The Ongoing Tales of one William Hillman

Chapter 5: Terra

I never trusted most people, not really. When you get shoved around the block enough times, you realize something quickly—people help themselves. And if they're helping you, you had better believe you're not the one they're really helping. I used to wish, decades ago, that I could prove myself wrong. Apart from a small inner circle of trusted friends (for which I am grateful), however, people often prove me right.

That being said, I accepted Brighting's help kindly at first. As I finalized my plans to sail to the island last year, I did not expect to bring along anyone from the university. I funded the voyage independently of it, and so saw no purpose in siphoning its resources. Brighting, however, has never been good at keeping his nose out of other peoples' businesses.

He requested no compensation of any kind for assisting me, he simply seemed to want the opportunity. From anyone else it would have come across as suspicious, but Brighting's aura of sincerity overwhelmed my own instincts. I introduced him to my colleagues and filled him in on the finer details of what we were really doing there. He already knew.

I opened my eyes a bit after 5 A.M., on the morning of May 1st. I gazed, blinking my tiredness away, at the walls of my one-room cabin, dully cast in grey-blue by dawn's first specks of sunlight. I sat up and brushed wayward strands of hair from my face before hanging my legs off the side of my bare, weathered twin mattress, hands between my knees. I didn't get much sleep; the prior night's storms saw to that. Today was an unlucky day to be unrested; the group and I would be venturing further up the coast today, deeper into the wilderness, where we would likely still be by nightfall. Nature would do as nature does, though, and if it wanted to keep me weary then so be it.

I took my time getting dressed that morning, as I had plenty. I slipped into a loose beige shirt that bagged around my waist and a pair of grey-brown cargo pants. I sat back down for a moment. I thought about how I would pass the next hour or so—I could read, although I had little interest in any of the cheap science-fiction novels gathering dust in the bottom drawer of the cabin's dresser. I figured I might go for a walk. Before I could think further, a knock came from the outside of the door.

"Terra?" Andrew called. "Terra, are you awake? I have some-"

I leapt out of bed and swung open the door before he could finish.

"Yes, Andrew?" I said, staring at his spectacle-rimmed eyes barely a foot away from my own. He jumped two steps backward.

"Ah, good morning! Those were some storms last night, wouldn't you say? I hope you weren't kept up."

"No, no."

"Good. Terra, I have some news for you." He broke eye contact, shuffling uncomfortably. A pebble-sized blob of water fell from the roof and smacked him atop the head; he flinched and took a step back. "But you must promise to hear me out."

"Alright," I raised an eyebrow.

"Do you recall, oh, I don't know, a couple weeks ago, when I mentioned a colleague of mine, Dr. Hillman? The one I worked with back home?" He brushed his short, scant hair with one hand.

"He's here, isn't he?" I stated curtly, crossing my arms. I guessed this would happen the moment Brighting brought up his friend twelve days ago (I kept track).

"Here? No! No... Yes, he's here," he confessed.

Brighting, smiling tensely, glanced to his left and motioned toward himself with a stiff hand. An awkward, lanky, and frankly huge boy shuffled into frame. He wore an ill-fitted and damp-smelling faded pinstripe overcoat, as well as a hat of the same dull, grey-brown color and huge circle glasses. He looked incredibly tired and even had some wrinkles forming in the corners of his bony face, but through all that I could still see that Hillman was just a boy—the unknowing eyes were the first giveaway, and the second was his voice.