Hell's Paradise

By Eloise Kindred

Owen Hunter wakes alone on the beach of a mysterious, uncharted island with no memory and a gaping hole in his stomach. Rescued by the island's only inhabitants - an old man, his daughter and a mute eleven-year-old boy - Owen is healed and welcomed into the community.
Initially, he embraces his new life.The island is paradise and he feels the love of a beautiful woman. But, deep down, Owen knows something is wrong.
Flashbacks of the past haunt his mind and terrifying events threaten his present. He suspects the island is not the idyllic sanctuary its inhabitants believe it to be. For, hidden beneath the web of tranquility lies a dark,ancient secret.
And if Owen fails to unravel it in time it will destroy them all...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eloise Kindred
• Release date: Dec 11, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301132171

Eloise Kindred

I was born and raised in Leicester, England. I fell in love with books and music over twenty years ago and that love affair continues today. When it comes to literature, I love all things horror and fantasy with the occasional sprinkling of crime. Mostly, I like stirring prose intertwined with well-developed characters. With music, I like anything that evokes an emotional response, that makes me feel something. Hell's Paradise is my first novel. But there is much more to come.

Book preview

PART ONE

ONE

HIS CONSCIOUSNESS returns slowly and painfully. He opens his eyes and the blackness is at once transformed into a blinding yellow light. Blinking, he forces his eyes to focus and the light breaks into a million microscopic particles. Then he realises it is not light, but sand.

The man is sprawled face down across the beach, half-naked, with no recollection of how he got there and one hell of a headache. His body feels like lead and his throat is as raw and dry as a desert. Gritting his teeth, the man forces his arms to take his weight and propel him to a kneeling position. He watches as his fingers sink into the sand and pulls them out quickly, afraid they will be claimed as newfound treasures. He examines his hands as if having never seen them before. They are large and strong, with a fine dusting of light blonde hair over the backs and the faint outline of an absent wedding ring on his left hand. They are encrusted with dried blood, which in turn has attracted many millions of grains of sand, forming a colourful mendhi pattern over his fingers.

The man lowers his hands and takes a deep, rasping breath. He tastes salt water and bile rising from his stomach. He shuts his eyes tight as he wretches and coughs up all the filth stuck inside him. When he is done he turns away and finds he can breathe easier. He smells the salt in the air and allows its refreshing aroma to clear his head. The beating of a heavy bass drum fades to a gentle pounding and the man lets out a soothing sigh of relief.

Filled with a new sense of calm and strength, he pushes away from the sand and compels himself to a standing position. Once on his feet, he staggers as the world spirals away from him and a sudden stabbing pain in the stomach overwhelms him. He fights the urge to throw up again and clamps his right hand to the source of the pain. His toes sink into the sand and curl up in a panicked attempt to find solid grip. The man stares down at his shoeless feet and ragged blue jeans, concentrating hard on staying upright. Slowly the spinning sensation in his head abates and his legs agree to support his weight.

Little by little, the man removes his hand from the wound. He winces and sharply inhales as he uncovers a deep and bloody gash in his flesh - a tear in the fabric of his muscled and hairless upper body. Tears of pain spring to his eyes but he fiercely wipes them away. He inspects the injury as best he can. It appears clean, but deep. Blood drips from the hole, painting his fingertips a livid red.

The man swallows the knowledge that he needs help - and fast. He compresses his hand over the wound, refusing to speculate on internal damage. He presses down hard, attempting to contain his blood within his flesh, but still it continues to leak out, stealing the life from him one drop at a time.

With his free hand he tentatively strokes his head, feeling for any other damage. He suddenly grimaces and pulls his hand away. Taking a deep breath, he resolutely returns his hand to the site of the pain. He winces again as his fingers run along the open wound at the top of his hairline. Blood has seeped out and oozed into his hair. It feels matted and sticky beneath his fingers. Despite the heat, he shivers with fear.

He is alone.

Afraid.

Dying.

And he has no idea where the hell he is.

TWO

THE BEACH is bathed in beauty. The golden sand laps up the rays of warmth from the sun and reaches out to meet the sparkling waves as if embracing a long lost friend. The water is clear and blue and stretches as far as the human eye can see; rippling gracefully and peacefully, as it waits for the end of time.

The man gazes out over the horizon, shading his eyes with his free hand from the glare of the savage sun. His vision is blurred, and he squints hard to try and focus. The sea is calm, tranquil and as completely deserted as the man feels inside.

He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, allowing the scent of the surf to refresh his aching head. He tastes salt in his dry and swollen throat and longs for a sip of pure water. Beads of sweat dapple his forehead and darkness eats at the edges of his vision. It hurts just to breathe.

He needs to find people, and quickly.

He opens his eyes, sighs and takes a further look at his surroundings. The beach stretches out for miles in either direction until it curves into unseen bends in the distance. The man squints, thinking he spies objects far to his right. Something large and unmoving – rocks, maybe. He steps in that direction and then stops, changing his mind. It will take a while for him to reach them, especially in his condition. He deliberates, and resolutely decides there is no medical help in that direction.

With the throbbing pain in his side and head spurring him on, the man heads in the only direction left available to him; away from the water and inland - toward the forest.

He takes a deep, determined breath and staggers over to where the worlds of beach and forest collide, where the sand becomes grass and the trees are tall and extend high up into the cloudless, blue sky. They look like palm trees, but reach a height no palm tree has ever seen, with their broad, thick leaves overlapping far above the man’s head.

He pauses before entering, and places a tentative hand on the nearest trunk to steady himself. As his fingers graze the palm tree’s surface it cries out.

CAW! CAW!

The man recoils and shouts out in fright, regarding the tree with wild eyes as it sways from the sudden movement. Just then, a large colourful bird with a big orange beak flies out from the treetops far above, its cawing sounding like laughter to the man’s ears. He exhales deeply in relief and curses under his breath. He looks back at the tree and fixes it with a weak, but stern glare.

Reminding himself to ignore any further birdlike sounds, the man steps into the forest. Hearing only the sound of his footsteps and his own laboured breathing, he makes his way forward, following no specific path but that of his own judgment. Trees of all shapes and sizes surround him, their branches and leaves forming a rich green canopy above his head, broken in places to allow shafts of sunlight through. The grass is soft and springy beneath his feet, like a brand new carpet that has just been fitted.

Keeping one hand firmly clamped to his bleeding stomach and using the other to grab onto the trees, the man pulls himself through the forest, keeping his eyes peeled for any signs of life. He breathes deeply, inhaling the fresh scent of nature in its prime. As he goes deeper into the forest the palm trees become less frequent and are replaced by something that closely resembles a beech. Many leaves and flora have parachuted down from the trees above, littering the ground like a natural rug. The man is no expert in trees, despite the fact he is surrounded by them. He sighs, hoping he hasn’t stepped into some magical forest where they all come to life and overpower him. That really would be the icing on the cake.

The man shakes off his paranoia and suddenly stops dead in his tracks, spying a movement over to his right. He squints and stares in that direction, holding his breath in anticipation.

Seconds pass by.

The man sighs, assuming he was mistaken, when there is a rustling in the centre of a large green bush, as if something or someone is trapped inside and trying to escape. Pushing theories of animated evil trees from his mind, the man swiftly paces over to the bush, wincing as a bitter pain sings from his stomach. The bush rustles again, softer this time. The man attempts to quicken his pace but bites his lip hard enough to draw blood as a torrent of pain surges through his body, forcing him to slow down. He stops about ten paces from the bush as it begins to rustle again and emits a faint giggling sound. The man frowns.

Hey!

The bush suddenly opens and a small dark figure jumps out, startled by his call. Without looking round, it immediately runs and disappears into the shadows, fading into them and becoming invisible.

Hey! Come back here!

The man staggers forward as fast as physically possible, attempting to at least catch another glimpse of the creature, if not catch the creature itself. He skirts around the bush and limps blindly after his quarry. He rounds a tree and hits his head on a low branch with a sickening thump. He stands stunned a moment, watching the forest swirl around in front of his eyes, blurring and fading until his eyes roll back in his head and he falls to the ground in a dead faint.

THREE

THE MAN awakes with a start. His eyes flash open. He quickly squeezes them shut again, allowing his nightmare to fade back into his unconscious. He opens his mouth and takes three deep, calming breaths, filling his lungs with sweet, fragrant air. He smiles, feeling the soft mattress and sheets below his body and the warm blankets covering him up to his waist.

Shit, what a nightmare, he thinks. Seemed so real.

He pushes the thought away and slowly opens his eyes.

The man cries out in alarm. A dead bird hangs from the ceiling, suspended a foot and a half above his head by a noose. One end of the rope is tied to a beam in the roof; the other pulled tight around the unfortunate crow’s neck. Its black feathers are splayed out in all directions and its head is tilted to one side. Its eyes almost pop out of its head and its beak hangs stiffly open, frozen in its final death cry.

The rope slowly spins around, until the crow’s head stares directly down at the man. He stares back at it in a mixture of revulsion and morbid fascination. His breath comes in gasps as his mind races to piece it all together.

It was real! It was fucking real!

His eyes stare past the bird and up at the ceiling - the unfamiliar ceiling of a log cabin he has never seen before. Taking deep breaths and trying to stay calm, the man attempts to sit up and finds he is unable to. He grits his teeth and tries again, but the result is the same. He lays back, his mind reeling with confusion. He can feel his body. He can feel the bed below and the blankets above him, so he knows he hasn’t injured his spine. It feels more like he has been frozen…

…or drugged! Whoever lives in this godforsaken place must have found me in the forest, brought me back here and… immobilised me!

He tries again to move and then gives up, realising it is futile. He shuts his eyes to block out the sight of the mangled crow and tries to remember what happened since he awoke on the beach. Blurry thoughts and images pass through his puzzled mind:

Sand…

Salt…

Trees…

Blood…

Creature…

Blackness…

Wait! I was bleeding! There was a gaping hole in my stomach. I was dying and now…

The pain is gone. The man frowns. Why would anyone treat his wounds and then drug him so he was unable to move?

Maybe they drugged me for my own good, in case I jumped out of bed and ripped the stitches open again. That’s assuming these are civilised folk. Shit! What if they’re fucking cannibals…?

The man reopens his eyes, determined not to just lie there helpless, even if his body is frozen. He takes a deep breath, clenches his teeth and strains his head until he can lift it from the mattress. An inch at a time, he continues to raise his head until it is almost perpendicular to his body. Trying not to glance at the crow (which now practically touches his face), the man sees that the bed is pressed up against the right wall of the small room. The walls are all made of logs; all the same height and bound tightly together with some kind of rope. They appear to be buried in the ground, safe and sturdy. The ceiling extends to about eight feet off the ground and looks to be made of dried mud and straw. A wooden log extends across the width of the room, from which the bird and what appear to be a woman’s garments are hanging. Each end of the log is wedged through a hole in either wall, holding it in place. A door is set into the wall opposite the bed.

The man shifts his gaze to the wall on his left, which is partially obscured by the hanging garments. Nothing exciting to look at. A wooden chair, a wooden dresser, more clothing, a wooden tea-chest, a wooden hairbrush…

I wonder if this chick has wooden lipstick too.

The man sighs and lowers his aching neck back to the mattress. He suddenly jerks back up again at the sound of footsteps outside the door. His heart begins to race as panic fills his blood. He stares expectantly as the door swings open; vulnerable and extremely afraid.

A woman enters the room – a woman of immense beauty. She stands in the doorway, illuminated by a shaft of light shining on her bare arms and the curves of her breasts. Her long and flowing dark hair sweeps majestically over her shoulders and forms a mane that falls to just above her waist. She wears a long white cotton dress with a belt around the middle, which contrasts her dark, tanned skin and warmly compliments her slim, curvy figure. Her face is turned down to look at the basket of fruit she clutches to her waist.

A rush of relief washes over the man. A creature so beautiful could surely mean him no harm.

She suddenly lifts her head to look at the man. Her chocolate brown eyes widen in surprise and her pretty mouth opens in a gasp at seeing the man awake and staring at her so intently. She steps back and drops the basket of fruit, spilling some strange purplish apples on the floor. She stands back against the door, watching warily as the man lowers his head back to the bed.

He chuckles to himself. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.

The woman smiles, crouches down and quickly gathers up the spilled fruit from the floor and returns them to the basket. She stands and silently closes the door.

I didn’t expect you to be awake so soon, she says as she steps over to the man’s bedside, leaving the basket on the floor.

He looks up into her face as she perches on the edge of his bed. He feels her take his hand and gently give it a squeeze. He looks into her eyes. She seems young, yet there is wisdom in her eyes from someone far beyond her years.

What happened to me? Who are you? His voice croaks slightly.

She smiles down at him, a caring smile warm enough to melt his heart. You don’t remember? My name is Dalina. I found you in the woods.

Her accent is like no other the man has ever heard. Although her English is fluent, her voice contains a slight Irish lilt, an Australian twang and a definite flavour of Italian. He opens his mouth to reply but she continues on, gently stroking his arm as she talks.

My father and I brought you back here to our cabin. You were bleeding badly, so we dressed your wounds and gave you something to keep you peaceful for a while.

The man frowns up at her. You drugged me? Is that why I can’t move?

Dalina smiles and positions herself a little closer to the man, continuously stroking his arm. Your body was badly damaged and the pain made you delirious. We had to keep you still whilst we applied our poultices. She laughs as the man’s eyes widen in alarm. Don’t worry. It will wear off.

Owen swallows, alarmed at the thought of strangers treating his wounds with only basic medical knowledge, if any at all. I remember waking on the beach and wandering into the forest. I thought I was dying.

Had we found you any later, we would be digging you a grave right now, Dalina answers soberly.

How did you heal me? Owen asks. No offence, but this doesn’t exactly look like a hospital.

Dalina smiles. Many plants on the island have healing properties. They almost didn’t take, but I find that no matter how deep the wound, it will heal if the patient’s will is strong enough.

He forces himself to return Dalina’s smile and studies her beautiful face as her fingers gently poke at the wound in his stomach. She leans over him to inspect the damage. Her hands feel soft and warm as they caress his skin. Though her face is turned away from him, the man gazes into her eyes and fervently wishes her hands would move down a few inches and caress another deep ache inside him.

Dalina suddenly turns back to look at him. He sobers and pushes the thought from his mind.

You heal well. Maybe later you will be able to join us for dinner.

The man continues to look confused. But where am I? And who is 'us'?

Dalina leans over his face and absently runs her fingers through his hair, carefully avoiding his wound. You are on our island. No one lives here but me, my father and Rami.

The man’s face remains puzzled. Rami?

Dalina smiles that sweet smile. Her breasts rub against the man’s shirt and her fresh, honey-like fragrance fills his head. He is a boy. Not mine.

But what do you call this place? Does the island have a name?

She thinks for a second then shrugs. Does it require a name? I simply call it home.

The man falls silent as his brain searches for more questions to ask. Instead he finds himself imagining what it would be like to feel Dalina’s red lips pressed against his, her pert breasts cupped in his hands, her muscular thighs straddling his stomach as she rode…

What is your name?

Her voice breaks into his thoughts, startling him from his reverie. Huh?

Dalina gazes innocently at him. She pulls her body slightly away from his and lets her hand glide from his hair to his bare chest as she repeats her question. Your name. What is it?

He hesitates, shaking himself of the spell he is under. It’s Hunter. Owen Hunter.

Dalina sits up straight and breathes in the name, as if testing it for strength. Finally she nods in approval. I like it. It is strong and powerful. Much power can be held in a name, you know.

Owen smiles politely, unsure of how to respond. Silently, he hopes she will lean over him again and intoxicate him with that sweet fragrance some more. Instead she jumps to her feet, her long mane of hair swinging with the sudden movement. She looks down at Owen, her face suddenly very businesslike.

I will leave you now. My father wished for me to tell him when you had awakened. Besides, you must get some rest.

She turns and heads for the door without another word.

Wait!

Dalina stops at the door and turns back to Owen, her hands on her hips and eyebrows raised in impatience. Using his eyes, Owen indicates the bird hanging above his head.

Can’t you take this thing down? It doesn’t exactly inspire me to sleep.

Dalina chuckles to herself and shakes her head in mild amusement as she draws a blade no larger than a penknife from her belt and cuts the bird down. She snaps the blade shut and replaces it in her belt, holding the dead creature almost lovingly to her chest. It is a good omen amongst our culture. We put it there to watch over you and guide your lost soul back to its home.

Owen grins. That’s a nice thought, but you could’ve just put up a mobile.

Dalina frowns and laughs lightly, clearly not understanding him. You are very strange.

Owen continues to grin up at her. So are you.

Dalina smiles again, halfway between insulted and amused. She takes a step away from Owen and absently strokes the dead crow in her arms. I really must go. I shall come back later. Sleep well, Owen Hunter.

Owen straightens his head and stares up at the ceiling. He sighs as the door closes and he once again finds himself alone.

FOUR

A SMILE dances over Dalina’s lips as she leaves the man to rest. Her bare feet pad softly against the wooden floor as she makes her way through the adjacent room into what would best be described as a kitchen. She stops at the large wooden table in the centre of the room, on which is laden a variety of fruit and a large wooden serving bowl. Taking her blade from her belt, Dalina begins peeling and dicing the fruit. She hums a sweet melody to herself as red, blue and purple skins are ripped from their essence and fall to the table, creating a colourful pattern on its surface.

Dalina sighs and gazes through the glassless window opposite her. The smooth, square hole in the cabin wall serves as a portal to the outside world, framing the tall trees set against the blue sky.

Owen Hunter, she thinks. Could you be the one I’ve been waiting for?

She smiles dreamily and returns to her work, rhythmically cutting up fruit to the tune that she sings. Lost in her thoughts, she twirls around, her beautiful long hair flowing out around her like a silken veil. She stops her pirouette after a full turn and smoothly picks up the slices of fruit and drops them gracefully into the bowl, deftly leaving one chunk in her hand. She pops something blue into her mouth and steps back to admire her fruit salad. A bright mosaic of colours fills the bowl; far more mouth-watering and juicy than any conventional green salad.

Pleased with her work, Dalina steps around the table and leaves the kitchen via a door to her left. The sun shines bright in a beautiful cloudless sky and Dalina lifts her hand to shade her eyes from its violent glare. The cabin is built at the centre of a large clearing in the forest. The edge of the forest is a modest distance away in all directions, with tall grass stretching across the clearing to meet the trees on all sides. All directions but one, that is; for west of the hut, the grass stretches out to meet only sand which in turn extends itself out towards the ocean.

The ground in the immediate vicinity of the cabin is rich dark soil, warmed by the sun’s rays and soft to the touch. It feels like a blanket beneath Dalina’s feet as she walks across it; making her way around to the back of the cabin. She breathes deeply of the fresh air, smelling the scents of the forest and hearing the swell of the waves on the beach. Her hair shines like gossamer as she turns the corner and walks away from her cabin towards a second, smaller cabin.

In-between the two is a small area containing a chopping block and two trees with a rope stretched between them like a washing line. A man is stood at the former, chopping firewood with a large axe. Dalina youthfully skips over to the washing line. The man does not acknowledge her presence. The two trees are approximately thirty feet apart and hold several items of dried clothing: two dresses, three shirts, a pair of trousers and some smaller items. All are white and made of the same cotton-like material.

A wicker basket sits by the trunk of the nearest tree. Dalina picks this up and balances it against her hip. She carefully and lovingly removes the clothing from the rope and folds it into the basket, enjoying the feel of the smooth fabric against her skin.

Almost as smooth as the stranger’s skin on mine, she thinks to herself, absently stroking the material and losing herself in a daydream.

He is awake?

Dalina jumps, as her companion’s sudden question startles her. She turns to him, clutching the clothing to her chest.

Well? Is he ready to eat? Or should we fatten him up a little first?

The man chuckles to himself as he raises his axe, aims and splits the block of wood in two. He is of small to average height and slim, with grey hair that falls to his strong rounded shoulders and grows from his chin in a goatee beard. He looks physically strong for his age, which must be around sixty. He wears a white shirt and trousers - made of the same material as all their clothes - and a belt of animal hide around his waist similar to Dalina’s.

He finally turns to look at Dalina, slightly out of breath from his activities. A mischievous grin plays about his mouth contrasting his serious face and dark, cunning eyes.

Dalina glares down at him in annoyance. Do you want him to believe we are cannibals? That will hardly work to our advantage.

The man’s grin disappears and he steps closer to Dalina, his expression instantly suspicious. What have you told him, Dalina?

Dalina continues to load the dry clothing into the basket in an attempt to ignore the old man’s angry tone. I said what you wanted me to say, Elias.

Elias’ frown deepens as Dalina turns her back on him. He suddenly grabs her free arm roughly and jerks her around to face him. She gasps, startled and her eyes meet his, blazing with defiance. Although his grip appears strong, she easily twists her arm and breaks away from him. She backs up against the tree and he holds up his hands in defence.

Do not fight me, Dalina. We do not know where this man has come from. He may be a threat to us and we would be wise to be cautious.

Dalina looks down, her bottom lip sticking out stubbornly. He seems so helpless.

Elias utters a small, bitter laugh. I see the raging hormones of a female in her prime are not lost on you!

Dalina looks up sharply, her dark eyes seeming to deepen in hue as she stares at Elias. I invited him to join us at dinner. You may quiz him then. I am sure you will find him most forthcoming.

Elias nods in satisfaction. Did you ask his name?

Dalina hesitates, wanting to keep it all to herself. Owen Hunter.

Elias furrows his brow slightly as he regards the name. Hunter. Interesting. He holds his forefinger to his lips in contemplation and slowly paces back to the chopping block. Dalina watches him walk away and idly continues her chore. Yes, I believe dinner will be quite entertaining.

Dalina turns back as Elias picks up his axe and prepares to swing it at a large block of wood. She waits until he has split it before replying. Speaking of dinner, have you seen Rami?

FIVE

DEEP IN the heart of the forest, all is still and eerily silent. Trees stand tall and straight as pylons, their giant green leaves interlocking overhead like a canopy and their long branches weaving a network of miniature walkways far above the soft grass and brown earth below. Long, thick vines hang from the high branches, sturdy and secure enough for a person to swing from. In fact, this part of the forest looks like it could be Tarzan’s play area.

Amidst all this, a large parrot sits pruning itself on one of the lower branches, oblivious to the eyes that steadily watch its every move. The parrot’s bright yellow beak pokes fiercely into the green and purple feathers on its back, vigorously rooting out the source of its irritation. So deeply engrossed, it fails to notice the large, black shape hurtling towards it, swinging on a vine from above. The parrot squawks and stretches its wings ready to take off. Its feet barely leave the branch before a long knife breaks through its beautiful coloured feathers, piercing its heart.

Rami lands smoothly on the branch and crouches exactly in the spot the parrot occupied prior to its demise. He raises the knife to his face and examines his kill, a greedy smile spreading across his face. The blade pierces the bird straight through and a pool of blood leaks onto the steel. Rami dips one small, dark-skinned finger into the blood and carefully licks it up, savouring the bitter flavour of the liquid. Satisfied that the taste is as it should be, the boy lowers himself to a sitting position on the branch and slowly removes the knife from the parrot’s body. Once clear, he places the bird in his lap and wipes the blade clean with his fingers before replacing it in his belt.

He too is dressed all in white with a belt around his waist and a pouch over his shoulder, in which is stashed the remains of his other kills. He wears a white vest and white shorts that fall just past his knees, greatly contrasting his dark skin - dark like a strong mocha coffee, with shoulder-length black hair and deep chocolate eyes. He looks around eleven years old, and if so he is tall and well-built for his age. His face is as round as a plate, with a snub-nose and a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Rami’s feet swing to and fro beneath him as he surveys the jungle and casually plucks feathers from the parrot. His eyes widen, marvelling at the lush expanse of green: the huge tree trunks, the long dangling vines, the leaves forming a ceiling over his head and the ground far below his feet. A grin slowly spreads across his face as he suddenly leaps into action. Grabbing onto the vine with one hand, he pulls himself to his feet and stands on the branch like a monarch gazing out upon his kingdom.

Holding the vine high above his head with his arm fully outstretched, Rami steps back to gain momentum and swiftly throws himself from the branch, allowing the vine to swing him to the peak of its arc. He clutches the parrot tightly to his chest with his free arm and beams with delight as the air rushes exhilaratingly past his face. As the speed of his swing begins to decrease, Rami releases his grip from the vine and, allowing his momentum to propel him on, he reaches out and grabs hold of another tree branch. His feet feel the rough bark of a branch beneath him and he deftly swings his small body under the upper branch so he stands facing the opposite way.

Still holding the parrot tightly, Rami stares at the ground below him. He is now only twenty feet up. Without hesitation, he jumps from the branch and hurtles towards the earth. He lands safely with knees bent and one arm out to steady himself. He waits a few seconds as the earth absorbs his weight then slowly straightens to his full height. He gives the parrot a cursory glance to check it is undamaged.

He gazes up at the forest around him and watches as the vine he has just utilised gradually slows its swinging and comes to a complete stop. Rami grins to himself again and abruptly turns and scampers off, sprinting through the trees as if the devil were hot on his heels.

SIX

ELIAS GLARES sternly at Rami as he saunters through the door of the main cabin. The boy ignores the stare and smiles sweetly at Dalina, who stands by the kitchen table mixing some kind of brown sauce in a bowl. Elias clouts Rami around the head as he walks past.

You’re late, he says gruffly.

Rami flinches at the blow, although it is not particularly hard and holds a selection of parrot corpses up for Dalina to inspect. She opens her mouth to speak, but is not quick enough.

You have some very handsome specimens there, Rami. But since when were feathers considered edible? Elias says spitefully.

Rami’s eyes fall to the floor, but he offers no defence. Dalina gives Elias a disapproving look as she continues to stir her concoction.

Elias, he is a boy. It is only natural that he may want to frolic in the trees.

Elias ignores Dalina’s comments and instead grabs Rami roughly by the arm, yanking him back towards the door. Rami’s eyes fill with sullen tears.

Take our dinner out to the campfire and cook it.

Rami looks up into Elias’ stern, piercing gaze and slowly nods. Dalina rolls her eyes in anger and loudly bangs the bowl down on the table. Rami jumps at the noise and rushes out of the door with the birds. Elias sighs and leisurely turns to Dalina. Their eyes meet in a defiant glare.

He has the body of a boy, but he must still learn to survive as we have. Elias finally breaks the silence.

Dalina shakes her head and smiles a bitter smile. I thought we agreed to let him have some fun after what happened.

Elias steps menacingly towards her until there is only the table between them. He lays his palms flat against the surface and leans closer to her. Fun time is over. We have a guest now, remember?

He chuckles at the bemused look on Dalina’s face. She gazes at him open-mouthed, astounded by his attitude.

A sudden THUD from the bedroom breaks her daze and she gasps.

Owen.

Elias laughs louder as she drops the spoon and quickly runs out of the room. He picks up the spoon, dips it into the thick brown liquid she was stirring and steals a taste.

The door to the bedroom is thrust open hurriedly as Dalina bursts into the room, an expression of panic marring her beautiful face. Owen glances up from where he kneels on