ISLAND ILLUSIONS (#2 PARADISE ISLAND duology)

--fourteen--

"Toss it," said the girl, gesturing impatiently at Miles.

"But," he gestured back, at the barrier, "won't it tear into shreds if I throw it through this thing?"

"It's an inanimate object," she said, her voice growing insistent. "I tossed it to you and it was fine, remember? So give it to me. This is important."

Though not sure about Mr. Reynolds getting his grubby hands on the precious notebook, Miles strangely trusted this native girl. And if he didn't hurry up, he had a feeling she'd reach through the barrier and choke him out.

He pulled out the notebook from under his shirt, and with one last look at it—something told him he wouldn't see it again—he threw it at the girl.

She caught it with ease, then stuffed it right into Mr. Reynolds' grip. "Read. Fast. We don't have much time."

Mr. Reynolds frowned at her, then more so as he opened the book and saw the inscription inside. "Ms. Moreno's book? Her research?" He shook his head, wincing. "You want me to read this? Why? It's all bogus, didn't you know? It's what got her killed. I can't read this."

The girl elbowed him, causing his frown to deepen. "It's not bogus, and you don't even know what's in it, anyway. I've heard the way you talk about her. Ms. Moreno? She was a saint, and you trapped her, put her in this position where she had to obey. You got her killed, not her knowledge. Well, I want you to read exactly what it is you prevented her from exposing to the world. And I want you to regret it."

Mr. Reynolds lifted his nose to the air, but looked down at her as if she were a speck of dirt on his shoe. "Fine." He thumbed to the first page. "But I'll be speaking to your family about this. For stealing this," he shook the notebook slightly, "from a dead woman's room. I don't care where you come from, what your traditions are—that is not acceptable."

A surprising aggression filled the girl's voice as she elbowed him again, harder this time, making him double back and almost drop the book. "Shut the fuck up and read, would you? You don't know my family, you don't know me, and you sure as hell have no right to punish me for anything I do."

Miles remained silent, eyes wide open, taken aback. She couldn't have been more than sixteen years old, yet spoke like a full-blown adult with thorough knowledge of the world and how it worked. If she was indeed a resident of the island, maybe she was alien, too. Maybe she was much older than she looked, because she certainly carried herself like a grown woman, not a teenager. Something about her posture, the firmness of her expression, the relentlessness of her tone.

Though seeming taken aback himself, Mr. Reynolds didn't prod her further. He took a moment to straighten up, rubbing at the area where she'd elbowed him several times. He then used one hand to fix his jacket, then to turn the pages as he read.

Page after page, he mouthed the words he saw on paper, sometimes fast, sometimes in a whisper Miles could perceive over the light buzzing of the barrier's surface. His eyebrows twitched once or twice, and his cheeks alternated between deathly pale and so red they were almost violet. He held on to the book, his knuckles turning white, his fingertips red from pressure.

At one point, he removed his fedora and wiped the sweat that had gathered over his forehead. Was he angry? Shocked? Disappointed? A man with such a normally neutral expression was hard to read to begin with. But now, his features tore between so many emotions that it was impossible to know for certain how reading this book was affecting him.

Miles ended up sitting on the ground, back resting against a tree trunk. The monster growls had ceased, but still he sensed that they were nearby, lurking. Waiting for him to leave, so they could follow him and drive him to become so paranoid that he jumped off the cliff to off himself before they did.