DAY FOURTEEN, continued

The man had a strangely shaped nose, the line of it starting from his closely-drawn brow, remaining a straight line as it emerged from his face, then at the bridge it was askew, its upturned tip turned sligtly to the left. His mouth was set in a grim half-frown, his cheekbones jutting out. His glaring eye was circular but melted into his left cheekbone so that only the top was clear. The other eye was non-existent; the upper half of his face was where he blended into the wall of rock that stood in the sky above Danie.

There were other things too: a dog leg here, a tree branch there, a bird, a lamp, an old woman. So many shapes in the wall of rock, when you looked at it for long enough...

Danie blinked and stopped herself, aghast that she had let her mind wander. How absurd, and how unacceptable. 

The Manager came to a halt. Absentmindedly, she leaned back, towards the rock with colors that reminded her of photographs she had seen of the Grand Canyon.

The CBers looked to her expectantly, while the AEs explored various ways of distracting themselves. Owlgirl opened her mouth, then realized she had no idea what she was going to say, at least something that wasn't along the lines of "So...um...yeah." She wasn't ready to march into the unknown, and she felt that something needed to be said. A warning, a word of inspiration, a conversation, a plan.

"HIYA!!!" MP yelled, swordfighting with some unseen assailant. He brandished his giant spoon, then turned to the Manager. He lifted his arm, almost hitting Saphira, who made a rumbling noise in her throat. "What are we waiting for? We gotta go fight!"

"So, do we all just, like...go?" Mirax was unsure.

"Duh. We split up now," Cortana yawned, admiring her blue nail polish.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, we have to stick together," Clouded Leopard said. "There's definitely strength in numbers. And safety."

Ah, there goes our usual debates, Owlgirl thought. 

"No, we cover more ground if we split up," Danie argued.

"Nobody can go by themselves," the Manager said firmly.

"Well, obviously we should go alone. Every time that happens, someone dies. Small groups and partners then?" Danie suggested.

"Sounds good," the Manager agreed. "Okay, now decide on--" But the vacationers--no, the makeshift search-and-rescue crew was already dispersing in various directions.

"Keep your phones on!" she yelled after them. "I'll be here! There aren't..." now none of them were visible. The Manager sighed, and finished the sentence to herself. "There aren't any purple poles, so call me..."

The Manager didn't didn't even know what the groups were, where they were going, or if anybody had even assembled groups at all.

Owlgirl took a beach towel from her backpack and laid it out, then plopped herself into it. She'd keep the Hamilton on a lower level than usual. She wanted to stay alert.

**********

**********

There was a skeleton. 

Crypto found it when his paw slipped between the two bones sticking out of the sand. He could see more, mostly pure white but slightly browned in areas where the sand stuck to it. They appeared to be recent.

The cat hesitated. He absolutely despised getting his paws dirty. But this was by far the most interesting and morbid thing he had seen on the island. So he dug,means flying in the air behind him. It reminded him of when Brookeira spilled a container of salt, then tossed a pinch of it over her shoulder. Strange things they are, these humans.

Crypto was soon disappointed. It turned out to be a skeleton of some sort of fish. A dolphin, perhaps. Crypto hissed with annoyance. Hoping to see something more interesting, like a human skeleton, he walked on.

**********

Most everyone had either ran along the rock wall that would eventually lead to the edge of the island, on the southernmost side, or in the direction of the rocky area mixed with trees. Those people musn't have considered for a moment that neither option was technically considered cliffs. They didn't meet the proper geographical standards.

Hermione knew she was walking in the correct direction. She had walked forward, to the waters edge, then right, so that she was walking along the coast, along a series of cliffs. Actual cliffs. Perhaps after a while she could find a way to get up the cliffs.

The water slipped through her toes, and pebbles found their way underneath her heel. Why had she chosen to wear sandals? She stared at her toes and noticed something else besides her sodden shoes.

A footprint.

Barely there--the top half was missing. Someone had probably been clearing their footprints, but missed one. Because it wouldn't make sense for there just to be one print. And based on what Hermione had seen, the killer was no idiot. 

Even now the footprint was fading. With each lap of water, it grew more faint. Soon it would disappear completely. But not quickly enough for Hermione to miss where it was pointed.

She was on the right track. 

Hermione removed Teacup from her pocket and cradled the CAPTCHA against her chest.cradlestill sweeping the area before her with her eyes, Hermione relaxed as she reached out to run her hand across the stone. It felt much differently than it looked. Like...like shark skin, it appeared to be smooth, but in reality it was rough as sandpaper.

She could see the different layers with different shades. It was odd actually; while most of the island was comprised of igneous rock, these were sedimentary. So many centuries of history in these layers, she marveled. It made her feel...insignificant. She felt like she needed to know more. Normally the desire for knowledge sprung from curiosity and ambition, but here in this isolated island, it sprung from...fear, she realized. Fear of all the unanswered questions. Desperation to find the answers. Where is Shadowmoon? Who is the killer?

What will happen next?

It occurred to her that perhaps she should be afraid.

Something snagged her foot. 

Hermione shrieked, and in the blink of an eye, her world turned upside-down. Literally. The ground was now above her, the rocks hanging from the ceiling.

Hermione gasped and struggled to regain her bearings. That was when the seriousness of her predicament became apparent. She was hanging by her ankles. There was a net around her too. They were trapped. Teacup's tiny heart was beating rapidly against her own. 

Taking a few shuddering breaths, she reached into her back pocket for her phone. It wasn't there.

"Shmiz," she cursed. She looked up--or down, whichever way it was, her eyes rolled towards her forehead, and sure enough, she glimpsed the corner of a shiny blue case behind her head. 

There was a sound of gears creaking in creak the palm tree in which was was dangling. The net started to contract, getting closer.

Double shmiz.

It closed in faster. Tighter.  She could feel the fibers pressing into her shoulders. She tried to thrust her arms out, but it was too late for that. She clawed wildly. Tighter. She was going to suffocate. 

Teacup whimpered, her whiskers tickling Hermione's throat.

Teacup!

Her right arm had enough room to move. She pushed Teacup towards one of the openings in the net, while still trying to keep the choking bindings at bay. Tighter. 

"Go," she gasped. "Get help."

Teacup wriggled through the opening and leapt away as fast as she could go, a ball of white speeding across the sand.

Tighter. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and prayed she could hold out for long enough.

Tighter. Tighter. 

Stay alive, she willed herself. Stay alive!

********** 

*yawn* That's all for tonight. I know I had some long descriptions and thoughts, but hopefully I didn't bore you. I ended with a Hamilton reference, did you catch it? I found it fitting. I'm pleaseD with myself...I'm on a roll today. XD XD Literally, actually. I just got back from Thanksgiving dinner, and I had a roll. And corn...lots of corn...

It feels good to be back, typing in the familiar box, with the familiar red background in either side. 

Happy Thanksgiving, CBers! 

I'm on my way to a concert, writing in the car. I am not going to let this be a one-hit wonder!

My life might as well be summarized in two lines: 

My family: Why do you write like tomorrow won't arrive?

Me: *to self* Insert footnote between paragraph one and two...

Sorry for the delay. Finished a rough draft Sunday night, typing today.

DAY FOURTEEN, part five 

Almost instantly after the Manager sent out the emergency text, call, and yell through her bullhorn, CBers, AEs, and CAPTCHAs began to arrive at the starting point, confused. Owlgirl didn't bother to explain anything. She broke into a run close behind a little white rabbit and yelled, "Follow me!"

"What about the others? Won't they like not know where to--"

"That doesn't matter, just follow me!" Owlgirl yelled back and added, "If you see the chef, let her through!"

It didn't take long to find Hermione, who was hanging in a tree, a cocooned insect. Owlgirl started when she saw her. She kneeled on the ground and pulled at the ropes.

"We're going to get you out," she assured. Hermione's eyes were closed, her arms shaking from the stain of pushing the net away from her face and neck. Her head moved ever so slightly, as if to nod.

"I need to cut this!" the Manager yelled as the others crowded around her and started tugging the net with her.

A knife fell to the ground next to her, and she gasped, as did the others. Perhaps the knife had been meant to help, perhaps to harm, but the unnerving fact was that somebody was actually carrying around a knife. Self-defense was out of the question at this point if you didn't want to be a suspect.

The Manager had never really used a knife like this before, but she didn't trust anybody else doing the job, so she started to saw. Soon there was a large hole at the hollow of Hermione's neck. She let out a sigh. Then the Manager hacked downwards, tearing a large gash. Hermione fell out onto the sand, gasping like a fish out of water. She felt dizzy...

The crowd parted, ad the chef came through with a wheelchair and a folded-up stretcher. Hermione closed her eyes, savoring each intake of breath. Her breathing felt...off, though. Shallow. She stared up, training her eyes on the sinking sun and the dark purple sky around it. It's getting late.

Everyone could see the marks of the ropes on her, red in some places, but on her neck, they were blue. She was staring into the distance. 

She didn't look good.

The chef leaned over her for a few moments. "She'll live as long as she doesn't wear herself out. I'll take her back."

"No!" Hermione wheezed. She blinked rapidly. "The killer..." She tried and failed to sit up.

"Listen, please." Her voice was very soft, yet all eyes were on her now. "I was going the right way. You must keep going."

The Manager nodded. "Everybody walk ahead. Please, please keep an eye out for traps."

Hermione propped herself up on her elbows and tried to hide her pain. "I'm coming too."

"No," the chef and the Manager said in unison.

"You know I'm one of the best at figuring things out.

"She needs rest!" the chef argued. 

"You can't go without me," Hermione persisted.

The Manager hesitated. She knew what Hermione was saying to be true. "Okay. Mem, could you get her into the wheelchair?"

Mem, Hermione thought. Master chef and medic. What else has this woman got up her sleeve?

Once Hermione was set, the three of them got to the front of the group, leading them down the shore. At first they were going at a rushed speed, but Mem soon made the group slow down, for the sake of Hermione's breathing. The vacationers chattered and relaxed.

**********

No.

The killer sprinted down the cramped, dim hallway. They were close, dangerously close. This wasn't supposed to happen. It couldn't happen.

I am not letting this happen.

The killer dashed into a room and flung open drawers, rummaging around?

Where is it? Where's the weapon?

It must have misplaced it somewhere... 

Dang it, I'll just use this. With an angry grunt, it turned to the other side of the room and opened the glass case, then grabbed the weapon inside.

Then creeped out of the room.

**********