As a dedicated therapist, encountering the unexpected is part of the job. However, nothing could have prepared me for the day my patient requested assisted suicide. This marked the beginning of an intricate journey, one that would test my professional and personal boundaries:
“Are you finished, Doctor?”
Noah pokes his head through the door, adorned in a polka dot swimsuit and Kierra’s excessively large, heart-shaped sunglasses.
“Almost there,” I respond. “I’ll meet you by the beach.”
“Great!” Noah flashes a wide smile. “Remember the sunscreen!”
I nod, listening as his steps recede.
The island’s final day promises clear skies and calm seas. The storm has passed, leaving a quiet peace in its wake. No patients to counsel, no crises to manage. Just one last pool party to draw everyone together for a farewell.
But this morning, Kierra disabled her tracker again, igniting a suspicion in me that she’s up to something secretive.
Therefore, my plan to join Noah at the beach includes a slight detour.
Exiting my room swiftly, I divert from the beach trail, heading north instead.
Toward the stronghold of Linus Solomon.
Yes, I had Bruce check it before. But my need for control gets the better of me; I must see it for myself.
Kierra’s account from yesterday is full of holes. Why venture out in the midst of a storm? And how did she end up so far from our accommodation?
If only Noah could shed some light on her reasons, perhaps I wouldn’t feel compelled to investigate. Yet, his unwavering faith in her does little to ease my concerns.
After a fifteen-minute walk, I find myself at Linus’s fortress once again. I enter the code: 74291
First, the air hisses, followed by the unlocking sound.
Stepping inside, I leave the door ajar, wary of being trapped in this ominous space.
The absence of Linus and my colleagues renders the place even more daunting, a sterile, dimly lit dungeon.
Scouring the kitchen, I open every drawer, searching for any clue that might justify Kierra’s peculiar actions, clinging to hope for some rationale.
Everything appears untouched since our departure.
Except for a startling detail…
A reddish stain near the office door catches my eye. Could it be blood?
My heart races as I grab a knife and approach the door.
“Hello?” My voice trembles. “I’m armed!”
Silence meets my call.
I push the door open, readying myself.
“HELP ME!”
My heart skips as Bruce, bleeding profusely, clutches at my leg.
“Damn,” I mutter, lowering the knife to assist him. “What’s happened?”
He attempts to speak, but only a choked sound escapes.
It dawns on me then—his throat has been gruesomely cut.
“Oh no,” I whisper, hastily fashioning a makeshift bandage from my shirt to stem the bleeding.
The blood doesn’t stop.
His wound is grave.
“Bruce, I’ll call for help,” I assure him. “But you need to indicate yes or no. Can you do that for me?”
He responds with more coughing, blood bubbling from his lips.
“Hold on, Bruce…”
As I reach for my phone, he weakly bats my hand away.
Seeing tears on Bruce’s rugged face is deeply disturbing. He seems to know his end is near.
Fumbling, he hands me a set of keys. “K…Kierra…” he gasps, his blood splattering my face. “The pool party.”
“What about her?” I probe, desperate for clarity. “What’s happening at the pool party?”
With a look of sheer terror, he utters his last, urgent warning.
“Quickly.”
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