The third morning came with silence. There were no deafening screams, no sense of wrongness, which came during the first morning. Still, it was the silence that Painter found the most terrifying. Fear clouded her thoughts, drawing Monk dying, begging to help him, being strangled, burnt, drowned, cut into a thousand pieces or even fading out of existence, part by part.

What would she do without him, all on her own? Painter remembered the riddle, presented to her. The note she found on her table told her there were only two parts to the riddle. The first one was centered around autumn and the second one - around a bleeding-heart. A weird heart-shaped flower.

Too many thoughts clogged her mind. Painter breathed in deeply and then exhaled. “Be that as it may,” she thought. She couldn’t do everything. But what she could, she would. Painter opened her door. Not a single human was out there.

As Painter left her house, she saw the sun shone brightly like ever. Birdlike creatures could be spotted there, flying close to the water. Small critters, akin to oversized crabs, were crawling about the sand. Usually, Painter would be in a hurry or dead tired when she visited the shore, but today she wanted to spend a bit of time here, before learning of Monk’s grizzly fate.

As she paced around not intending to visit Monk’s house right away, examining the shore while deep in thought, the rays of sun still brought their warmths to her. Cerulean waves hit the shore with a rhythmic, tranquil sound. Everything seemed to spell ‘peace’ about her. Everything but her heart and mind. Finally, she approached Monk’s habitat. And knocked, first hesitantly and then with resolute decisiveness. Then, against all the wild scenarios her mind had drawn, a door opened and Monk - healthy and alive - greeted her, two apple tarts in his hands. In a spur of the moment, she leaped and hugged him, causing Monk to stumble and almost lose his balance.

“I thought you died,” Painter grumbled.

“Perhaps, I’m a ghost?” Monk seemed to seriously consider that possibility. As an answer, Painter bit Monk.

“Seems like you are not,” Painter answered in a matter-of-fact voice.

“Perhaps you will spare me and choose those tasty tarts as your quarry?” Monk said, rubbing his shoulder.

“I will think about that,” Painter said, releasing Monk from her grasp and taking a tart. Then, remembering what happened to Dreamer, she added, “But what if they are poisoned?”

“Then I’ll die for a noble cause,” Monk said in a doomed voice, taking a big bite from his tart. Painter bated her breath, half-expecting Monk to drop dead. But time went on and Monk continued to munch without any shadow of worry on his face. Painter took a small bite. It was tasty. Painter never quite considered herself a foodie, so it was hard for her to describe the taste, but she liked it and a part of her wanted more of it. So she took another bite.

“Well then,” Monk said. “Did you have any hints last night?”

“Mhm,” Painter nodded as her mouth was full with apple tart.

“Since you seem to be busy, I will start first. In my dream, I saw… Myself. I was flying through the void and then, all of me suddenly ceased to exist - disintegrated into small particles of light. It was a bit scary and interesting. So, how was your dream?” Monk asked, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

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“Do you remember that heart-shaped flower? The bleeding-heart? So, I dreamed of it. And then, when I tried to touch it, sky and earth switched their places, a weird feeling,” Painter responded as she finally finished eating.

“I see. I think I know what it means,” Monk said somberly.

“What?” Painter couldn’t understand how Monk had solved the riddle.

“In your first dream it wasn’t the ‘autumn’, which you saw, it was ‘fall’. In the second dream, that flower, which you tried to pick, wasn’t random. It was shaped like a heart and it implied ‘love’. Therefore your escape route from this island is to ‘fall in love’,” Monk explained. At first, Painter listened to Monk attentively, but as he neared the finale, serious doubts overtook her. She looked at him, smiling brightly, about to laugh at any second. Painter was about to flare up, when she remembered which day it was. Wednesday. He had yet to solve his own riddle. As if sensing what was going through the Painter’s head, Monk’s smile disappeared. They continued to eat in silence.

“What do you plan to do?” Painter asked eventually.

“I don’t know when my time will come. So, before I disappear, there are things I wanted to try. Alone. I feel like I don’t want anyone to see my final moments. So, if you will excuse me?”

After saying so, Monk left. Painter continued to sit there, as if under a spell. A part of her wanted to go after him, to stop him. To be with him as long as she could. Yet, time passed and she just sat there still. Trees shook their crowns forlornly, as if knowing the upcoming events.

“And so he leaves,” Painter’s meditative state was disrupted by Scion who appeared as if from thin air.

“So?” Painter grumbled.

“You know,” Scion said reminiscently, “I was the happiest girl in the world.”

“What happened?” Painter blinked, returning from her thoughts to reality.

“He was gone. I didn’t know what was the right thing to do. So, I made a decision,” Scion took a knife from her pocket and twirled it, deep in thought.

“What did you do?” Painter asked, with a sense of foreboding rising.

“You know, my situation is different from anyone else on this island. I came here willingly,” Scion was talking slowly, as if under a trance. Her eyes were blurry, perhaps, from tears.

“Yes?” Painter shifted slightly, feeling the danger emanating from Scion.

“Tomorrow I must take my life, if I want him to be back. The island will never claim my life on its own,” Scion put the knife back and wiped her tears with her sleeve. Then she left, leaving Painter even more confused than she previously was.

The day was just starting, but Painter didn’t want to explore. Instead, she decided to return home. On her way back, Painter heard a noise, which seemed to originate from Dreamer’s house. Painter approached Dreamer’s abode carefully. Who was there? Who could have possibly needed something at Dreamer’s place?

Painter swung the door open, preparing to run away, if a need arises. But there was no one inside she could see. Dreamer’s body, however, disappeared. Did someone decide to move it? Suddenly, Painter noticed a fluffy blue ball, rolling from underneath the bed. It was small, smaller than the fluffy balls she had previously seen. How did the little one get here? Then, a bizarre, a totally impossible and outrageous idea entered her brain.

“Dreamer, is it you?” Painter asked cautiously, while putting the blue fluffy ball on her palm. It wobbled slightly, without saying anything. Painter left Dreamer’s home, the fluffy ball resting snuggly in her palm.

Painter was about to open the door of her house, when she felt someone watching her. Was Detective snooping around yet again? Painter turned around. A pair of red glowing eyes was watching her, the figure obscured by the shadows of the grove. Those eyes felt like the embers of a bonfire, they were almost burning, burying into the Painter’s core. Yet they weren't the eyes of a mindless beast: there was too much of intelligence in them. After their eyes met, the thing retreated under the cover of the grove’s canopy, disappearing from Painter’s view.

Painter closed the door behind her and this time she slid a wooden bolt in place. Painter put the little blue fluffy ball on her bed. It was the first time she was at her home during the day. What should she do? She remembered about the painting kit, hidden in her wardrobe. That day Painter was drawing until she fell asleep from exhaustion.