The door creaked open, and Bill stepped in. His expression remained indifferent as his eyes fell on Jim's unconscious body sprawled on the floor. He didn’t say a word, nor did he seem particularly concerned.
Casandra stood, brushing her hands against her blue jeans as though dusting off the encounter itself. “I think I’m done here, ma’am Chan,” she said with a polite smile. “Let me take care of the dishes for you. And Aria, those sandwiches were delicious—thank you.”
Before I could respond, Casandra moved seamlessly into cleanup mode, gathering the dishes and my lunchbox with practiced ease. Granny Chan joined her at the sink.
Without hesitation, Gideon approached Jim’s crumpled, unconscious form. His movements were purposeful but unhurried as he bent down to hoist one of Jim’s arms over his shoulder.
“I’ve got him,” Gideon said. Bill nodded silently and stepped in to assist, lifting the other arm to his shoulder. Together, they carried him to the boys’ sleeping quarters.
It was... quite the sight how amazingly Casandra defended herself.
The memory of Granny Chan’s earlier remark about wanting to shoot Jim with a gun lingered in my mind. He definitely seemed like a handful, arrogant, careless and, frankly, not the brightest bulb.
But did he really deserve such intense hate?
The punch, sure—that was well-earned. But a bullet? I wasn’t so sure. Then again, I didn’t know Jim well enough to fully understand what might have earned him such animosity.
As the guys disappeared into the other room, my gaze landed on the black plastic bag Jim had left behind. I hesitated before picking it up, curiosity getting the better of me. The bag was partially open, revealing its unsettling contents: a pair of handcuffs, nails, a hammer, and a whip. The sight made my stomach churn uneasily. What could he possibly need these for?
Still holding the bag, I followed the men into the boys’ room. As I entered, I confirmed my earlier assumption—it was a mirror image of the girls’ room. Two sets of bunk beds stood neatly against the walls, simple yet functional.
Gideon and Bill worked in unison, placing Jim’s limp body onto the lower bunk. Now, unconscious and sprawled out, he looked oddly harmless—a far cry from the smug and aggressive man from earlier.
I considered placing the plastic bag beside him, but the thought made me pause. If he woke up and used any of these items for revenge, it could end badly. Instead, I handed the bag to Gideon.
“I think this is safer with you,” I said.
Gideon gave me a small nod of appreciation as he took the bag. Bill, meanwhile, had already grabbed a mop and was diligently cleaning the small trail of blood Jim had left on the floor.
I stepped out of the room, and my phone buzzed in my pocket—a notification warning me it was down to 20%. Sighing, I approached Granny Chan and Casandra, hoping one of them might have a phone charger I could borrow. Unfortunately, they both shook their heads apologetically.
“Sorry, dear,” Granny Chan said her tone warm but regretful. “We don’t use much of that here.”
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I sighed again, glancing at my wristwatch. It was exactly 12:00 noon. As I stood there pondering my next move, Bill approached Granny Chan. After a brief exchange and finishing his task of cleaning the floor, the two of them stepped outside.
Looks like we’re finally going to set sail, I thought.
Casandra reappeared to return my lunchbox with a kind smile before heading to the boys’ room. And just like that, I found myself alone again.
Feeling full and utterly drained from the morning’s events, I made my way to the girls’ quarters. Climbing onto the top bunk, I lay back and let my thoughts wander.
What a day.
I replayed everything I’d experienced since stepping onto the boat, my mind racing with questions that seemed to have no immediate answers. The people around me were busy, making it difficult to ask about the island and my aunt.
What have you been up to all this time, Aunt Marie? What have you gotten yourself into?
I raised my left hand, letting the soft light catch on my wristwatch and bracelet as I playfully stretched toward the ceiling.
This place—the island—felt like stepping into another world entirely. It had its own peculiar rules, names, and unspoken codes, and nothing about it made sense to me yet.
My thoughts drifted back to Aunt Marie’s parting words: Red Riding Hood, trust the wolf, avoid the villagers, don’t lose the code. Her cryptic advice had felt like a riddle when she first said it, but now it seemed even more ominous. With a name like Pinocchio Island, the whole situation felt like some psychedelic fairy tale.
My brother’s voice echoed in my mind: Something’s going on. And for the first time, I was starting to think he’s right.
Even so, despite the island’s undeniable intrigue, I couldn’t bring myself to care about its mysteries. My priority was finding Aunt Marie so I could go home and resume my life—especially the practices I had to miss for this unexpected trip.
I remembered Granny Chan mentioning that Bill was close to Aunt Marie. Perhaps he’d be my best bet for answers. And then there was Jim’s bizarre bag of tools. My curiosity tugged at me. What could he possibly need with a whip and handcuffs? Hopefully nothing twisted.
I pulled out my phone, hoping to find a message or some update, but there was no signal.
Great. No charger, no signal, and this crappy weather. Perfect.
With a heavy sigh, I closed my eyes.
Before I knew it, sleep began to take over, pulling me into its quiet embrace.
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I had the dream of the black bird again, but this time it felt sharper, more clearer than before. I found myself standing in a serene field of wildflowers deep within a forest. The blossoms were cosmos and yellow daisies, swaying gently under the warmth of a golden sun. Everything around me felt tranquil, bathed in light, and the air carried a soothing stillness.
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I wore a simple white dress and Aunt Marie’s red bracelet. I walked through the field, my bare feet brushing against soft petals, my steps led me to a small, clear pond. I knelt by its edge, gazing at my reflection in the still water. Tentatively, I reached out to touch the surface.
The moment my fingers grazed the water, ripples distorted the reflection. Then, as if my touch had triggered something, the sky darkened suddenly. Shadows swallowed the light, and the flowers surrounding me began to shift in color, transforming into a deep, unsettling red. Even the pond turned crimson, its surface reflecting an ominous sheen.
Fear gripped me, and I stumbled backward, collapsing onto the ground. I turned to my right and saw a black bird perched nearby, its dark eyes fixed on me, sharp and unrelenting. It studied me for a long moment, its presence oddly familiar. I reached out a hand, hoping to connect with it, but before I could touch it, the bird spread its wings and flew away.
That’s when I heard it—a sound from the woods. I turned and saw a wolf emerge, its fur a striking, pure white. But its eyes were red—piercing, unnatural, and haunting.
I panicked and tried to run, but the ground beneath my feet turned to thick, sucking mud, trapping me in place. Fear clawed at me as the wolf came closer, and just when I thought it might pounce, I felt a hand grab mine.
I turned to see a man standing beside me. His face was blurry, indistinct, but I could feel his presence—steady, almost protective. Then I looked down at myself. My once-pristine white dress was stained red, a dark blotch spreading over my stomach. Blood—was it mine? Was he helping me or had he hurt me?
Before I could make sense of it, the dream shattered, and I woke up abruptly.
I blinked, disoriented by the swaying of the boat beneath me. The room was dim, the sky outside the window still heavy with gray clouds. The sea stretched endlessly, dark and unyielding. Checking my wristwatch, I saw that it was 4:39 p.m.
The dream lingered in my mind, vivid and disturbing. I couldn’t shake the image of the wolf, the guy, or the blood-stained dress. What did it all mean? Was the man trying to protect me, or was he a threat? The uncertainty gnawed at me.
Maybe it was just my exhausted mind playing tricks on me, blending the strange events of the day into something surreal. I sighed, brushing the thoughts away.
This wasn’t how I’d imagined my summer would start—not even close.