again, rereading the headline, "The Kids Aren't Alright."

II. Mourning

Rudy pulled at his tie uncomfortably. There was a big memorial service today. Families of the deceased gathered together, to comfort each other. He was sick of their tears, sick of their apologies. Nothing would change what happened, and they had nothing to be sorry about.

Greg's mother stumbled over to him, falling into his arms. He tried to comfort her best he could. He wasn't good at these types of things, but he tried. After all, Greg had been his friend. He could at least try for him. "How? How did you manage to not go to that island? Weren't you with him?" Greg's mother sobbed into his lapel.

It came out sounding more like an accusation. Why couldn't have been you instead of my son? That's what he heard. "I missed the boat. I had to take the slow boat," he lied with ease now. As he lived every day as a lie, it came easier and easier.

"Alicia didn't come?" she asked, pulling away from him, dabbing at her face with a handkerchief.

"No, she's still feeling bad after everything that happened. In fact, she doesn't seem to want to come out at all." He said, trying to sound as passive as possible. He didn't like it when they asked questions about Alicia. Ask him anything, but don't ask about her.

She sat lethargic in a makeshift cell he had made in the spare bedroom of his apartment. She hadn't exhibited any violent tendencies, but he had to be careful. He was running tests on her; he would find a cure for her.

He would make her whole again.

III. Surveillance

Rogan and G stood apart from the crowd. There were too many mourners for anyone to actually care about them, but anyone who dared to venture close enough knew they didn't belong there. Their faces were perfectly emotionless, breaking the prevalent sorrow with a jarring disturbance.

They came to protect Curien and his girlfriend, just in case one of them cracked. Gatherings like these made the emotions swell and the lips loose. They came to make sure order was preserved.

"The girl isn't with him." Rogan said, his voice actually lined with a little relief.

"Good." G said.

They were afraid the girl would be the one who talked. She didn't say much during their interrogations. In fact, she didn't speak at all. She seemed totally out of it, void of all life. Curien reminded them that she had watched every single one of their friends die. She was just suffering emotional trauma. She would snap out of it.

Curien, on the other hand, seemed to be adapting well. He showed little signs of disturbance. His cynicism had increased, but they knew he would never tell what happened on that island.

And if one of them ever did, well, they didn't like to think of the actions they would have to take.

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Author's notes: I wanted to mention that each section is a drabble. That's why they're short and divided the way they are. I thought instead of posting a thousand little drabbles. I would post a related set at one time under a header.