Island Girls Read online

  Island Girls

  Rodzil LaBraun

  © 2019 Rodzil LaBraun

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  CHAPTER ONE:

  I faded in and out of consciousness for a few minutes. I could hear unrecognizable sounds at times, and sense illumination behind my eyelids. Then for a while, I would be in a dream-like state, trying to remember and identify those sounds. I wanted to figure out where the hell I was, and what was going on. But my brain was just so damn tired. So, I let it do what it wanted to do. I was simply along for the disturbing roller coaster ride of confusion.

  Eventually, I ceased going back to the darkness. In the minute that it took me to open my eyes since my last return, I could make out some sounds. There was the shuffling of bare feet on the floor, possibly concrete. Something dropped to the floor and bounced a couple times. It sounded like hollow plastic. A female voice made a brief humming noise.

  The sounds were harder to make out once I attempted to pry open my eyelids. The searing brightness was all that I could deal with at the time. I attempted to raise my left hand to block the light, let my eyes adjust. But my hand never arrived. I tried the right, but it failed me as well. Did I lose both of my fucking arms in an accident? What the hell was happening to me?

  My breathing was rough as I got agitated with my physical state, so I tried to slow my breaths. Nice and calm. This would make sense eventually. Now, let's try those eyelids again. Damn, that light is bright. And it's everywhere. I can't turn away from it. Or, maybe my head wasn't even turning when I tried.

  Agitated again. Need to slow my breathing. Nice and slow. Let's try again. This time without the attitude. There we go. A minor improvement this time, but progress just the same.

  I tried to peer through my eye lashes to see where I was. In time, I could make out a white ceiling. There wasn't even a light visible above me. Why did it seem so damn bright? My eyeballs were working now. I could look around to see the upper part of the room close to me. White ceiling. Light bamboo walls. The illumination was actually coming from a crack at the top of the bamboo where it met the ceiling. It caused the whole upper room to light up. It was really kind of nice. Whoever built this place must have known what direct light would have done to my retinas in this state.

  My neck! Ow! My neck hurts. It doesn't want to move. Oh my God! What happened to me? It must have been a nasty accident. Hell, where was I before this? I don't know. Think. Think!

  Oh yeah. I was in the hospital. In Mexico. Not this place. This room is way too nice to be the place that I was in a moment ago. And clean, too. This room had essentially no odor. Not even a cleaning compound chemical scent.

  Alright. Let's start from the beginning. This will all come back to me. My name is Joah Maroon. I was born and raised in Richmond Virginia. I had a girlfriend in high school named Jessica, but I left her behind to join the armed forces. That was a big mistake. I might have been in love with that girl. She didn't wait for me either. The emails stopped after just a couple months.

  I did one year in Afghanistan. It was bad, but I didn't have to see the worst of it. My trauma was light compared to others. I returned home to search for Jessica, but she had already married another guy and moved to Los Angeles for his high paying job offer.

  No Biggie, I guess. There are other girls. In fact, there were a lot of other girls. A big tough guy like me coming back from the military. Security guard was the best work available for me. My fulltime job was late night at the mall. That was super boring, but it paid okay. Friday and Saturday nights, I provided security at the door to a dance club in Foggy Bottom. The benefits there were much nicer. And it paid well. But the club was only open two nights a week.

  I didn't quit the mall security job until I landed a three night a week gig at the strip club. That gave me five nights a week of checking out beautiful women, trying not to get distracted, while I dealt with drunken assholes in the most professional manner that I could muster.

  Yeah, I didn't end up in the Mexican hospital from any of that. No. It was Mister Gonzales. He frequented both clubs where I worked and started giving me side jobs. Those paychecks were super nice. But the risk was high. Both physical and legal.

  Then he offered me five grand to provide security for his two-week vacation in Mexico. All expenses paid as well. I got leave from both jobs and made the trip. On the third day, everything went sideways, and I got separated from the others. They bugged out of our hotel and disappeared. I hadn't been paid yet. They were just covering my tabs until the job was done. That left me in Mexico with very little money. I couldn't afford a plane ticket back to Virginia. So, I managed to hitch a few rides to get me closer to the US border. It was one ride too many.

  That's how I got in the hospital. I took a beating from six locals that were disappointed in the amount of cash that I was carrying. I got busted up good. But not like this. I could still move, at least. But that place was a real shithole. Nothing like this.

  I heard water in the distance. Someone turned on a shower head and the stream of liquid was gently landing on the concrete floor. It had to be one or two rooms away, or maybe just on the other side of a nearby closed door. I couldn't tell. Then, there was the humming again. A woman was taking a shower.

  Soon after that I felt the fabric of the sheet with my fingertips. My hands were beginning to work again. I must have been under a heavy anesthesia to be this slow recovering. Hopefully, the surgery wasn't to remove important any parts of my body.

  Painful though it was, I could finally move my neck. I just rocked it side to side enough to make out more of the room. It did not appear to be part of a hospital. The room looked more like a primitive barracks. There was another bed in the room. It was not currently occupied. Perhaps it was for the woman in the shower. All of the walls were made from bamboo and it seemed to be incredible workmanship. Not the shabby throwing together of shoots that you would typically see in a hut.

  I still couldn't see the floor. On one end of the small room was a high window, meant to allow in light more than to provide a view. At the other end was a door that opened up into another room. I could barely make out the door frame for an exterior door after that. The sun was shining bright out there, though, so I had to turn away.

  The shower stopped. I listened as the woman dried herself off. A moment later she exited the bathroom into the next room with a towel wrapped around her body. Long brown hair hung wet down her back. I couldn't make out her face as she turned quickly in the other direction. I had no idea of her age at this point.

  She seemed to duck into another room with a sink. I could clearly hear her brushing her teeth in there. Apparently, the shower stall was separate from the restroom. That was a design that indicated three or more people were intended to use the facilities.

  She passed quickly through my view again and went another direction. I tried to speak, to call for her attention, but no sound came out. M
y throat hurt something terrible, like a tube had been in there recently. Even when I tried to cough, the noise I managed was a meager croaking sound. Not loud enough to be heard in the other rooms.

  I surmised that the woman had gone into another bedroom. Perhaps that one had two beds as well. It made sense. Maybe men and women were kept separate for sleeping but shared the restroom and common areas. That was my deduction at the time. I couldn't move much, so making assumptions was how I passed the time.

  When I was finally able to lift my left arm, I realized why it felt so heavy. There was a smooth plastic cast over it, from the elbow to the wrist. The material must have been very thin, for I initially thought that it was a replacement for my arm. The cast matched the shape that was under it. Surprisingly, there was another one just like it on my right arm. It was identical, in fact.

  Did both of my forearms get broken? I wasn't able to lift my legs for quite a while. Once I did, I was happy to see them wholly intact. There appeared to be no injuries or bandages. I could feel the drugs wearing off throughout my body, but my limbs were still lethargic. I may have lost a little muscle mass while I was asleep, if that was possible.

  The woman then reentered the next room, fully clothed. She had on black shorts and an orange t-shirt but remained barefoot. She walked to the exterior door and stopped. Looking around as if she was waiting on someone, she still had not noticed me lying here awake. Did she not even realize that I was here in this bed to begin with?

  "Hello!" I croaked out. The word was not loud or clear, but still recognizable. At least to me. And it did catch her attention. She turned around in surprise, but not shock. I deduced that she did already know of my existence.

  "Hey there," she spoke with a bit of a slow southern drawl. My guess was Texas or Oklahoma. As she walked into the room, I could make out a few details. She had straight, light brown hair down past her shoulders. There may have been a touch of auburn, or perhaps it was the lighting causing the coloration. She was slim, but not athletic. Pretty, but not stunningly beautiful. Her face was somewhat round with a narrow nose and smallish mouth. Big brown eyes were the feature most notable.

  As the woman approached, I sensed some apprehension. She was not smiling like she was happy to see me, but curious just the same. With caution she stepped into my room and around the other bed to stand beside me. I could then clearly see that she was not wearing a bra to cover her small breasts. Distinct nipple points pressed against the shirt fabric, which did not appear to be cotton. It had a slight shimmer to the material. She also had an old scar on her left leg that ran from her knee to halfway down her shin.

  "You're awake," she said to me, looking into my eyes. Not once did she glance at my body to see if there was anything wrong. She already knew my condition.

  "How long was I asleep?" I asked her as I continued to fight against gravity's hold on me. It was much more difficult to sit up than I expected. Surprisingly, she did not offer assistance.

  "I don't know," she replied. I could then smell the fear on her. Not of me, but of our situation. She was decidedly not my nurse, or an employee of this facility. She was a patient, just like me. "I mean," she continued. "You were asleep when they brought you in. You have been here for at least four hours."

  "Who brought me in?"

  "I don't know," she replied, again indicating that she was uncomfortable with her surroundings.

  "What did they look like?" I asked. Was I brought into this room after surgery, I wondered? Were they nurses and orderlies? Or prison guards? Help me out here, lady.

  "I don't know," she said again. I hoped that wasn't going to be the answer to every question that I asked. This conversation was already getting me frustrated.

  "Did you see them?" I began fishing for information, possibly with a little attitude showing.

  "No, I haven't seen anybody since I've been here."

  "What? How can that be? When did you arrive?"

  "Yesterday," she replied. At least we were past the 'I don't know' responses. "About the same time of day as you."

  She then looked at my casts while touching her own arms. As she rolled the inside of her right forearm to face upwards, I saw three small circles of different colors. Starting at her wrist, the first one was blue, then orange, then purple. The shapes were embedded under a thin layer of skin, less than an inch in diameter and about two inches apart.

  "What are those?" I asked.

  "I don't know," she gave me her favorite response once again. Dammit, woman! What do you know? You're not making this very easy on me! Of course, I didn't say these things out loud. I couldn't let my frustration create a barrier between us. That would make gaining information even harder. Besides, she seemed to be nearly as confused as I was. When she looked back to my arm she said, "You'll probably have them, too. My casts were removed while I was sleeping last night. The ones on my left arm are different."

  She then proceeded to show me the three circles on her other limb. Same size and distance apart, these ran red, green, then yellow.

  "Were you drugged this bad, too?"

  "Yes," she answered. "It wears off. By tomorrow morning you'll feel healthy."

  "I'd like to get up and take a look around. I'm very confused about where I am."

  "I understand," she said, not bothering to back away from the bed. She didn't expect me to get up just yet, apparently. "You'll need to take it slow. There is not much to see. I mean, there is a beach. And around this building is a small enclosed space. The wall is too high to see over. We have a table outside, a hammock, and an exercise area."

  "We're confined to a small space?" I asked. She nodded. "So, we are in a prison, then?"

  "Maybe? There are two towers where the walls meet, with dark windows. But I haven't seen any guards."

  "Have you been fed since you've been here?"

  "Yes, there is food in the frig with my name on it. Oh, my goodness! I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Nancy Sheridan."

  "Hi Nancy," I replied holding out my hand for her to shake. It seemed like the right thing to do when you meet someone, but totally out of place in this situation. After brief hesitation she shook it briefly. "I'm Joah Maroon."

  "Oh, I thought it was a misprint," she said.

  "You've seen my name somewhere?"

  "Yes, you have a container of food in the frig now, too. It must have been put there the same time that you arrived. I had a meal yesterday, and two so far today. There is not much to do besides eat and shower."

  "Where were you when I arrived?" I asked. I still couldn't figure out how she had not seen any people yet.

  "I must have been outside walking around or laying in the hammock. I don't know."

  "How did they get me in here without you seeing or hearing them?"

  "That, Joah, is the biggest mystery," replied Nancy. "There is a small pier, but no boats have come or gone since I've been here. There are no doors in the walls that I can see. I didn't hear a helicopter...."

  "What kind of place is this?" I asked, to myself really. Of course, Nancy answered. Guess what she said.

  "I don't know."

  CHAPTER TWO:

  I forced myself upright and swung my legs over the side of the bed. Nancy was noticeably surprised that I had enough strength this early after waking up. Well, at first that was what I had thought alarmed her. It wasn't until I was sitting up with the covers pushed aside that I realized that I was completely naked. Swinging my first leg over the edge had exposed my privates to the woman that I had just met.

  "Sorry," Nancy said as she turned away. "I should have warned you that they bring you in without clothes. I wasn't expecting you to do that."

  "No, I'm sorry," I replied. "Do I have clothes somewhere?"

  "Sure, here in the little dresser beside your bed. I guess it is more like a nightstand. Mine had three sets of clothes, all similar to what I'm currently wearing. Did you want me to get some clothes out for you?"

  "Yes, please," I answered groggily, still t
rying to shake my dizziness. "If you don't mind."

  Nancy then squatted down beside my bed to slide open the deep drawer of my mini-dresser. The unit was made of a material that matched the bed frame. It did not appear to be wood but was close to the same color as the walls. The drawer glided open effortlessly without a sound. Inside were a small stack of t-shirts, sport shorts, and boxer shorts. In the corner of the drawer were three balls of fabric that must have been pairs of socks rolled up.

  Nancy selected a pair of black shorts and an orange t-shirt from the top of each pile, identical to hers. The clothes underneath varied slightly but kept with the same color scheme. Maybe these were prison issue duds. We were probably supposed to all dress the same. It made sense if you were to be walking around with guards and civilians. But according to Nancy, there was no one else around.

  As she stood up, I took a closer look as her face. I was wrong. She was beautiful, in a housewife-next-door sort of way. Put her in a dress and make-up, park her on a barstool somewhere, and she would probably be the talk of the place.