The House at Island's End Ch. 09

NATALIA. Six months.

Richard had opened his eyes for good at the very moment the whole island seemed to be drawing in for winter. Two weeks later, the tangled paths around Nela -- once a wild garden of nature that invited you to wander through its most secret corners without fear -- were already dry, hard tracks, covered in a treacherous white frost that neither the insects nor the few squirrels that ventured out of their dens dared to cross. Out on the water, the sea was a heavy blanket, dark and threatening, its edges leaping fiercely against the cliff walls, already deserted by the cormorants.

Richard's left leg was a block of ice-cold pain. The damp and those swings in temperature had been tightening his endurance to the point of turning into a constant throbbing no painkiller on the whole island could make him forget. The news, unfortunately, was still far from encouraging: although his bones had been knitting at the expected pace, they were doing so at a steeper angle than expected. As the swelling went down, with no way to correct it via the intramedullary nail the doctor had recommended that fateful night, first the splint and then the skeletal traction had been losing their fit week after week, and the three fragments of bone tilted under the pull of the thigh muscles, shortening his leg a quarter of an inch more than the doctor had predicted. That, combined with a hip still half deformed and threatening to tilt his pelvis for life, made Richard's spirits seem to be hitting a bottom too deep to see a way out.

Cutting across the central hallway, Gertrud hurried through the living room with a coffee tray in hand, headed for that other room where Mary had taken up patchwork with an almost exclusive devotion. Behind her came Roberto, Tom, and Erica, Paloma's replacement, a very dark-haired Italian girl with wide hips, about twenty-five and with a singsong accent, carrying hampers full of fabrics and sewing supplies. The restoration work on the wall that faced that dark staircase Ioanna had crossed half the island over a month and a half earlier had recently been finished. Once again the wall looked brand new, with the same shelf crowded with nearly the same old teacups and teapots. Neither the man's blood, nor the rocks from the tunnel, nor the dust could be told apart on the most spotless floor. As far as the police and all the island's workers -- who, whether through direct coercion by that woman or a dreadful fear of whoever was behind it all, pretended every day to know nothing of the matter -- were concerned, nothing worth mentioning had ever happened there.

For everyone except Ioanna.

Finding herself completely unable to convince anyone -- Luna included -- of the importance of that event, which had involved a USB drive of videos of God-knows-who, she had been withdrawing into herself a little more. That Gertrud was bad news, she told herself every time she crossed paths with her. She didn't know how, but she'd managed to persuade her parents, Natalia, and the entire police force that, in reality, those two wretches had come to the island to pick up a couple of bales of cocaine that no one had ever managed to actually see. Caught on the beach by Roberto and Mike, they'd panicked and ended up fleeing into the tunnel, where the rubble, stones, and branches, as they collapsed, had finished them both off in a terrible, tragic accident. End of story.

Ioanna clenched her teeth hard, feeling frustration seize her whenever she thought about it. In fact, the plan had been so cleverly devised by Gertrud that the only suspect they kept hunting as an accomplice was Paloma. What had become of her? she asked herself every morning she went down to the cave, searching without success for some footprint or clue that might confirm the reality of what had happened. But no one had seen the worker again since that day. When she'd been caught off guard, had she boarded the launch to escape to the mainland? Had she drowned in the middle of the ocean? Or had Mike and Roberto done something... sinister with her? Either way, the only witness who could corroborate that that island was one enormous trap had been wiped off the map as if she'd never existed. Either Wilkins & Wilkins' power to control the situation was tremendous, or everyone around her was a complete idiot. To Ioanna, both things were equally terrifying.

The one who, over the last month and a half, had traveled through places far darker than that half-collapsed tunnel where Ioanna nearly met her death was Natalia. A thick, concentrated mix of remorse and reproach over what had happened to Richard, excitement at reliving that night with Cole, and curiosity at experiencing things so forbidden to her had been pushing her -- like the strongest undertow of the wildest sea -- toward places she'd never thought she'd reach. It was a deep thought, growing more deeply rooted. Having left Richard on the island at the mercy of his pain instead of rushing him to the mainland was exacting a toll on her far too heavy to dare face up to. Because of it, Natalia hadn't felt like herself for weeks. And the worst part was that it wasn't out of her own conviction: the further she drifted from that old Natalia, the less guilty she felt and the more freedom opened up before her. For that reason, and for the many others Cole had been conveying to her in the few conversations the sporadic connections to the mainland allowed them, Natalia was far more excited that day than usual. It was a very special day. One she'd been yearning for for months, and one she intended to make go exactly as she'd fantasized -- and planned -- every night since then.

First thing in the morning, as every day after her three-mile run from the cabin to the wooden pergola and back along the cliff beside the beach, Natalia had wrapped herself in a yellow puffer somewhat flashier than what the old Natalia would have chosen, and had hurried down the path that connected to the main house. Once she'd climbed the twenty porch steps, she crossed the living room, went through the main hallway without greeting anyone, and entered Richard's room with a serious, somewhat dismissive look. The routine of visiting her husband was as much an obligation as an ordeal; her own private ordeal. A penance Natalia accepted with resignation, as the punishment she deserved and from which she never believed she could free herself.

Since the night of the accident, Natalia had also been losing track of her surroundings, to the point of no longer knowing what day it was. She was only aware of time passing through another kind of clock: that of the packages that reached the island when the ferry could get around the storms, which were growing more and more frequent. For some time now, her darkest thoughts -- always spurred by some pointed comment from Cole -- had been transferring the weight of her guilt onto all those material objects she'd rejected since she was young. From brand-name clothes to the shiniest trinkets, the instant satisfaction she got from opening whatever she'd bought that week made her forget many of the reasons she believed she deserved to be the one lying on that bed, agonizing in pain instead of her husband.

Richard, plagued by the fog of sedatives, was still too scattered to hold long conversations. Even so, inside that utopian island his mind had turned into, in his clearest moments he was able to make out that something in his wife had changed during all the time he'd been asleep. The more than two and a half months he'd spent laid up in that bed had left their mark on her, and though he couldn't quite describe it, that somewhat artificial look on her face, sharper -- and made up? -- than ever, and that lost, hollow gaze, conveyed more worry to him than her usual optimism.

"How did you sleep?" Natalia asked from a few feet away from the bed. That distance was also becoming a habit. For a few days now she'd preferred to stand on the circular rug that covered part of the floor of that room, as big as it was bare.

"Fine. This morning I watched the geese flying south again. There are fewer and fewer of them left on the island," he remarked, turning his gaze toward the big window. A couple of open medication trays, a half-full glass of water, and an iPad sat on a small nightstand to his right. Beneath it, the bedpan gleamed, freshly replaced. His left leg, completely immobilized by an enormous array of metal and pulleys hanging from every corner of that adjustable bed, hovered at least a foot and a half above the mattress. Above him, a metal trapeze attached to a rope let him shift enough when Gertrud or that other Italian woman came in daily to wash him. From a distance, Natalia noted how the leg was paler than a few weeks before, without those dark bruises and clots. To one side, the scar from the stitches was beginning to merge with her husband's own skin.

"The geese will come back in a few months," Natalia replied automatically, without much enthusiasm. "It's getting too cold to be out there. Does it hurt a lot when the temperature changes?"

"Yes. Quite a bit. I think I'm going to have an infallible storm detector."

"You should get a job with the National Weather Service," Natalia teased, making an effort to keep things pleasant.

Richard smiled, furrowing his brow a little. Even from that far away, he got the impression his wife had stopped smelling of that fresh, comforting lemon she always had. In fact, a sour, sickly-sweet undertone reached him, as if Natalia had spent the night sleeping beside the fireplace.

"Do you want coffee and pastries?" she asked. "I saw Gertrud in the living room with a hot pot of coffee," she added, standing still, studying which direction the storm was traveling in the distance. The clouds were piling up, heavy with water, and the sun was a memory that was beginning to fade and wouldn't return until after the winter months. In theory, the storm should pass over the mainland and then turn inland, leaving the island free of gales.

"No, thanks," Richard replied, "I'm not hungry at all. Besides, lying here I don't burn any calories. If I start eating sweets at all hours, I don't think I'll ever get out of this bed. Did you talk to Mike? Did he tell you whether the dock will hold up through winter? A few months ago they were talking about reinforcing the central piling because of the tides. Every January they lose some of the fenders, and they didn't want that to happen with all of us out here. If they take advantage of the low tide now while there are no storms, they can fix the crossbeam and put in new bolts. Those galvanized screws will surely hold up a decade longer than the old ones."

Natalia nodded at everything Richard said. But she wasn't listening. Lost in other, more restless thoughts, she felt a certain itch to get out of that room as soon as possible and calm the sudden unease that had come over her. She glanced discreetly at the watch on her wrist, a small rose-gold Rolex that had cost her nearly as much as a compact car, and took a deep breath, steeling herself with patience. There were still many hours to go before the moment she was waiting for most.

"You have to watch the last episode of The Americans," she then told Richard. "It's fascinating how good the writers are. Every time you think they're about to get caught, there's an incredible twist."

Richard nodded.

"I tried, but I fell asleep. Besides, it was giving me anxiety. Too much tension. Sometimes I think they force things too much, don't you think? It doesn't seem very believable."

Natalia waved her hands in the air.

"Well, that's what the show is about, isn't it? The tension of being found out."

"Well, I think it's about how people get manipulated," Richard remarked, grabbing the trapeze to shift the weight of his back a little. Then he closed his eyes as a burst of pain shot through his body from his leg to his shoulder.

Natalia preferred to look away. The painting of the island had always struck her as tacky, with a cheap style and imprecise brushstrokes. That sea, covered in a crude foam, looked more like whipped cream than a rough sea. She couldn't believe anyone had paid a single dollar to paint such a monstrosity.

"Gertrud says the ferry is finally going to be able to come in this afternoon," Richard announced, recovering from the grimace of pain. "How long has it been since it last came?"

Natalia turned her attention back to her husband.

"Oh, really? It's coming today?" she asked as if she knew nothing. And the lie came out of her mouth so naturally and shamelessly that no one, not even she herself, would have doubted it was the truth. "About time," she added. "It's been almost a week now. Do you think the doctor will come this time, or will he send that idiot again?"

"That idiot has a degree, Nata. And he's a good doctor."

"He's the assistant, Richard. And he has very little experience. Besides, we're paying a fortune for that kid to come do his internship. The doctor should come."

Richard shifted on the bed again.

"Whether Dr. Ellis comes or not, this isn't going to get fixed until we get off this damn island and I can go to a proper hospital. We all know that perfectly well," Richard murmured with a hint of reproach as he reached for the glass of water on the nightstand. Natalia made a move to step closer to help him, but Richard already had it in his hand. She felt her heart pounding hard from the anxiety, and with her right hand she began to play with one of the gold rings she now wore on her fingers. She wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

"Mike says Cole will probably come today. You remember him, right?"

Natalia, who hadn't expected that comment, didn't answer.

"Yes, of course," she said at last, a little awkwardly. "How could I not remember him, Richard! Wasn't he the one who pulled you out from under the beam?"

Richard nodded, still holding the glass.

"That's right. I asked Mike to tell him I want to see him to thank him. Nata, if I'm still alive, it's thanks to that man. The three of us could have dinner together, what do you think? That way you'd get to know him. I know he seems like a very quiet guy, but he's a really cultured man. You'd love him. What do you say?"

Natalia coughed hoarsely, deep in her chest, and then shook her head no.

"Richard, today's not a good day, you know? I'm not feeling great. Besides, Gertrud told us on Monday that this week they'd decided to cancel the communal dinners until they finish fixing the central heating. Are you okay in here?"

Richard shrugged.

"Yes. In the mornings it's a bit colder. Anyway, if you run into Mike, remind him about Cole. Seriously, that man deserves everything we can give him. I was thinking we could even give him a share of the inheritance when we get out of here. It's the least we could do for him, don't you think?"

Natalia scratched her nose and ran a hand through her hair, thoughtful.

"Whatever you think is fine with me," she lied, almost whispering.

"So, what's your plan today? Did you go for a run this morning?" Richard asked after taking a sip of water. "If you're going along the cliff..."

"I'll stay in the cabin today," Natalia interrupted, a little faster than she'd intended. "I want to keep reading a couple of books, and then maybe I'll help Mary with that patchwork thing she's gotten into."

"That woman, jeez, what a pain. Have you seen the blanket she's making me?" Richard asked in a lower voice as he set the glass back on the nightstand with obvious effort. "It's hideous," he added in a whisper.

Natalia made a small face resembling an ironic smile.

"It's not that ugly. It's... original."

"Come on. And the cross? Did you see the damn cross embroidered in the middle?"

Natalia nodded with resignation. She needed to get out of that room already.

"Are you sure you don't want anything? I think I'm going to head back to the cabin to gather some firewood. If it starts raining again, I'm going to end up catching pneumonia."

Richard shook his head as he scratched his arm.

"Is that watch new?"

Somewhat embarrassed, Natalia covered it with her other hand reflexively.

"This? No. I've had it for at least a month. I was tired of checking the time on my phone. I wanted something small."

"It looks expensive. What brand is it?"

"I don't know," she lied, waving her arm in the air. "It's just some random one from Amazon. Anyway, Richard..."

But once again, a hoarse, deep cough tore through her chest, choking off her words. Natalia cleared her throat with a hand over her mouth when she felt it subside.

"Nata... that cough doesn't sound good."

"It's nothing. I just swallowed the wrong way," she lied.

"Well, you seem nervous," Richard then observed, staring at her. "Is everything really okay out there?"

She swallowed to try to ease the itch in her throat a little. Then she shifted uneasily at the edge of the circular rug. Of course she wasn't fine. But today, of all days, wasn't the day to talk about it.

"Of course I'm fine, Richard. I'm just tired. I stayed up too late reading yesterday and I think I caught a chill. So you don't want me to tell Gertrud anything when I go out?"

Richard raised his hand to show her the plastic remote with two buttons: one for the painkillers, and the other to activate a small device from a distance that Gertrud always kept on her in case of emergency.

"No, thanks. I'll call if I get bored. Tell Mike about Cole, please. I don't want him leaving the island again without talking to him first."

"Okay. Well," Natalia announced very quickly. "Have a good day, Richard. And don't go anywhere, okay? Tomorrow you can tell me what you thought of the episode. And if you need anything from me, any time, tell Gertrud and have her call me on the walkie-talkie."

Richard nodded as he watched Natalia turn and leave the room in silence.

"Nata..." Richard raised his voice.

"Yeah?" she asked, about to disappear.

"I love you very much."

She smiled with the falsest yet most believable sweetness she could muster.

"I love you too."

In the hallway, Natalia searched with her eyes for that new Italian girl and gestured to her with her hand. The girl moved briskly, walking over to her with short steps.

"Is the ferry still on schedule?"

The girl nodded several times.

"Sì, Signora Webb. I spoke with the kitchen. If the weather holds, it docks at a quarter after four. Now I prepare the boxes for the truck. You want Tom to bring the packages to your cabin, like always?"

"Of course. But I need to know whether the doctor will deign to come this time or send his assistant again. Have they told you anything?"

The Italian girl said nothing and merely blinked several times. Natalia, her nerves already on edge, pressed her lips together, annoyed.

"For God's sake, the one important thing, and nobody knows anything. Tell Gertrud to make me a thermos of coffee and to call that doctor to make sure he comes in person. I'll be outside with Mrs. Allen, do you understand?" she asked, sternly.

The girl nodded in confirmation.

Natalia then turned and crossed the living room again to the back door of the house, from where the structure of the dock was visible against a sea much calmer than in recent days. As she passed the room Mary had decided to turn into the world headquarters of patchwork, she tapped the glass of the door with one of the new gold rings on her right hand. On the other side, Mary looked up from the quilt she was working on for Richard, set it aside, and stood, putting on a tight black jacket.

"That new girl gets on my nerves," Natalia murmured when Mary reached her.

"Tell me about it, dear. Yesterday I caught her eating the leftovers from Richard's breakfast. Can you believe it? Where do they even find these people?"

Natalia didn't answer. She opened the front door and let Mary out first. Then she walked with her to the railing at the back, zipping the yellow puffer up to her neck. The cold on the island was still quite bearable, especially on days like these, when the wind gave them the chance to step out onto the balcony without having to cling to a rock to keep from blowing away. In the distance, Mike and a few others from the crew were carrying tools and equipment near the little fishing shack by the dock. Natalia knew most of them, though lately some had been rotating in too quickly for her to remember their faces.

"Is that one there new?" Mary asked, right up against the wooden fence.

"The blond one? I think so," Natalia replied, waiting for Mary to finish patting down the pockets of that very fitted black nappa coat that gave her a really slender figure. Finally, Mary pulled a pack of cigarettes from the side pocket, opened it, and, with a quick gesture, flicked one into the air, offering it to Natalia, who accepted without hesitation.

With the ease of routine, Natalia held it between her lips and waited patiently for Mary to light it with a Zippo lighter engraved with the Wilkins & Wilkins logo. The moment she felt the sour taste of the tobacco entering her mouth, she inhaled as much as her lungs would allow and, after holding the smoke inside her body for at least two or three seconds, let it out in a thin line that the breeze carried past the balcony. Natalia felt her anxiety begin to recede, carrying her to that sense of well-being and calm she'd been longing for since she'd walked into Richard's room a little while ago.

Right in front of her, Mary did exactly the same. It was neither the first time the two of them had met out there to share a cigarette, nor would it be the last. Two months and a week ago now, at Cole's urging, Natalia had decided to try that thing she'd hated so much. As was only to be expected, what began as one more behavior experiment to document in that notebook with her own name had been blending, more and more, with that headlong flight toward becoming someone completely different from the Natalia she'd always been. What she hadn't foreseen -- and what, at this point, Natalia preferred not to think about -- was the effect the positive reinforcement of nicotine had on her. The pretext of the experiment for lighting a cigarette the moment the pangs of withdrawal flared up turned into a habit in just two weeks. In the weeks that followed, the habit, the lack of social pressure -- Natalia spent a lot of time alone -- and, above all, that enormous conscious rebellion that seized her every time she thought of Richard's accident had led her to get hooked on nicotine like anyone else would have. And though she still tried to smoke almost always alone and outside, sharing that time in the mornings with Mary -- however little she agreed with her on almost anything -- also eased, in some small way, her complete solitude.

Natalia inhaled hard again and then flicked the cigarette with her finger to let the ash follow the same path as the column of smoke that left her lungs. Mike and his crew had disappeared around the corner of the house, and on the shore there were only five or six gulls picking through the mounds of brown seaweed piled up by the night's tide.

"Have you seen Luna this morning?" she asked Mary after clearing her throat, feeling it a bit rough.

Mary brushed a blond lock of hair out of her face before smoothing it back with a certain glamour, while Natalia made a mental note of the gesture to replicate it herself when she needed it. The hairspray that usually kept that woman's hairdo in place was failing to hold up against the breeze that now and then blew in from the cliff, and for that reason Mary ended up turning her body to put her back to it.

"She left my daughter's cabin this morning, yes," she replied with a note of censure. "Yesterday she told me she hoped the ferry would bring her everything. Did you order anything in the end, dear? Because I don't know about you, but I'm running out of tobacco. And for the love of God, I'd rather throw myself into the sea and swim to the mainland myself to buy a pack than ask Liam for anything. He's been insufferable lately with this thing about turning the island into a luxury destination. I suppose he's told you the latest, hasn't he? About tearing down this whole house to build twenty cabins. Can you believe it, God almighty? And up top, on the esplanade, he could build nine golf holes. I tell him, 'Liam, who in God's name would want to come all the way here to play golf?' And he tells me that when people have money, they do whatever the hell they want. You think that's reason enough to start a business?"

Natalia, taking a long, deep drag on her cigarette, nodded in affirmation. Her long hair now swirled in front of her face until she pushed it aside with her hand and decided to position herself like Mary, with her back to the sea.

"He has to think about something, doesn't he?" she replied, letting the smoke out through her mouth and nose at once as she spoke.

"Right, you go ahead and defend him," Mary scolded. "That's all I needed, to have to fight two of them."

Liam had gone from daily golf to fishing, and from there to studying the possibility of trading the whole island for a luxury retreat for multimillionaires. For weeks he'd been drawing up plans and hanging them around that very room where he'd saved his daughter from those drug addicts. Of course, no one in the house wanted to give him the time of day, though he couldn't have cared less and tried to explain even the tiniest detail of that impossible plan to whoever passed by.

"It's occupational therapy," Natalia murmured, meaning to explain to that woman that Liam's mind was doing nothing but trying to survive as best it could on that island, just as Mary herself was doing with the patchwork or the events business. But another gust of wind carried off her words.

"What's that?" Mary asked her when the little gale died down.

"That I like your jacket. Is it leather?" Natalia asked, stopping her natural impulse to explain everything in its tracks. Sometimes, in ever-fewer flashes of reality, she saw herself choosing that more simplistic, frivolous behavior, and something deep in her stomach seemed to rebel. But then she would swallow, clench her fists, and try to carry on.

"No. Well, now that you mention it, I think part of the sleeves is leather, yes. If you want, one day I'll lend it to you. Though it'll probably be small on you," Mary replied, looking Natalia up and down. Instead of getting offended, Natalia rolled her shoulders back, meaning to look more slender in front of that woman.

"Luna told me yesterday that California highlights would suit me," Natalia remarked, tossing the cigarette butt over the damp wooden fence. "I didn't know that was still in fashion. In a very light tone, from darkest to almost white. I don't know. I'm meeting her in a bit. Maybe I'll tell her yes. For a change. I'm tired of always looking the same in the mirror."

Mary studied this Natalia as if she were facing a stranger. It was incredible that such a bland, prudish woman could have changed so much in so little time. It wasn't that she could now consider her a friend, far from it, especially because of that not-very-Christian past she and Richard had insisted on living, but, unlike with her daughter Ioanna, Mary was very pleased that Natalia was finally coming to her senses and behaving like a normal, ordinary person, with her doubts, her vices, and her mistakes. Perhaps the change had been more in her behavior than in her style, though that too was very evident. Her hair, once very unkempt and completely out of any fashion, fell very straight around her face with a very deliberate intent. That straightness, moreover, made those prominent cheekbones that had caught her attention so much the first time Richard introduced her stand out even more in a face that was somewhat thinner, more calculating and sharper than before. She still lacked a good deal of skill and technique with makeup, especially in definition; nevertheless, that morning Natalia was wearing a much thicker and better-blended eyeshadow than other days. It showed she'd been practicing everything she, along with Luna, had been teaching her in the afternoons.

Natalia, now feeling very watched, smoothed her straight hair with deliberation and with the same touch of elegance she'd seen in some online video. Then she glanced at her Rolex with indifference. For a few seconds, Mary examined her for the first time as if she were watching a potential rival. Although there was truly no one on that island who could outshine her when it came to elegance and beauty, if Natalia kept trying as she had been, she could become a woman with a rather unusual appeal. When she watched Natalia finish her cigarette with a gesture that could give the impression of having been forged over years and not just the last two months, she felt a small stab of danger and envy ignite in her. If that woman had been able to change her way of being so quickly, what might she be capable of in a few more months? And once they got out of there?

Natalia drew in the last mouthful of smoke before moving over to a metal ashtray, where she crushed the cigarette hard until it went out completely.

"That Italian says the ferry will arrive around four thirty," she remarked. "Tom will bring everything to my cabin. Do you want me to tell him to drop yours off along the way too?"

Mary stubbed out her cigarette in the same ashtray and nodded.

"These devilish storms are finally giving us a break. Yes, please, but tell him that if I'm not at the cabin, I'll be taking a walk along the beach. I think today I'm going to try to talk a little with my daughter, God willing. Shall we meet up tonight to check something out? The ferry's bringing me the blush and lipstick of the season, in case you want to try them out together."

When they crossed the porch again toward the front of the house, Natalia opened the door to let Mary back inside.

"Tonight? I'm tired," she lied. "And I think this cold is getting to my throat. I'd rather have some soup and get to bed early. Yesterday I heard Gertrud say they were going to swap the communal dinners for breakfasts. It's less cold than in the evenings. Is that true?"

Once inside the hallway, Mary shrugged.

"I don't care," she said. "I've got nothing better to do after my run. It'd be nice to change things up."

Natalia took a stick of mint gum out of the pocket of her yellow puffer and put it in her mouth to get rid of that penetrating tobacco smell. Mary refused the pack when Natalia offered it. Behind them, the Italian girl came out of the patchwork room holding a broom. Without warning, Natalia grabbed her by the arm and stopped her mid-step. Mary furrowed her brow, surprised by such an awkward gesture, so unlike Natalia.

"Didn't I ask you for something?" Natalia asked, very authoritatively.

The girl lowered her gaze in fear.

"Sì, Signora Webb. I am very sorry, but I don't find Gertrud. You want me to prepare the thermos for you?"

Natalia made a dismissive gesture with her hand and let her go.

"Never mind. But next time, don't forget, understood?"

Mary then placed a hand on Natalia's arm.

"Silly me, I'd forgotten. Would you mind bringing us two glasses of champagne, dear? Quickly."

Natalia frowned in Mary's direction.

"I'll explain in a moment. Come on, dear, the champagne, we're in a hurry," Mary ordered, making another even ruder gesture toward the Italian girl. Then, when they were alone, Mary moved very close to Natalia, as if about to tell her a secret.

"Do you know what day it is today, sweetheart?"

"Tuesday? Thursday?" Natalia asked, caught off guard. "I haven't the faintest idea. I completely lost track of time a while ago. What's the point?"

Mary squeezed her arm a little harder.

"Mrs. Webb," she said with a certain irony, "today marks exactly six months since we first stepped off the ferry. Can you believe it? Christ almighty, we're in the hemisphere."

"The equator," Natalia thought instinctively. And she opened her mouth to correct her, but at the thought that, as of that day, they'd already been on the island longer than they had left to go, a whirlwind of sensations welled up in her. The winter would be long; even so, the promise of leaving as soon as the snows melted carried her into a brief moment of euphoria.

"Six months?" Natalia then asked, eyeing the door to Richard's room at the end of the hallway.

"Isn't it incredible? God almighty, how time flies," Mary replied with a bittersweet look on her lips. "It seems like just yesterday we were walking through this living room for the first time."

Natalia swallowed more minty saliva. Fast? To her, it felt like she'd spent an eternity there.

The Italian girl arrived very quickly, holding in her hands a silver tray with two tall glasses of champagne already poured. Mary grabbed a glass the moment it was within reach and handed it to Natalia. Then she picked up the other one.

"Thank you, you may go," she told the Italian girl. And, once again, she waited to be alone with Natalia. "To Sir Maximilian Turner III and all his inheritance. And to his island and everything that awaits us when we leave it," Mary announced with a certain pomp, raising her glass in front of Natalia's face. She reciprocated the toast, feeling a stab of remorse.

"To what awaits us," she said without much conviction. But the moment she went to take a sip, Liam appeared in the hallway.

"Hey, girls, toasting this early in the morning? What'd I miss?" he asked.

Over the months, Liam had put on a bit more weight, though it had to be admitted he was still in decent shape. His freshly buzz-cut hair gleamed from the morning shower, and a very dark blue polo with the large Ralph Lauren logo in the center was tucked carefully into perfectly pressed golf pants.

Natalia tried to look away, but Liam stayed there, watching her a second longer than normal.

"You did something to your hair, didn't you?"

Natalia raised her hand to the ends.

"Yeah, that's it, I knew it. Wow. What a change," Liam exclaimed. Then he stared at her. "Careful, Mary, Mrs. Webb's turning into quite the piece of ass."

Natalia blushed at such a stupid comment. And even more so when she felt Mary's gaze boring into her. Far from storming out of there after hurling an insult at that asshole, Natalia found herself running her hands through her hair again, smoothing it a little more.

"Liam, did you know it's been exactly six months since we've been on this island?" Mary asked, as if trying to reclaim her husband's attention.

Liam contemplated his wife in silence for a moment before opening his mouth.

"You've gotta be kidding me -- we've still got another six goddamn months locked up here?" he let out, visibly annoyed. "Holy shit, I thought you were toasting something good. You let me know when there's a week left, alright, sweethearts? And you, Nata -- damn, that hair looks great on you," he said, winking at her as he turned away.

Natalia tried to hide a look of inner disgust when she heard Mary's glass clink against hers.

"Don't pay any mind to that idiot. Getting this far deserves to be celebrated properly. Are you sure you don't want to come to the cabin tonight? I think one of this year's best sweet wines is coming on the ferry. After dinner we could keep sampling the catalog."

Natalia thanked her for the offer but declined a second time. Something far more important than that wine would be arriving on the ferry.

"Tomorrow, how about it? Today I want to take it easy."

On the way to the cabin, Natalia quickened her pace more than usual, checking her Rolex every five minutes. In a little while she'd agreed to meet Luna so she could do her hair and makeup, and, some three hours later, she'd face that moment she'd been eagerly awaiting for nearly two months and three weeks. Now that would be a good excuse to raise a glass.

------

The nervousness about what was about to happen had been eating at her since Luna left the cabin, taking all her supplies with her. Unable to stay still, Natalia had walked from the living room to the kitchen, from there to the bedroom, and then passed through the bathroom several times to make sure everything Luna had done to her face, her hair, and her hands was still exactly as it should be. Afterward, tired of pacing and too excited to read, she went out to the porch to smoke a couple of cigarettes. Playing with the pack of cigarettes in her hands, she discovered that, despite having opened it the day before, there were only two cigarettes left inside. And when she went to pour herself another glass of rum, she was also surprised to find the bottle nearly empty. Natalia chewed the mint gum -- now flavorless -- impatiently as she studied her watch for the umpteenth time in the last half hour. The sky was darkening by the minute, and a very light breeze rose that couldn't even stir the driest branches of the already-black ferns. Like a sailor's wife after months at sea, Natalia glanced down the path to the main house, where the yellowish lights were beginning to stand out against the afternoon mist. Where the hell was he? Had the ferry arrived?

With her heart beating harder, she picked up the glass of rum and poured herself two more fingers before throwing them back. Then she bit her lower lip, noticing how the black lipstick Luna had put on her lips stuck to her tongue in a strange way. She wasn't at all used to seeing herself so exotic and overdone, and perhaps because of that, she felt all the more excited.

"Are you sure you like it?" Luna had asked from behind her when she finished doing her hair hours earlier. "You'll have to get used to it, especially since you've never worn it this way in your whole life. But I have to tell you it looks great on you. Much better than the highlights. Where did you get the idea?"

Natalia took a good while to give herself the go-ahead. As Luna said, she had to get used to it. Since she was fifteen she'd worn almost the same hairstyle, and she'd never, ever changed its color. Slowly, she raised her hands to her hair and, as she ran her fingers through the white strands, noticed how her nails -- long, with the pearl-colored tips slightly pointed -- caught on her black turtleneck sweater.

"You'll have to get used to that too, honey, especially when you grab something or type on your phone. But don't worry: if one breaks, it's an easy fix. That's gel nails for you. You just let me know and we'll fix it. Luckily, the ferry this afternoon is bringing me plenty of refills from the mainland. Ioanna has a habit of chewing hers off. Can you believe it? It grosses me out just thinking about it," Luna commented, gathering up all the hairdressing, makeup, and manicure tools scattered across the living room table. Luna had brought a big mirror on wheels that, when opened, turned on two huge, powerful strips of LEDs. Natalia turned her face several times to examine herself from different angles. It was her, but wrapped in an aura of glamour so artificial that it amazed her to feel, for the first time, like a completely new person.

"See how we added more shadow down here?" Luna explained, pointing to the highest part of her cheekbones. "But don't overdo the foundation, because then it all blends together and, besides looking like someone slapped you, it can seep into your tear duct and you'll spend the whole day feeling like there's a bug in your eye. If you want, next time we'll try some eyelash extensions. With your eyes, I'm sure you'd look like a model."

Natalia nodded slightly, taking careful mental notes.

An hour after Luna had left the cabin, Natalia still couldn't bring herself to sit down, for fear of moving something and the result not being what she wanted.

A little tipsy from the rum by now, she picked up her phone and checked the time. Then she verified that the walkie-talkie batteries were still working, and finally she tried to get on the internet, but the connection, as always, was so slow that every page she loaded ended in an error. Just when she thought the ferry must have run aground or turned back because of the tide, she heard two sharp knocks at the door. Then silence.

With her heart beating so hard she thought it would leap out of her chest, Natalia threw her shoulders back, settled her breasts firmly under the black sleeveless turtleneck, and smoothed her new, nearly white, wavy hair that now fell down her back. Then she tugged the short black leather skirt down as far as it would go, feeling her bare thighs, and centered the silver belt buckle right at her waist, also slightly exposed. She was perfect.

"Just a minute," she called out, searching for a black bottle of perfume on the living room table before spraying a damp cloud into the air and walking through it slowly.

Natalia examined her reflection in the glass for about the thirtieth time, and before opening the door, she took the gum out of her mouth, tossed it in the ashtray, and clenched her jaw, very determined. She'd spent so long imagining this scene that she couldn't believe the moment had finally come.

Only then did she pull the knob toward her.

"Hello," Cole greeted from the other side. A look of surprise crossed that man's face for exactly a millisecond. Then he formed a roguish smile.

"Hello," Natalia replied, trying to keep her nerves from ruining the moment. More than two months had passed since the first and last time that man had set foot in the cabin. Unfortunately, neither the stormy weather nor the island's needs had brought Cole back. Since then, Natalia and he had been playing out an ever more morbid scenario of exchanging curiosities, suggestions, and even a few attempts at manipulation in both directions. Like two equals, they recognized each other's intelligence, and in that vanity, they allowed themselves their liberties. For Natalia, Cole was that other universe where she could lose herself without further explanation, knowing he would never judge her because, in that private scenario they'd built, any context -- however remote and dark -- would be possible.

And at that precise moment, Natalia focused all her effort on completely forgetting who she'd been until then, who she'd be from then on, or who the world expected her to be. Sex, desire, and the pleasure of the most radical freedom came together in her mind and, as if there were suddenly no island other than that man in front of her, Natalia felt like a ship adrift that had finally found a lighthouse to steer toward.

"Sorry, but I had to stop by the main house first. Mike wanted me to do something. Here. This is for you," he said, extending his arm to hand her a small black box.

She, without letting him into the cabin, took the box from those big hands and, after a moment's hesitation, pushed the lid up. A slight pop of the inner panel made the box open quickly. The interior, pearlescent and very luxurious, surrounded a silver object.

Natalia grabbed it a little clumsily because of those long nails and held it up in front of her.

"It's beautiful," she said, studying the engraving on its surface of an island very much like Nela. Then she turned toward the interior of the living room, knowing he'd be watching her ass. In an almost pornographic way, she swayed her hips, partly imitating the way the Italian girl walked. She'd rehearsed it a thousand times the last week and nailed it. Her buttocks, squeezed into that short black leather miniskirt, shifted from side to side thanks to the high heels of black boots that reached far above her knees.

Natalia walked very sensually over to the living room table, grabbed the pack of cigarettes, pulled out the second-to-last one, and held it between her black lips. Then she returned to Cole and held the silver lighter he'd just given her between her fingers, with the longest nails she'd ever worn. It seemed like an eternity had passed since the first day she'd discovered him there, sitting at her cabin table. And suddenly she felt as if in a dream, in a place as erotic as it was thrilling, far, very far, from that island.

Cole took the lighter back, flicked it, and brought it to the tip of the cigarette. With all the sensuality she could muster, Natalia leaned into the flame and, without taking her eyes off those eyes as deep as the winter sea, inhaled the smoke until she felt, once again, that strange calm that had been washing over her for months after the first drag.

"I see you haven't wasted any time," he said, grabbing her by the waist.

She gave in for a moment before pushing him off with a gesture more playful than truly violent. Then she went back to the table and picked up a notebook.

"Is that what I think it is?" Cole asked, stepping into the living room now and closing the door slowly.

She nodded. The curls of smoke were beginning to fill the living room with a heavy haze. A little while ago, the old Natalia would have hit the roof. That afternoon, not only did it not bother her, but the simple fact of seeing herself behaving in such a... voluptuous? way was turning her on to no end.

Cole took the notebook and flipped through it with interest.

"Fantastic," he said, turning the pages. "So you've figured out how special you are," he told Natalia, who felt a shiver.

She exhaled the smoke toward the ceiling of the cabin with considerable flourish, then took two long strides toward Cole, crossing her legs. The practice on the heels she'd been doing in secret these last weeks had also paid off. With a natural determination and the center of gravity of her body perfectly aligned with the heels, her walk conveyed not a hint of doubt.

"How was the trip? Was it rough?" Natalia asked very close to his ear, while with the other hand, the one not holding the cigarette, she groped Cole's rock-hard crotch. He gave in too.

"Very," he said. "This fucking island is too far from anywhere."

"You're telling me," she replied, stretching out her tongue to reach his ear. "Do you want something to drink?" she then asked.

Cole sidestepped her, walking over to the living room table. Natalia felt an instant déjà vu.

"What I want is for you to come here right now," he ordered. And his voice came out direct, with no filters or pleasantries. Natalia said nothing. It was supposed to be what she should do. What she wanted to do. Obey everything without complaint. Abandon herself, like that first time, and let go, finding herself at that man's mercy once again. That was what had been agreed. And in doing so, she felt she was almost coming. To calm herself, Natalia smoked harder, taking two drags in a row. All of it was the most degrading thing she'd ever experienced in her life.

Even so, Natalia walked across the living room, exaggerating her movements. Her hair, whitish and wavy, now fell past her shoulders in a waterfall of snow. Her bare arms showed the hairs standing on end from the excitement so close to the surface. And, without Cole telling her anything, she moved up to him, finished the cigarette with an affected gesture, stubbed it out in the half-full ashtray, and, as she exhaled the smoke, grabbed her glass of rum and drank what was left in one gulp. Then she began bending her knees before Cole, feeling his package with her sharp nails, opening the zipper very slowly, almost tooth by tooth, and slid her hand in, searching for Cole's cock under his boxers.

Cole said nothing. He watched her from above with a mixture of admiration and authority. And he held back the urge to make her his at that instant, to let her keep giving free rein to that fantasy both of them had concocted in advance weeks earlier, message by message.

Natalia found Cole's cock at once. Surprised at how hard it could get, she handled it like a tool. Then, trying not to hurt him with her freshly done sharp nails, she unbuttoned his jeans and, slowly, pulled them down a little, but only until she felt them catch at his hips. When she tugged at the elastic of his boxers, his dick sprang free like a beam. Natalia couldn't repress the thought that that piece of hard flesh was what had fallen on Richard, and once again that dark, utterly sick image excited her like few things had before.

Natalia didn't want to take Cole's cock in her hands. As hard as it was, his cock stood erect, aimed at her as if marking the way to a very secret place. She stuck out her tongue and again felt her lips covered in an exotic substance. The black lipstick Luna had given her tasted like wax and cherry. And the head of Cole's cock smelled of sex even before she licked it. Natalia lowered her hands to rest them on her bare thighs while, with the tip of her tongue, she began to graze ever so slightly the outermost end of Cole's cock. For her, it was a gesture of submission. She was handing over all her will to that man by her own choice, and that, more than anything else in the universe, was completing her in a way she'd never have suspected.

Natalia's tongue worked with dedication. First, softly, running along Cole's cock with ease, from one side to the other, trying to ensure that only her tongue touched that length of hard flesh. Then, with her lips, hugging the head of his cock ever more tightly and sucking up the saliva as if her life depended on it. For many minutes her head moved back and forth, her hands resting on her thighs, always playing with that limit that made a few tears spring up when she reached the back of her throat. Her hair fell down each side like the curtain of a cabaret.

In some way, she found it comforting to feel how she could give Cole such pleasure. How she could be useful and, at the same time, so submissive. Enjoying what was happening also in her imagination, Natalia kept savoring Cole's cock for a few more seconds before moving her right hand to his shaft and gripping it with the same force with which he clenched his muscles. She looked up and watched Cole examine her with a violence so internal and intoxicating that she took the cock back into her mouth and tried, this time, to have it invade her completely until she felt it go down her throat.

Suddenly, Natalia sensed him grabbing her head too, with unmistakable resolve. And teaching her to keep just the right rhythm. She allowed it. What's more, she internalized it as if it were a universal law. Her tongue struck Cole's cock again and again, and with each strike, she felt herself wetter.

Her left hand began to feel up her own thigh. Then she moved it up to her vagina, and from there quickly reached her clit, pushing her lips aside. Then began a synchronized dance between her mouth on Cole's cock and her finger, sheathed in a nail that didn't seem to be hers, circling her clit with more ferocity than she usually used when touching herself. With fury, with roughness, with great anxiety, as if she were seeking her own limits, breaking down the barriers that had been shaping the old Natalia.

When she thought she'd faint from lust, she felt Cole's hand order her to rise. Swollen, she climbed up to him, so close to his mouth that he could claim it as his own.

"Turn around," he ordered. "Lean on the table."

She obeyed at once. There, beside her hand, sat the pack of cigarettes, the silver lighter with the engraved island, and the glass of rum. She salivated and, when she swallowed, tasted the traces of all of it.

Exposed, her ass raised and pointed toward Cole, she let him keep leading the way.

"Take off your skirt."

She obeyed the order again.

"The panties."

With her eyes closed, she did it without protest. The sensation of wearing nothing over her crotch cooled the inner heat that was turning her on.

"Touch yourself."

Natalia ran her pearl-colored nails over her own buttocks and caressed her way up her body to her breasts. The pointed, sharp touch of her nails against the fabric of the sweater made her nipples as hard as the cliff rocks.

"Turn around."

Natalia did. Cole, with his cock out, admired her with a serious but unmistakably lustful look.

"Touch yourself. More. Harder. Like it was me doing it."

Natalia stared at him. And she began to slide first one finger, then two, inside herself, while she sucked the fingers of her other hand, simulating a blowjob. She looked at her bare stomach, her breasts so sensitive that the mere brush of the black sweater would already be enough, her gleaming black boots with that endless heel and, above all, her pussy -- because it was no longer her vagina, but the most exciting, most provocative pussy in the world -- dripping desire between her fingers.

"Come..." she pleaded.

"Quiet. I don't want you to talk until I tell you to," he ordered. "Now keep touching yourself. Do you like it?"

She nodded several times.

"Answer."

"Yes," she murmured, moaning.

"I didn't hear you."

"Yes!" she cried, more and more beside herself. Why wasn't he coming? she thought, holding back the impulse to lunge for his cock.

"Do you want me to fuck you?"

"Yes."

"Beg me."

"Fuck me."

"No. Louder."

"Fuck me, goddammit!" she screamed, wild.

Cole, now, came closer, grabbed her by the waist with his brawny hands and, with one violent movement, lifted her onto the table before driving his cock into her with a hardness and intensity that almost split her in half.

When she took that cock so unexpectedly, Natalia opened her mouth so wide she thought her jaw would unhinge. She leaned back, bracing her hands on the table, and, with her eyes wild and her legs spread wider, moaned so high and shrill it was as if she were being born. Cole explored with his cock every corner of the depths of her body while she thought that, if this went on, she'd end up going completely mad with pleasure. And he did it for an hour, maybe more: sometimes thrusting into her from the front, facing him, as if he could pierce right through her; other times from behind, without mercy; from the side, as she opened herself up as far as her legs would go; lifting her legs at an impossible angle, as she kept her mouth open and her eyes ablaze all the while. She was fully aware of what was happening, because everything comes to an end, and this time Natalia wanted to store in her memory absolutely everything that happened: the way he rammed into her again and again, each time wetter, deeper. As she rode, she discovered that the way she screamed while digging her nails into her flesh was growing more aggressive, and he, in response, pulled her white hair toward the table. She was then forced to throw her head back, her breasts crying out toward the cabin ceiling: "Yes... yes... yes... keep going... fuck... keep going... like that... like that... harder... more... no... don't stop...". Natalia bit her black-painted lips as if it were a pornographic ritual and he were sculpting inside her a temple to all the gods and goddesses of sex.

The orgasm came when he drove his hips into hers one last time. It was total: a hoarse, muffled cry that lasted an eternity and left her so weak and trembling that Natalia thought she'd never be able to get up from that table again.

With beads of sweat running down his neck, Cole pulled away from her even though Natalia tried to keep him close. And, feeling the air between them flow again, she reached out blindly for the pack of cigarettes. She lit the last one and sighed, letting far more than her moans escape with her breath.

"Do you have ice?" Cole asked from the kitchen.

Dizzy, Natalia pointed at the fridge with the hand holding the cigarette. In that afterglow, she found herself unable to speak.

"I'm only going to stay a couple of days," Cole remarked, back beside her with two glasses full of ice. He poured rum in one and, in the other, served an eighteen-year-old Macallan malt whisky from a bottle that had cost a small fortune and that Natalia had bought a month earlier expressly for this moment. "Then I'll have to be away for a long stretch. I spoke with Mike. They probably won't hire anyone else over the winter. By the way, I talked to your husband. He wants us to meet up when you get out of here, about something to do with the inheritance. Do you know what that's about?"

Natalia, standing with her rear resting against the table, now smoked more calmly, though the sweat had been condensing on her forehead and her chest was still heaving faster than usual.

"No," she lied. "Truth is, he hasn't told me anything at all."

"It drives me crazy how that hair color looks on you. That Luna knows what she's doing," he said, running his hand over Natalia's made-up face.

She smiled as she blew out an enormous cloud of smoke to one side. She was still very dizzy and her body kept trembling. Until that day, she hadn't known sex could do that to a person, and Natalia was beginning to understand how hard it would be to find someone who made her feel the way Cole did.

"This was good, Natalia. But I want more from you," he said suddenly.

She didn't know what he was talking about.

"From me?" she asked before rolling a ball of smoke in her mouth.

"Much more," he whispered. Then he took a sip of the whisky.

Natalia shuddered. More? How far was she willing to go? There were still many months left before they'd get out of there. And at some point, Richard, Mary, or Liam would discover the game the two of them had going. Even so, an electric jolt fired through her. A cyclone of dread, frenzy, impatience, and ill omens struck her like a storm. She knew that, at this point, she'd end up doing anything Cole said, even if it meant crossing every red line she'd drawn in her life. Because, if there was anyone giving meaning to her existence trapped on that island, it was him.

"Here's what you're going to do..." Cole began to whisper in her ear. And when he finished telling her what her life on the island would be like from that very day on, Natalia smiled with malice before grabbing him by the neck and shoving her tongue down his throat. He held her firmly while she let her shoulders fall in a gesture of total and complete submission, longing, with morbid fervor, for tomorrow to come and to carry out everything Cole had ordered her to do.

----------

Author's note:

One of the things I like most when I read any story is learning the reasons why the characters do what they do. Plausibility (not necessarily truth) is hard to achieve, especially when it comes to a character's corruption. Trapped on an island, Natalia is going through something that, on the mainland, would be practically impossible.

At the midpoint of the story, events will start happening faster, because every story about confinement (real or figurative) starts slow but ends much quicker. As they used to say on the show Big Brother, once you're locked in, everything gets magnified.

Now we head into the descent, and many thanks to those who keep giving the island a chance.