Ex-Isle by Peter Clines (electronic reader TXT) 📕

“Right.” He dropped the bag on the roof next to the chair.

“And you get a nice sunset view.”

He choked down another cough. “Never been much of a sunset person.”

“Sorry.”

His head hung on his shoulders for a minute. “Will you really keep an eye on them? Jen and Lynne?”

I crouched next to him. “I will.”

“Jen’s my wife. Lynne’s my daughter.”

I nodded.

“And can you…” He took a deep breath, and it rattled in his chest. “Can you make sure they…that they don’t run into me again? That they never see me like that?”

“If that’s what you want?”

His head went up and down three times, quick. Then he turned away and coughed. He kept coughing. Some liquid streamed out of his mouth and hit the roof near the plastic bag. It was clear with streaks of red.

He hacked up a bit more. Then he rolled back onto the chair. “I think you should go,” he said. “Thanks for everything. For all of this.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“I thought they were going to shoot me at the gate. You let me say good-bye to my family.” His foot scuffed the roof near the bag. “You’re giving me the option to die in peace. Thank you.”

“I…You’re welcome.”

He settled his body and closed his eyes. “Just keep them safe,” he said. “Please. Just keep them safe.”

“I will.”

I stood there for another minute and watched his breath go in and out. Each one rattled in his chest and shook its way out of his lips. Once it sputtered, and I saw two drops of red spit out.

Another minute passed, and I realized he was done with me. No more looking or talking. I couldn’t blame him. Exile sucked, even if you understood why it was happening.

I found the spot between my shoulder blades, took a few steps, and launched myself off the roof.

MADELYN SAT ON the top of the water tower and looked down at the Mount. There was a tiny lip around the edge of the tower. Just enough to brace your heels on. She thought about crawling up to the peak and standing by the needle, but she liked sitting down.

It was a nice night. Warm. No clouds. The lights across the Mount made it look warm and friendly in the middle of the dark city.

She’d woken up two hours ago in her room. There’d been a wet suit by her bed somebody had ripped in half, some clothes that smelled like brine, and a note to be on top of the water tower by nine o’clock. It was her own handwriting, including the upside-down ampersand she drew in the corner sometimes to prove a message was really from herself.

She skimmed her journals and read about a mission out to an island, a night in a life raft, an island made of ships, some creep watching her undress, and fish stew. Then the entries jumped two days ahead and talked about Nautilus, exes, being torn in half, most of the people on the ship-island being jerks, Barry almost killing himself to save Los Angeles from a submarine that was going to launch a nuclear missile, and spending the night on an old yacht in the middle of the ocean on the way home while Barry went on ahead.

There was a full-length mirror on her closet door. Madelyn stood in front of it and looked at the smooth, unmarked skin of her stomach. No wounds. No scars. Not even scabs or stretch marks.

She’d pulled some clothes on while she read the journal entries again. There were enough of her tics and shortcuts to know she’d been trying to cover a lot in very little time.

And now she sat alone, watching people wander around below the water tower and wondering why she’d told herself to climb up to the top of the water tower.

“He should be here shortly,” said a voice behind her.

“Ahhh!” She bounced and almost slipped over the lip.

Stealth stood at the tower’s peak. Her cloak swirled around her in the breeze without making a sound. Beneath her hood, her masked face seemed to look at the Corpse Girl.

“Hi,” said Madelyn.

“Good evening.”

“You scared me for a second there.”

Stealth said nothing.

“He who?”

“St. George. He left this afternoon on an errand. I expect him back in the next four minutes.”

Madelyn smiled. “Four exactly?”

“Assuming he keeps a constant speed and does not alter his course, yes.”

She thought about questioning that, but shrugged it off. “So where’d he go?”

Stealth turned her head and looked off toward the hills and the distant mountains. “He did not say. But judging from his trajectory, I believe I have an idea.”

“Where?”

“That is for him to say.”

Stealth was a statue at the top of the water tower. Madelyn thought about climbing up the slope to join her, then decided against it.

“Is Barry okay?”

“He is in intensive care,” said the cloaked woman, “two floors above your room. He weighed ninety-seven pounds when he reverted to human form. He has lost significant muscle mass, all of his hair, and his finger- and toenails. He displayed several symptoms of imminent myocardial infarction, but Doctor Connolly has managed to control these.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

Stealth crossed her arms under her cloak. Madelyn wondered how the woman was standing so straight and still on the sloped surface while a breeze tugged at her cape.

“He may not be able to transform into Zzzap for some time without putting himself at risk,” Stealth said. “Once his condition stabilizes, he will need to regain much of the mass he has lost.”

“Oh.” She tapped her fingers on the top of the water tower. It echoed like a big drum.

Two uncomfortably silent minutes later, St. George came soaring out of the night sky.

Madelyn laughed and looked up at Stealth. “How did you do that?”

St. George pushed his goggles up onto his forehead and looked at her. “Do what?”

Stealth said nothing.

He hung in the air in front of Madelyn. “I’ve got