Fresh Flesh (14 page)

Kyle felt a tinge of regret when they took
him away. Not regret that he was sentenced to death but because he
would be unable to do any more collecting. The only killing left
for Kyle would happen in the electric chair.

But like thinking he'd never see Charles
again, Kyle would be wrong about this too. He'd have a chance to
start killing again on an island somewhere in the Pacific.

Richard had told Jessica as much of the
history he'd heard about Kyle Kollector Roberts. He was the most
notorious of the death row convicts ever sent to the island.

"Kyle Kollector Roberts. Whatever monster he
was in the past, he's gotten worse here. He's done all kinds of
strange things on this island. This is the other big reason that I
wanted to have no part of what happened over there. I don't think I
would have kept my sanity if I had stayed there."

"I remember hearing the Kollector stories in
the news," Jessica said. "Horrible things he did. They were some of
the most heinous murders and he had no remorse. I can't believe
they didn't find him crazy."

"Well, that's some of what we're working
against here." Richard said. "I didn't realize there were still ten
of them over there."

"What do you know about the others?"

"They're all bad in one way or another. Some
of the others I've met have some respect for the human race left in
them, I think. I can't say the same for Roberts. He sees people as
objects in his collections. He's not the typical con. It takes a
lot to scare death row cons and Roberts does it without much
effort."

"I don't care who or what Roberts wants.
Isn't there anywhere on the island we can hide?"

"There are some hiding spots, yes." He went
silent again, thinking. "I didn't know there were ten of them."

"Roberts was right? You are scared of him.
You haven't wanted to fight him since you got here?"

Richard nodded slowly.

"But you saved me from Bobby. That wasn't a
cowardly act. We can fight him. We can."

"Ten of them? I don't know."

"I'll fight if I have no other choice,"
Jessica said.

He looked at her directly, the first time,
and smiled. "I didn't realize you had this brave streak in
you."

"I'm not. I'm just a better actor than you."
And she was.

"He lied, you know," Richard said,
matter-of-factly. He was still staring out the cave entrance.

"Who?"

"Roberts. He lied about leaving us alone. One
of them is out there now watching us."

She stood up and walked over to the cave
entrance.

"How do you know that?"

"Because I've been watching myself. I've
heard sounds in the bushes that weren't caused by the wind."

"He doesn't want to let us get a running
start away from here?"

"No, he doesn't want us out of his
sight."

"Only one person out there?"

"I think so. Every now and then he moves. A
jumpy bastard. Stupid spy."

"What should we do about him?" Jessica
asked.

Richard walked back to the cave entrance and
stared out again. "We have about five hours of sunlight left. I'd
like to go to the beach, what do you think?"

"What if our watcher follows?"

"I think he's just there to spy, not
attack."

"How do you know that?"

"Because," he came back to where he was
standing before, "I've lived with Roberts long enough to know that
he thinks I'll deliver you tomorrow like he wants."

Despite their past conflicts, Jessica didn't
think Richard would turn her over without a fight.

"Did I tell you about my dream?" Richard said
when they had at last reached the sandy beach and seated
themselves. The tide rushed in, stalled and rushed back out like a
carnival thrill ride.

"No."

"This probably isn't the right time to tell
you, but I want to anyway. Just in case."

"Richard, don't talk like that."

"Just let me finish. Please?" he took a few
deep breaths. "Before you came, I did a lot of dreaming. I think
being alone all the time did that to me, because I never used to be
a dreamer. About the only time I ever dreamed was after seeing a
horror movie."

"I dreamed about these huge birds that
swooped down to the island and carried me off to another island. A
paradise island where there was no pain or loneliness. It's my good
dream."

She was glad to hear he was able to get a
good night's sleep on the island once in awhile. She hadn't slept
with any pleasant dreams since being shipwrecked.

"But there was another dream I had too. A
dream of the same huge birds carrying me off. Except they took me
to a worse place than here. I'm no dream analyst but I think this
is my vision of death; those huge birds with sharp talons carrying
me off to some horrible place. Silly, huh?"

"Everyone has bad dreams. It's not silly. Go
on."

"Believe it or not, those two dreams were the
only dreams I had on this island until the night of the storm."

"The one with the shipwreck that brought me
here?"

"Yes, that one. That night I had a strange
dream. It was so strange that I lay awake in the cave wondering if
it had some eerie significance to reality. The dream started out
the same way as my 'paradise dream'. The birds came, grabbed hold
of me, carried me away to the paradise island. But suddenly I found
myself on a beach. Like the dream had cut away to a completely
different dream. I was on a beach that looked a lot like this
beach."

He paused watching the tide roll in.

"The ocean wind in my dream, the night of the
storm said something to me. Just two words, over and over.
Something fresh
, it said,
something fresh
."

"That's odd," she said, slowly shaking her
head.

"Yes," he replied. "Because the next morning
when I awoke I went straight to the beach and found you."

Something fresh
.

"Could that have been some sort of dream
premonition of me finding you?"

"I would not describe myself, Richard, as
'something fresh.' That sounds a bit, well, obscene."

"But isn't it weird that they didn't find you
first? I've thought about that a lot since I found you."

"I don't call that weird, I call that being
fortunate."

"Wondering why I found this so important to
tell you?"

His next question took her a different,
unexpected place. "Jessica, could you ever. . .like me?"

"I like you now, Richard."

"I mean like me. . . more than a friend."

"You have a lot of pent-up anger and hurt
that concerns me. Some I can't blame you for because if I was here
for a long time I don't know what it would do to me."

"It's my looks, isn't it?"

"It has nothing to do with your looks." She
looked at him and realized that wasn't entirely true, "Ok, I admit
physical attraction has something to do with me liking people in
that way."

"I smell bad."

"Hey, everything on this island smells bad.
This island, me, you, the air, everything smells like fish. But no,
that's something I could overcome."

"I'm a lousy conversationalist?"

"No, actually that's one of your redeeming
qualities."

"Then it's because I hit you?"

"That didn't help."

"I wish I could take that back."

"I'm trying to forget it ever happened."

"I didn't. Deep, deep, deep, down I didn't
mean to hurt you."

"It borders on impossible to forget."

There was a moment for the ocean wind to blow
and then taper off.

"I never hit a woman before," Richard said,
ashamed.

"I believe you." Jessica added, "I didn't get
the feeling that you had that in you but I do understand the
pressure of what has happened here could break most anybody. It's
doing a number on me."

"I never wanted you exposed to this. I wanted
you to remain untouched, beautiful, unhurt,
fresh
. Only, I
can't keep you away from hurt here. There's too much hurt on this
island."

She turned to him and looked past his
exterior for the first time. Inside there was something entirely
different brewing. Something mysterious and interesting.

Another time, another place?

That's a lousy thought
, she told
herself,
and just isn't the truth
. But with all the
deception, the lies she'd heard, the truth was complicated.

"I believe you," Jessica repeated. She had to
believe. Her belief in Richard was keeping her sane. She had to
believe he knew how to keep her safe from Roberts and his "boys" on
the east side of the island.

He nodded, still looking ashamed and beaten.
"Could there ever be a chance for us?"

Was there ever a chance with any kind of
relationship? Even if you put two people who didn't like each other
on an island together, how long would it be before they cast aside
the negative traits and started to have romantic feelings for each
other? Everyone needs somebody to stave off the darkness, the
perils and loneliness.

She found herself asking, "Why haven't you
tried anything on me?"

"Because then I would be no different than
them
."

And looking deep into his interior self, she
saw something else, something warm. Something she could have deeper
feelings for if she wasn't distracted by the thoughts of some
sinister convict spying on them.

The tide washed in and carried two dreamers
out.

"I'm sorry, I can't get over our spy. He's
still watching us, isn't he?" Jessica asked.

"If he isn't, he's probably dead. Every
convict that has crossed Roberts has been killed. They listen to
him or he gets rid of them."

"He sounds like Hitler."

"I suppose he's a bit like Hitler. But Hitler
targeted the Jews. Roberts targets pretty much everybody."

"Why have you put up with him if he's so
cruel? I mean why didn't you form a faction with the others and
overthrow him?"

"Ask yourself what would you do? You're
dropped out of the sky into a strange surrounding, with other
scared death row convicts that you barely know, and he steps up as
the leader. I'm no leader, Jessica, and neither were most other
cons. If you don't conform to his rules you're branded an outcast.
This is Prison 101, you don't be an outcast in prison and
survive."

"But hasn't anybody ever come to this side of
the island and tried to side with you?"

"No, and I'm ok with that. I'm sure Roberts
doesn't say: hey, did you know you can go over and hang out on the
west side of the island with the loner con. He doesn't give them a
choice. They drop there, he tells them where to go, when to go,
what to do, what to be. He's the warden of this island prison."

The tide rolled in softly. The sky above was
darkening, as was Jessica's hope. They had spent all their time
talking instead of planning. They were wasting valuable time.

"Have you come up with a plan yet?" she
asked, hopeful.

"I think so."

"Well, spill it?"

"Not now."

"Why?"

"Shh," He said, looking away. "We have
ears."

Ten minutes later, he led her back to the
cave. The trip to the beach had been a brief interlude, nothing
more. Fear time had returned.

She wondered how long Richard and her would
be able to hold out.

Seth Everson loved his eyes.

His orders were to watch and if they went
anywhere to follow. He had followed them to the beach (his eyes
loved the beach), then followed them obediently back to the
cave.

He was amazed how easy, how simple they were
making it for his eyes.

His eyes loved watching. They were only brown
pits to those throwing a quick glance, but those who looked deeper
saw what he really was. For inside his eyes, beyond the cornea,
pupil, iris, and lens, clockwork machinery dwelled in the vitreous
humor; cogwheels turned with maximum efficiency, eliciting every
micro-speck of information, transferring the data along a special
pathway in the optic nerve to a tiny unique sector of his brain.
Once there, information was stored and studied, logged and indexed;
a section totally devoted to visual perception. Thus, the result:
infallible eyes. Predator eyes.

At one time, killer eyes.

But that was a long time ago. When they
called him something else, yes? A sniper? Yes. His eyes and he had
clung to the roofs of buildings in downtown Austin as rightfully as
the vents and outside fans. He had never known happiness quite like
being on those buildings, seeing the ants scurry across the street
below. Each of his eyes was an exterminator.

His rifle had no sight, he didn't want
one.

His eyes were his only sight, his only guide,
his only loving friend. His eyes would never deceive him like the
mindless magnifying power of a sight. His eyes never missed a
victim.

Fourteen spent bullets.

Fourteen shots through the heart.

Fourteen cold corpses.

Someone back in prison told him if you made
it past ten killings, you would be remembered. But it was not him,
Seth Everson, who wanted to be remembered.

It was his eyes.

His beautiful, masterful eyes.

And his eyes were watching them. Waiting.
Studying. His eyes saw them moving in that dim, dingy cave. If need
be his eyes would watch them forever. Everson was honored that
Roberts had chosen his eyes for this mission. Roberts recognized
eyes of experience, knew the owner of the dark, optical blessings.
Roberts would not have been a great leader if he would have passed
on Everson's priceless eyes. Everson's eyes were so pleased, so
overwhelmed that they suddenly became obscured by their own
light.