The Island (closed)

[PennySaver]

Doris Parker: Image Profile
Lance King: Image, Profile
Steph: Image, Profile

(OOC: As always, you have to imagine the characters in what I describe they are wearing, not what their image shows they are wearing.)


Steph had promised to come visit Lance at his tent. He'd promised to keep her off the Jobs Assignment Chart if she spent some personal time with him. When she entered his tent, his reaction was one of delight. She was wearing a loose-fitting, off-the-shoulder blouse. It hung low enough on one side to reveal the upper curvature of a firm, round tit. That tit, as well as the other, were supported by a bikini top Lance hadn't yet seen. It had underwire and boning to provide support and that wow effect that tended to drive this man and other men crazy.

The blouse's length was perfect, too. It was long enough to provide her with a little comfort against the cooling night air. But it was short enough to allow Lance to ogle her ass cheeks in a pair of shorts he hadn't seen as of yet.

As usual, Steph wore a pair of casual wedge sandals. They showed off her athletic legs and highlighted her equally fit ass. But they weren't particularly awkward on the ground of this primitive new world of hers.

She gave Lance a moment to ogle her. She even turned a bit to flash him his ass while smiling at his devilishly. She asked playfully, "Like the look? I traded some things for them."

Then she surprised him. She reached for the tent flap, pulled it aside, and waited for another woman to enter.

"Lance ... this is Doris," Steph introduced. She was pretty certain that Lance already knew the woman. He couldn't know how to serve his customer base if he didn't know his customers, after all. She continued, "Doris, this is Lance."

"We've met," Doris said, confirming Steph's suspicions.

Doris was looking Lance up and down with a hungry expression. Steph saw this. It made her smile. This was going to work out for her in a way she hadn't expected this morning when she told Lance she would come visit him in his tent.

She looked Doris up and down again. The two women stood the same height. They were similarly dressed as well. But aside from that, they had little in common. Steph had a delicious body, as Lance had once described while flirting with her. But Doris was a Goddess compared to the less curvy Steph, though.

Doris also had a reputation. Steph had heard about the other beauty's introduction of herself to her tentmates days earlier. (OOC: See Post #29, which is a Day 1 discussion that actually begins with Post #28.) Doris had described how she'd gone from virgin to Whore of Babylon in less than a week.

Doris probably hadn't expected that news to get out. Her tentmates had each shared something personal that they likely hadn't wanted the others to share outside the confines of their tent. Girls can keep secrets when they want.

But that conversation hadn't been the only news that had reached Steph's ears. There was a rumor going around that Doris had had a threesome with two men on the beach. Even more, the story was prefaced by the possibility that she'd already been with a third man before that!

Hearing these rumors had convinced Steph that she had to get to know this woman. And now, here they were. In a very matter-of-fact tone, she said, "Lance here is very eager to get me out of my clothes so that he can fuck me."

She looked to Lance for his reaction. It was about what she'd expected. Then she looked to Doris for hers. It, also, was about what she'd expected. Doris was smiling wide with joy as she stared at Lance.

Steph continued, "Lance has something I want, too. But ... I'm not sure I'm ready to give him what he wants to get it." She looked to Lance. "Doris, though, has told me that she has no qualms about ... standing in for me ... if you think you'd be good with that."

On cue, Doris slid her blouse off her shoulders. It fell to the tent's floor, revealing her otherwise unbridled and wonderfully shaped bosom. Next and without hesitation, she pushed her shorts off her hips. Again, after falling, they revealed no other article of clothing beneath. She stepped out of her more modest sandals. In just seconds, Doris become entirely and incredibly naked.

Steph had brought the other woman here to satisfy Lance's needs, of course. But even this shocked her a bit. She ogled the woman's wondrous form a moment. Then, looking to Lance, she said comically, "Okay, well, I guess it's time I left the two of you alone to--"

Doris immediately donned a shocked expression. She reached out to snatch Steph's arm, asking, "You aren't staying?"

Steph laughed. "No. Of course not." She looked to Lance, then back. She smiled, saying, "Three's a crowd."

"No, it's not," Doris said without hesitation. She moved a bit closer to Steph and whispered, "Please. I was hoping..."

It took Steph a moment to understand where Doris was going with that. She laughed, then blushed a fiery red. "No ...oh no, no no. That's, um..."

Steph looked to Lance, wondering if he'd picked up on the other woman's implication. She could tell in an instance that he had. She shot him a dirty look before turning back to Doris. Softly, she explained, "I'm sorry, but ... I mean ... I've never done that ... a threesome. It's ... it's not really my thing."

"How do you know until you try?" Doris asked.

She moved closer to Steph, then leaned in to kiss her. Their lips just barely made contact before Steph pulled back. It wasn't as if Steph had never kissed another women before. She had. She had and more. But that hadn't been her plan tonight. She'd been trying to avoid sex altogether.

"Doris, really," she said softly, laughing. "You're an incredible woman. And if I was going to pick a woman with whom I wanted to be with ... with whom ... whom ... oh, fuck, you know what I'm trying to say."

Steph looked to Lance again for support. She wasn't going to get it from him, obviously. She looked back to Doris. She was fearing that this entire plan was about to fall apart. She took Doris's' face in her hands, pressed their mouths together, and kissed her long and soft. It wasn't opened mouthed. But it was still erotic.

When their lips parted, Steph asked with a feigned tone of sincerity, "Another night maybe...?"

Doris looked disappointed. But she nodded acceptance. Steph literally turned Doris to face Lance. Then, with a playful pat to the woman's naked ass, she said, "Go get him."

As Doris stepped forward, Steph ever so quickly evacuated the tent.

 

[PennySaver]

Day 5, sundown
Lenny's hut in the forest:

Candice had spent the day working in the first of the newly established garden plots. She and a crew of like-minded castaways performing more intense clearing of some of the bulldozer-cleared land. They were removing rocks, stumps, and roots. It was hard, backbreaking work. But she loved doing it.

She'd been gardening almost as long as she'd been walking. Her grandmother had gotten her started while babysitting her little Candy Cane. The two of them had planted seeds and starts together in the spring and fall. During the late spring, summer, fall, and even into early winter, they harvested vegetables, leaf plants, fruits, berries, and more.

The return of the trekkers had signaled the end of their day, though. Candice knew there'd be too much interest in what the 5 had found to depend on her workers. She had an interest in the Trekkers, too, of course. Well, in one of them at least.

Lenny caught sight of her near the garden and curled his direction toward her. They hadn't announced their relationship yet. Still, the way he stopped close to her might have signaled a familiarity to anyone paying them attention. She couldn't stop smiling at him as they chatted about his hike to the mountain and back.

"You could use a bath," she told him. She looked to her dirty hands, arms, and legs. "I could use one, too. Care to share?"

Later, after dark; Lenny's forest hut:

Candice spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening preparing for her evening with Lenny. She'd expected him home today or tomorrow. She'd already been working on welcoming him.

Ihaka Henares had help her bring a vision into being. She'd wanted to build a small bathtub. The Māori had known just what to do. He'd helped her build a bamboo pole frame. Then she lined it with tarp. Greg had let her cut away a small piece of excess lean-to tarp.

Putting it together, she had a bathtub. It was small. But it would serve two lovers sitting together intimately.

Candice had also collected 15 gallons or so of fresh water. She'd stored it in a variety of containers. Lance had gotten those for her. She'd traded him some plant leaves that she'd identified as an analgesic. She figured he was trading it to someone who needed it for whatever they could give him.

While Lenny was dealing with post-trek stuff, Candice heated the water over his hut's firepit. When he arrived, steam was rising from the tub. She smiled to him, dropped her clothes until she was naked, stepped into the water, and asked with a smirk, "Wash my back, lover?"

 

[HumanBean]

(OOC: This post and the one that follows are my last posts for Day 5. It's kind of a wrap up for some of my male characters. Anyone for whom you do not see an entry here is simply done for the night.)

Day 5 -- midday

Ihaka Henare was disappointed not to see Rachel Hendricks join him again out on the beach to tend to the fish traps they'd put in the waters off the East Beach. He did get company, though, in the form of a small group of men and women who, he was surprised to hear, had been assigned by the young and very enterprising Howie Jacobs to the Seafood Hunting And Foraging Team, which the teen had playfully given the anagram, SHAFT.

It wasn't the same as spending the morning swimming about the shallow waters with the beautiful, sexy Rachel, waiting patiently for her to again take off her clothes and -- with any luck -- see her coming to him to sit on his cock. But it turned out to be a good afternoon in other ways. He taught the 3 women and 2 men about the traps, including how they worked and why they were placed where they were; about which fish, shellfish, and edible sea plants they were looking for; and about what dangers lurked in the waters, from sharks to eels to poisonous sea urchins.

Late in the day, the group returned to the Village with their catch: several small to medium sized fish, dozens of muscles and other edible mollusks, and one six-foot shark that had wandered up into the shallower waters after sensing the scent and movement of the human beings -- probably the first time it had ever experienced one -- and unfortunately swam right under the spear-wielding Ihaka Henare, who put his fishing weapon through the top of the creature just aft of its skull.

Ihaka caught sight of Rachel on occasion -- more often than not with or in the general proximity of her husband. He intentional kept his distance from her, with the exception of when she came to where they were roasting some of the day's catch and he told her with a smile, "We did good out there today. Could have used your help."


After dinner:
Lenny had spent the afternoon dreaming of his imminent evening with Candice. After returning from the trek with Greg, Gail, Ethan, and Henry, he'd spent the next hour or so in the now-more-official dining hall with dozens of castaways, talking about what the trekkers had discovered in the jungle to the north and up on the mountain that had once been a World War II Japanese tunnel complex.

Finally, he'd just stood up and announced, "This has been fun and all, but I haven't had a bath in three days or slept on a relatively soft bed in two nights ... so ... good night everyone, and we'll get back to this conversation tomorrow morning at breakfast."

And with that, he headed for his hut, which he'd built just inside the forest for both privacy from the other castaways and protection from the winds of the upcoming cyclone season. Lenny had expected to find Candice there, but what he hadn't expected was to find her almost immediately stripping off her clothes and stepping into a bathtub!

"What the hell?" he asked with excitement at seeing the tub. He immediately began shedding his clothes as well as he listened to Candice talk about how Ihaka had helped her with the design and construction. Lenny said, "Well, I'll thank the man later. Right now, though..."

Nothing more needed to be said about that! Lenny slipped into the tub with Candice, and for the next hour they ran soapy water over each other's bodies and fucked. The only time they disengaged from one another was when either one of them retrieved more hot water from the pot over the just-out-of-reach firepit.

Lenny loved being inside this woman; despite the moments of discomfort when his monster cock was too much for her, she was eager and able to take his entire length and girth deep inside her. Not all women had enjoyed that the way Candice did. She drove him to orgasm twice before they eventually got out of the very dirty water, rinsed themselves off with clean water, dried each other with a high degree of intimacy, and retired to his bed, where once again they went at it until finally -- sated -- they both slipped off for a badly needed and well-deserved sleep.


Later, at Lance's tent:

Lance couldn't believe what was happening: Stephanie had brought him another woman to fuck in her stead! He wasn't immediately sure how to handle this ... until Doris suddenly dropped all of her clothes and was standing naked before him. He watched Steph slink out of the tent in a hurry, then watched Doris near him slowly with a hungry look in her eyes.

Lance wasn't the type to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he accepted Stephanie's gift graciously. Doris, it turned out, was a fucking animal! She attacked his cock with her mouth until he was spewing generously into her mouth, then enveloped his still-stiff manhood with her pussy and kept at him until she quite literally collapsed upon him, spent and gasping after another of her many orgasms.

Lance wanted to think that he'd caused her all this ecstasy because he was the world's greatest lover. But in all honesty, Doris had been the driving force behind this incredible night of pleasure, and Lance was perfectly fine with the idea that he, too, had been there for the show and that had been plenty fine with him.

He would awake later in the night to find himself alone. Doris had slipped out at some point without his waking to see her. Lance wasn't sure how he felt about that; usually it was he who slipped out, eager to avoid any complications that might follow a hookup

(OOC: Writing a separate post for Greg and the "arrest".)

 

[HumanBean]

Howie Jacobs and Greg Hamilton, after the meeting regarding Yolanda Pierce

(OOC: Just another reminder: teens are NEVER involved in erotic conversation or activities.)

Howie had been waiting outside the Council House for the conclusion of Yolanda's interview with Greg and Gail. He had been the second person to hear of the Lanny's rape; the first had been the girl's sister, Virginia. Ginny, like most of the members of Team Teen, had a great respect for Howie, who was not only representing the minors on the Island Council but who was a charismatic and empathetic genius as well.

"Well, what's happening?" he inquired of Greg when the Air Marshall and Gail emerged from the meeting. "What're we doing? Are you going after--"

"Yes, yes, take it easy, Howie," Greg cut in; he might have sounded annoyed but it actually frustration that was driving his emotions right now; he was greatly disappointed that the horrors of the real world -- in this case rape -- had followed them to this little no-name corner of the globe. Greg turned to the teen, telling him in a calmer, less aggressive tone, "I'm taking care of it, Howie. I thank you for bringing this to our attention. You did good. You have shown yourself to be a good friend to Yolanda. We are lucky to have you."

He hesitated, looking for the words that would satisfy the young man. "But right now ... I need you to let me handle this--"

"I want to go with you," Howie cut in. "I want to be there to help make the arrest."

Greg couldn't help but smile and release a short, soft chuckle. The boy had seen too many police procedural shows. He comforted Howie with a hand to his shoulder, explaining, "There isn't going to be an arrest, per se. It's not like I have an arrest warrant and backup and--"

"I want to be your backup," Howie again cut in. "Let me be your backup."

"Howie!" Greg responded. "Relax. I don't need backup. I'm just going to go have a talk with the guy. I'm going to ask him to explain his side of the story. After that ... I'll figure out what the next step is."

"If you think he did this...?" Howie inquired with a hopeful tone. "Then you'll arrest him ... take him into custody, whatever?"

The teen didn't want to believe that his young friend had been sexually assaulted, but he was sure that it had happened; despite only having met Yolanda 4 days ago, he had come to know her as well as he did any of the other teens. He wanted the perpetrator punished appropriately, though, honestly, he didn't know what appropriately meant here on this island.

"What will happen to him?" he asked Greg. "I mean, it's not like we have a jail."

"I'm working on it, Howie," Greg told him. "Go home. Go to your tent. Let yourself settle down. You're important to us, Howie. I need you sharp and on task tomorrow. Let me deal with this situation. This is what I do."

Actually, it was what Greg did, past tense. But it was a fact that he was the only castaway with this kind of experience in the criminal justice world. He was all the Community had in the way of a Law and Order figure. He watched Howie head off into the dark, then returned to his path to the offender's tent.

But then Greg stopped. He considered what he was about to do ... then turned for his own hut; he'd been happily surprised to return from the trek and find that Marcus Taylor's Construction Brigade had built him a little one room hut of his own and then even relocated his personal possessions from the tent that he had been sharing. Once inside, he located his backpack, which he'd dropped off in between returning to the Village and going to the Council House to deal with the Yolanda situation.

He dug to the bottom of the pack and pulled out service weapon. It was a Glock 19, chambered in 9mm. It wasn't his preferred weapon: he liked the Beretta 92FS, which was famed for its history of a very low jam rate. But the Glock was what his bosses had told him he would carry as an Air Marshall, to it was what he'd been packing with Flight 1122 left Sydney.

He changed out of the sweatshirt he'd donned earlier and slipped back into a lightweight jacket. He was hoping not to need it, but if he did, Greg wanted to have quick and easy access to the concealed carry holster on his hip. He headed back out again and headed for the tent where he'd been told he could find Yolanda's alleged attacker. When he arrived, the tent flap was untied and a flickering light told him that there was likely a small fire inside warming the place up; the tents had come with a small, lightweight, gallon can sized stove that could be fed anything from paper to twigs to leaves to small chunks of wood to heat a tent or cook food.

"James...?" Greg said from a couple of yards outside the tent. "James Johnson. It's Greg Hamilton. Can you come out so that we can talk?"

Greg could hear movement inside the tent; he also thought he saw a body silhouetted by the small fire's flames. He repeated his call, "James Johnson, can you come outside so that we can--"

That was all the farther he got before a man came flying out through the tent flaps at him. Greg's professional instinct was to back away to one side and reach for his sidearm simultaneously. Unfortunately, the man coming at him had caught Greg off guard, reaching him just as he was pulling the Glock from its holster.

The two of them hit the ground together, rolling, as each tried to gain the upper hand. Greg realized that he'd lose his weapon, but he also realized that James hadn't come up with it. The two of them continued wrestling on the ground for a dozen seconds or more before James landed an elbow upon Greg's face. The latter rolled back to the ground, stunned, while the former rolled away and flew up to his feet.

James had expected Greg to be armed; by now, everyone knew that the Air Marshall had had a firearm with him on the plane. He began a frantic search over the ground in the dark for the weapon. And he eventually found it ... in the grip of Howie Jacobs, who was standing a few yards away with the gun leveled at the head of the attacker of his very good friend.

"Give me a reason!" Howie barked at the man. "No...! No! I already have a reason, asshole. Just make a move, so that I can claim it was justified self defense."

Greg by now had recovered and rolled away to his feet, too. He recognized what was happening between the two men and realized that if he didn't do something quickly, Howie was going to blow the rapist away. Without moving, Greg told the teen, "Howie, I'm going to move over to you ... I'm going to come over there, and you are going to give me my gun ... and then--"

But before he could move, James Johnson rushed Howie; a loud, animal-like roar came from him as he neared the teen with his arms out before him, preparing to grab either the weapon, the teen, or both. And then the darkness and otherwise quiet of the night ended with the explosion of gunpowder and the bright red flash of the gun in Howie's hands.

Greg flinched and backed away a step, again instinctively. Before him, the rushing James simply collapsed to the ground near Howie's feet. The teen lowered the gun to point at the rapist's head, but he didn't take a second shot. On the ground, James gasped and gurgled; they would find out in the upcoming moment that Howie had sent a 9mm round through the man's neck.

"Howie...?" Greg called quietly to him. "Howie! Look at me."

The teen continued to stare down and point the weapon at the dying man at his feet. Then, finally, he looked up to Greg. He asked with shock, "Did I kill him? Is he dead?"

"Lower the gun, son," Greg said. "Put it on the ground, Howie. You don't need it anymore."

Howie did as he was told, and Greg crossed slowly over to pick the weapon up. He sheathed it, then checked James. He checked James, finding his neck just below the jawline ripped apart by the hollow point bullet. Greg stood and moved Howie away from the scene quickly.

"What ... what are your doing?" the teen asked, confused. "Where are we--?"

"You're going back to your tent, right now!" Greg growled in barely more than a whisper. He was almost dragging Howie through the darkness between the tents. He looked around for witnesses and didn't yet see any. He stressed, "You weren't here. You didn't shoot James. I did. You understand?"

As he continued forcibly moving the kid away from the scene, Greg told Howie, "You weren't here. You didn't do this. I did."

When he felt the boy understood and would do as directed, Greg hurried back to the scene. By this point, other castaways had shown up. Greg immediately explained that he'd been here to question James regarding an act of violence, but that James had attacked him instead. His story was helped by the fact that the attacker's elbow to his nose had sent a stream of blood down his lips and chin to the front of his shirt.

"Everyone go back to your tents, your huts, whatever," Greg told them all. "Go home for now. There's nothing to see here, and nothing for you to do. I will explain all of this at breakfast tomorrow morning."

Someone thinking quickly had shown up with an airline blanket. Greg laid it over James's head and upper body. He asked everyone to go home again. Little by little, people departed.

(OOC: I was going to continue, but I can't keep my eyes open.)

 

[PennySaver]

Day 5 -- midday


Evening: Candice and Lenny.

Candice giggled as she looked over her shoulder. "What ... you haven't had enough?"

They were laying in his bed after a long, satisfying, erotic bath. Lenny had fucked Candice to three orgasms. Each had been better than the last. Longer. More intense. The last had been simply spectacular. Candice had laid back against the wall of the tub with her legs up, her heels resting upon Lenny's shoulders. She'd never felt so full of cock in all her life.

Candice had heard about G-spots and their almost magically erotic effects when properly stimulated. She'd never entirely believed they existed. She'd never had an experience that made her believe she had one at least. Until now. Lenny's magnificent cock had made contact with the front of her vaginal canal. It had found her G-spot. And it had resulted in something she'd never imagined before.

Lenny had grasped Candice's hips tightly and manhandled her up and down the fronts of his muscular thighs. She slid back and forth over his bent legs as if on some erotic carnival ride. The pleasure rose to what she thought would be another short-lived peak. Instead, the ecstasy plateaued and continued for minutes. Her attempts to prevent others beyond the hut from hearing were simply forgotten. She moaned, cried, and even screamed with wild abandon.

Sometime during the best climax of her life, her lover came, too. She didn't see Lenny's orgasm. She didn't feel it. She was absolutely and entirely lost to the euphoria of what he was doing to her. She only knew he came because he told her so. And because of the expression on his face. Lenny had a great post-orgasm expression. Candice loved seeing it.

After rinsing and drying and laying in his bed, Candice would have thought he'd had enough. She was wrong. Lenny spooned up close to her, grasped and elevated her leg to open her to him, and sunk his entire length inside her once again.

Candice couldn't have imagined cumming again. Not after the tub. And yet, explode she did, along with her lover. Once satisfied, they spooned again ... and slipped into a well-deserved night of rest and recuperation.


Doris and Lance at his tent:

Doris was disappointed that Steph had left Lance's tent. She hadn't been with another woman since her first night of Girls Gone Wild back in Sydney. She hadn't been with a mixed-gender couple since that night either. She was missing the feel of a woman's hands on her. She was missing the feel of a woman's lips on her own. She was missing the taste of a woman's pussy on her tongue.

After Marcus, she'd had two men on the beach, of course. That had marked off another space on her imaginary Sexual Bingo Card. But she was far from winning. She missed Sydney. She missed the sex club. She missed the variety.

Lance wasn't going to get her closer to Bingo. She'd already done a man alone. But as any Bingo player will tell you, its playing, not winning, that's the reason you pay your money. She'd stripped before Steph left. Now, she stripped Lance. She sucked him. She fucked him. She pushed his head to her pussy. She rolled over and they began again.

For almost two hours they devoured each other's bodies in one way or another. Lance was good in bed. Doris appreciated that. She wondered if Steph knew. The two women hadn't actually discussed the redhead's relationship with the black marketer. The conversation had been a simple one:

"You know Lance King?"
"Sure."
"He's handsome, isn't he?"
"Sure."
"He wants to fuck me."
Wide smile. "Good for you."
"I don't want to fuck him."
Disappearing smile. Returning smile. "Can I?"
"Yes. Absolutely."

Eventually, Doris collapsed upon Lance, spent. She felt their heartbeats racing, as if their pace would determine who had won in their race for orgasms. She let her body calm a bit. Then, sitting up, Doris was ready to begin again. Unfortunately, Lance was out cold. She could have awoken him. But he looked so peaceful. And besides, she doubted he had anymore steam left in him.

She dressed and left. She didn't go back to her tent, though. The guys from the beach last night had invited her to their place anytime she wanted to stop in...

 

[PennySaver]

Gail, Yolanda Pierce, and her sister Virginia Pierce
Council House

Gail stayed with Yolanda after Greg left to seek a conversation with the teen's attacker. Through the structure's wall, she heard an anxious Howie Jacobs ask, "Well, what's happening? What're we doing? Are you going after--"

"Yes, yes, take it easy, Howie," Greg cut in.

After that, the conversation was first muted, then unheard at all. The men had moved off, Gail presumed.

Yolanda's sister had been waiting outside with Howie. She was now inside the Council House. She held her younger sister tightly in her arms as the latter returned to sobbing once again. The three of them simply sat there for quite a while.

It had been suggested that Yolanda go home and tell her parents about what had happened. Gail was in no hurry to make the distraught girl do that, though. There was time.

Then, an explosion cracked through the night. Gail recognized it immediately as a gunshot. To the best of her knowledge, there was only one person on the island with a gun. She told the other women, "Stay here! Don't go outside!"

She rushed out of the Council House and looked around. Others were poking their heads out of their own tents or huts. Gail knew where Greg had been going. She hurried that way. It didn't take long to reach the location of the incident.

"Oh my god," she murmured. James Johnson was laying on his belly, head to one side. He and the ground were dark with his blood. "What the hell--"

Movement caught her attention. She looked up to see Greg emerging from the darkness. He'd been hurrying Howie away, not that Gail knew that. She saw the gun in his hand. In dismay, she asked, "What happened?"

"He charged me ... tried to take my gun," Greg began. Thus far, he was telling the truth. Then he lied, "I feared for my safety ... I feared for my life ... and ... I shot him."

By now, a crowd was gathering.

Greg immediately explained his reason for confronting James. Gail studied the faces of the others. She was surprised at not seeing surprise in their faces. It was as though they'd known he was a dangerous man all along. Gail couldn't recall any serious interactions with James over the past 5 days. Had she missed something?

Greg told everyone to go home. He said he would explain at breakfast. Someone covered James with a blanket. Gail told Greg, "We can't just leave him laying here."

They knew of a tent being used for supplies only. Greg, Gail, and another castaway who had remained behind picked James up. They transferred the body to the tent. Gail pulled Greg away from the others. She whispered, "This is going to be a problem. Some aren't going to believe you. Some people are going to fear you. You're the only guy on the island with a gun."

 

[HumanBean]

Day 6 -- Greg explains the killing of James Johnson


7am:

Greg Hamilton had barely slept the night before, and he felt like a zombie as he walked to the Dining Hall in search of a badly needed cup of coffee. He'd been wracked by so many competing and tragic thoughts: the rape of 16-year-old Yolanda Pierce; the killing of her adult-aged rapist, James Johnson, by the also-16-year-old Howie Jacobs; by Greg's spontaneously blurted out claim that he himself had been the one who'd pulled the trigger; and by the far less important question of whether or not the Community was told about the other island they'd discovered to the north of their own, currently referred to those who knew of it as Gail's Island as it was she who sighted it first.

Over the two or three hours that followed the shooting, Greg hadn't been able to sit still. He'd sat with the body in the Food Storage Tent for quite a while, working on the details of the story he was going to tell the others in the morning; then -- after the teen had searched him out -- he'd escorted Howie back to his tent, stressing on him yet again the need to go with the story that Greg -- a professional law enforcement official, the owner of the involved gun, and the Community's official cop -- was the true killer of the man some had called JJ and that Howie himself had not been on the scene at any time; then to Gail's tent to invite her out for a whispered conversation about the pros and cons of the plan he'd formulated so quickly and, possibly, without enough forethought; and finally back to where the body of the rapist lay on the ground beneath a Pacific Air first class blanket, awaiting a decision on what would be done with the remains.

As the castaways filed into the Dining Hall, Greg couldn't help but notice all the glances and stares from the Community members; the story of last night's shooting had made its way round to nearly every tent and hut by now, despite the early hour.

Greg sat in silence at what had come to be called the Council Table; it had been built from one of the airdropped pallets and sat at the far end of the Hall, which of course was nothing more than the original tarp lean-to under which the entire 115 passengers and crew had huddled during that first rain storm on Day 1 of their adventure. Eventually, each of the other Council Members -- Gail Peters, Ethan Patel, Lance King, and Howie Jacobs -- joined him at the table; the first two had originally sat flanking Greg on the side of the table facing the Community, while the latter two sat at the ends to his left and right. But Greg asked Gail to switch places with Howie; he wanted to be close to the teen should he begin to waver regarding keeping to the story.

Greg could have waited for everyone to finish their meals before he began his presentation, but the Hall was absolutely abuzz with whispers and questions about the facts of the previous night. He finally stood and looked out over the castaways, and while he didn't ask for their silence or attention, he got it quicker than he'd expected ... and found himself unready to begin his explanation to them.

"I'm not going to beat around the bush," Greg began, wanting to get the facts out quickly before some of the gossip being passed around made its way into the conversation. "Last night ... while attempting to question one of our male community members about his alleged involvement in the rape of--"

Greg nearly said of a minor but caught himself. It had been decided that the preservation of Yolanda's identity was of utmost importance, and -- like Greg's stressed demands on Howie to remain silent about the shooting -- Gail had stressed to Yoland and her sister, Virginia, that they were to talk to no one about what had happened other than their parents. There weren't that many minor females in the first place, so mentioning that status would have made it possibly easy for others to figure out just who the victim had been. Greg's previous career as a Sexual Assault Investigator in the US Army Military Police had taught him all about victim shaming, and he wasn't about to have that happen to the poor girl.

He continued with his explanation, "--the rape of one of our female community members ... that male charged me with the intention of taking possession of my firearm, which was in my holster on my hip."

Greg hadn't made it a habit to bring his Glock with him to breakfast in the past, but this morning he'd worn it as something of a visual aid for his explanation. He now turned his body a bit to the left and patted the snapped holster, wanting everyone to see it in its safe position at his side.

He continued, "I attempted to prevent his taking of my weapon, which resulted in a ... let's call it a tussle over the ground. He succeeded in getting my weapon out of the holster, but I was able to retrieve it, and ... fearing for my life and the lives of my fellow community members ... you ... should this man get possession of my firearm ... I took what I deemed was appropriate action to protect myself and you, the people who I have been asked to serve as Island Marshall."

Someone hollered out, "So you shot him."

Greg looked down from the crowd for a moment, drew and exhaled a deep breath, then looked up and responded, "I'm sorry to say that, yes, I shot this man. He died ... almost immediately--"

"Who was it?" one of the gossip-deprived castaways called out.

Again, Greg hesitated before answering, "His name was James Johnson."

The Community came alive with conversation about the dead man. Yet another man hollered out, "You said alleged rape. Did he do it or not?"

"Please, please, everyone," Greg called out, trying to regain control over the situation. When he thought he would be heard, he said, "Alleged or not is kinda moot at this point."

"Not to the dead guy!" someone hollered out.

Greg signaled for quiet again, then continued, "The facts are these: an accusation of rape was made; that accusation was investigated by two members of your Island Council, Gail Peters and me myself; I tried to speak to the alleged perpetrator, who attacked me and attempted to take my firearm from me; and ... that perpetrator was killed. Those are the facts."

The Dining Hall was caught up in loud conversation and debated now. Greg tried to regain control a couple of different times in between being asked questions by castaways sitting near to him. He was hearing a great deal of conversation about whether or not their Marshall had done the right thing ... or whether he'd executed a man who might not have been guilty of anything more than fucking a woman who later developed regrets and cried rape.

 

[PennySaver]

Day 6 (cont.)

7am:

Gail Peters' night had been similarly horrid to Greg Hamilton's. She hadn't slept well. She'd wandered about the Village, too. Her destinations had been different than his, though. She hadn't gone to the food storage tent. She'd had no interest in being anywhere near James Johnson's corpse.

But she'd visited Howie, just like Greg had. She'd hadn't seen the teen shot Johnson, of course. But Howie had been part of the investigation of Yolanda's rape. She'd sensed that he was more affected by it than he'd wanted anyone to know. And while with him, he'd confessed to her that it had been he who had actually killed James.

Gail had stressed the same thing to Howie that Greg had. Howie was not to tell anyone about his part in the event. Howie, if asked, was to say that he'd been in his tent. In fact, Gail told him that he was to claim no part in the rape/murder whatsoever. "Nothing happened to Yolanda. She was not raped. She told you nothing about a rape. You have no knowledge of one. You weren't in the Council House tonight. You weren't outside James's house. You ... weren't ... there!"

Gail left Howie's feeling confident that he could and would keep his participation in all of this to himself. He was an intelligent young man. He knew the ramifications of all that had happened. He would accept this new truth, she was sure.

She'd visited Yolanda again, too. The girl had been traumatized by her attack, obviously. The shooting of Johnson, once she'd heard of it, had affected her as well. She felt guilty about it. That had surprised Gail to no end. She thought that the girl would have been happy to hear that her rapist had been killed.

Gail had stressed to Yolanda that the man's death had absolutely nothing to do with her. "James Johnson attacked our Marshall. He tried to take his gun. His death was an accident and was caused because he was a violent man. It had nothing to do with you, and you should feel no guilt about his death."

Gail had wanted to tell Yolanda that she should feel relieved. She'd wanted to tell the teen that she should be happy about the rapist's demise. But she kept silent on that. Yolanda was already going through so much. Gail didn't want her associating her own tragedy with what had happened to Johnson.

...................

8am:

"I'm not going to beat around the bush," Greg began his talk to the castaways.

Gail listened to the Marshall explain the previous night's events. She gave him supportive smiles anytime he looked her direction. She knew this was hard for him. He was a man of truth and justice. In this case, though, truth and justice hadn't gone down the way he'd wanted them to.

Sure, in Gail's mind, Johnson had gotten his justice. She had believed and still did believe that Yolanda had been raped just as she'd explained. And she'd wanted Johnson punished. She hadn't known what form that punishment should take. Coming out to find the rapist dead on the ground had had an immediate affect on her, though. Her first and unapologetic thought had been, "Good."

But the truth wasn't as simple as the justice had been. Greg was lying to the Community. He was telling them that he had killed Johnson. It went against his code of honesty. But he was lying to protect Howie. And in a way, he was lying to protect Yolanda. Greg had chosen this path. And Gail was going to support him.

But then things began to fall apart. Greg gave his explanation of the killing. In the middle of it, someone hollered out, "So you shot him."

Greg confirmed what the castaway had said. He also confirmed who he'd killed. "His name was James Johnson."

Gail's father had been a US Naval officer with over 35 years of service. He'd been an Executive Officer at 6 different commands, on land and at sea. As XO, it had been his job to know the people serving under him. It had been his job to handle personnel issues while his Commanding Officers had run their bases or sailed their ships.

Here, it was a similar situation. The Island Council was the Community's government, sure. But Greg was seen as the CO of the group. And Gail has been accepted as the XO. She had had a lot of help from others, including Howie with the teens and Lance with the adults. But it was she who knew the people almost more than they knew themselves.

And she could sense that the crowd was uneasy with Greg's explanation of the shooting. They were also uncertain of the crime that had precipitated it.

"You said alleged rape," one castaway cried out. "Did he do it or not?"

Greg tried to make them understand that guilt was no longer an issue. He used the word moot. Gail had cringed at that. She would have chosen a different tack. It even led to another man crying out, "Not to the dead guy!"

Gail could see that Greg was losing the crowd. But even more frightening was what she saw near the perimeter of the lean-to Dining Hall. Yolanda and her sister, Virginia, were engaged in a seemingly emotional dialogue with each other. And Gail quickly figured out what was happening.

She caught Howie's eye. She nodded his attention to the two young women. She hadn't expected him to rise and go to the Pierce's. When he did, though, she was relieved. He was casual about it. He chatted with them a minute or so. When he returned, he leaned in close to Gail and whispered, "Lanny wants to tell the truth. She wants to tell about the rape. She'd concerned that Greg is not being believed and needs her help."

Howie sat again. Gail studied the two women as they continued their whispered but obviously emotional dialogue. She feared what was coming. At one point, Yolanda started to rise from where she sat on an overturned 5-gallon plastic bucket. Viginia stopped her though. The older sister looked to Gail for guidance.

Gail stood up suddenly and called out over the raucous crowd, "James Johnson raped me!"

In dramatic fashion, the Dining Hall fell into total silence in less than two seconds. Gail waited a moment. She looked down to her now-empty breakfast plate. Then she looked to Greg. His face was filled with an expression that didn't surprise her. Then she looked out over the castaways again.

"James ... Johnson ... raped me," she repeated. She stressed each word. And then she repeated it for good measure. "James ... Johnson ... raped me."

She hesitated once more. Then she continued. She told the castaways in detail what the now-dead man had done to her. She used Yolanda's story almost word for word, only with her as the victim. The castaways listened in total and sometimes stunned silence.

"It happened the night before I left the Village with the others for the mountain," Gail lied. "I tried to keep it to myself. I didn't want to talk about it. I was ashamed. I thought that maybe I had done something to cause this ... this violation."

She glanced to Greg again, then back out. "But I was brave enough to tell Marshall Hamilton. I feared that if James Johnson could do this to me, he could do it to one of you!"

She glanced to some of the older women who had teen daughters amongst the castaways. She added, "Or to one of your daughters." She paused, then went on, "So I reported this crime to our Marshall ... and he went to speak to James ... to get the truth from him ... and instead of facing up to what he'd done ... James attack our Marshall ... tried to take his gun ... take it and likely use it ... against Greg ... against me, maybe ... maybe against one of you!"

Gail hesitated. She suddenly realized that she was crying. Not sobbing dramatically. But a few tears had run down her face. It was noticed by others. She cleared her throat. "I'm not sorry that James Johnson is dead. If I'd had the courage ... I would have killed him myself."

She looked to Greg again. "But James's death is not the fault of our Marshall." To the crowd she continued, "Marshall Greg Hamilton is our protector. It is his job to keep us safe from those who would do us harm."

Gail's voice began to get hard as she went on. "He didn't ask for this responsibility. The four other members of the Island Council chose to give him this responsibility ... and you, our Community ... you voted three mornings ago ... confirming that he was the man for this responsibility."

She swept her gaze over the castaways. She tried to make eye contact with every one of them, if only for an instant. "If you think you are better suited for this responsibility ... speak up! Otherwise..."

Gail looked back to Greg again. She gave him another supportive smile. She looked to the castaways. She lifted her hand into the air, as she and the others had three days earlier. "Otherwise ... show your support for Greg Hamilton as our duly elected Marshall."

Almost instantly throughout the Dining Hall, hands rose into the air. And little by little, more of them rose over the next few seconds. Then, the applause began. And before long, the Community was showing its support for Greg Hamilton, Island Marshall.

Oh, there were some people simply sitting there, unmoved by Gail. But they were in the minority. Gail looked to Greg with a smile. She asked him over the rising noise, "What next ... Marshall?"

 

[HumanBean]

Day 6 (cont.)
Dining Hall
Discussing James Johnson's killing

7am:

"James Johnson raped me!"

Greg had been midsentence, trying to further explain and justify the death of James Johnson, when Gail stood from her seat and blurted out her admission. Of course, Greg knew it to be bullshit: he himself had claimed the killing despite having personally witnessed Howie Jacobs pulling the trigger.

"James ... Johnson ... raped me," she continued as the Hall went silent and all eyes turned her way. "James ... Johnson ... raped me."

Greg's heart had been beating a bit faster and harder because of the lie that he had been trying to pass off as truth, so Gail's lie caused his anxiety to jump through the roof. She went on to describe Johnson's crime almost word for word the way Yolanda had described it to Gail and him last night prior to his visit to her rapists. Greg simply stared at her in shock.

"I'm not sorry that James Johnson is dead," Gail told the castaways. "If I'd had the courage ... I would have killed him myself." She looked to him and continued, "But James's death is not the fault of our Marshall."

Greg understood what she was trying to do, of course: by putting a face -- and a violated body -- to the alleged crime, Gail was making the situation more personal for the others and -- as was Gail's hope, Greg assumed -- making the shooting look less random and, thus, less questionable.

"Marshall Greg Hamilton is our protector," Gail continued. "It is his job to keep us safe from those who would do us harm."

As she talked more about his responsibility to the Community, Greg thought on the whole law and order position that he held. For the most part, he'd been given the job of Marshall for two reasons, neither of which was a ringing endorsement: first, he had been the only law enforcement official on Flight 1122; second, he possessed the only firearm. On occasion, he'd wondered if his getting the job hadn't been somewhat akin to a warlord in some ancient, primitive region of the world becoming leader of the people there simply because he had the biggest, scariest sword and could severe the head of anyone who stood up to him.

Gail challenged, "If you think you are better suited for this responsibility ... speak up! Otherwise..."

Greg found himself instinctively looking out over the crowd for his imminent, prospective replacement. Through Howie's interviews with the others for the purpose of streamlining Job Assignment Chart appointments, Greg had learned that he was neither the only castaway with a background in law enforcement nor the only former member of the armed services; in fact, including Julio Ferraz, there were two castaways who were still on active duty and three others -- one male, two females -- who were still in their country's Reserves, one each from the US, Australia, and New Zealand.

Despite the competition, Greg still believed that he was the best man for the job of Marshall -- or whatever you wanted to call the position. Still, he'd spoken to the Council about the need to appoint some Deputies as time went on. This was only their 6th day on the island, and already they'd had a gun-related killing. There had been other minor issues, too, and -- of course -- there was Lance King, who Greg was certain would become a problem in the very near future.

Gail demanded, "Otherwise ... show your support for Greg Hamilton as our duly elected Marshall."

Greg was happily shocked to see the reaction of the Community. He'd actually begun thinking that might be on his way out, and yet now the majority of the castaways were showing their support for him. He couldn't help but smile with a combination of relief, delight, and pride.

"What next ... Marshall?" Gail asked him, sharing his smile with him.

He studied her a moment, leaned closer, and whispered with a sincere tone, "Thank you, Gail. You didn't have to do that ... but ... I understand why you did it, and I appreciate it." He looked out to the crowd, waved quiet those who were still showing their appreciation, and told them, "Sit down everyone ... finish your breakfast. We'll, um ... we'll deal with this later."

He'd been about to sit and attempt to let this go but then thought better of it. He looked out upon the castaways again, then told them, "This has been a tragic event. I ... I don't want any of you to think that this hasn't affected us greatly--" As he said this, he gestured between Gail and himself, then gestured out toward the others as he continued, "--or won't possibly affect some of you ... in ways you don't yet understand."

He looked to each of the Council Members, then out toward one of the men who'd questioned the shooting; Greg had only just now realized that he'd seen the man with Johnson on occasion, possibly making them friends. With a solemn tone, he said, "Regardless of what he did ... or of how he died ... James Johnson deserves a proper and respectful funeral. Noon ... today."

The man Greg had eyeballed asked, "Where?"

Greg thought about it a moment; he didn't really want to walk past a marked grave site every day for the rest of how ever long they ended up here. But he felt a need to let those who had actually known Johnson participate in the decision. He told the man who'd spoken up, "Where would you suggest?"

The man thought for a moment, then said, "West Beach. There's a little rise, up about a mile. James liked it."

Greg's pleasant smile faded a bit as he heard the location's description. He looked to Gail to see if she recognized it, too, as the spot where Yolanda had described getting raped. His heart was suddenly pounding fiercely with anger, and he found himself wondering if perhaps this other man had either been involved in the rape or had, at the least, known about it before it happened. He so badly wanted to whip out his Glock and shoot this man based solely on his suspicion of this man.

Instead, he forced a smile and told him, "West Beach ... noon." He asked, "Will you help us? I think James would appreciate that."

The man nodded, and everyone went back to finishing their breakfast before beginning their work days.

 

[PennySaver]

Day 6, noon
James Johnson's funeral

Eloise Friendly:

The past 4 days had been torturous for Eloise. Greg Hamilton had given her the most satisfying night of sex of her life. That had happened on just their second day on the island. This was the sixth. They hadn't been together since. Not sexually, anyway.

They'd sat with each other at meals since then. They'd snuck away from prying eyes to clutch each other's bodies and kiss in the jungle or in the dark of night. Eloise had felt Greg's hands on her tits and ass, though, only over her clothes. She'd clutched her own hand around his cock. She'd kneaded it eagerly, again through fabric.

But they hadn't made love again since. Greg had left on the trek to explore the mountain to the north. He'd been gone for two nights. Then, yesterday, he'd returned. But it wasn't the homecoming for which Eloise had hoped. Greg had been told of Yolanda's rape. He was the Community's Marshall. He had to deal with this.

Eloise had been willing to wait for her turn to have Greg's attention. She'd assumed he would need an hour or two. He'd come find her after that. And yet, morning had come and gone without him.

Like the others, Eloise had gone to breakfast expecting news about the previous night. She approached Greg but refrained from expressing her emotions beyond a flirty smile and whisper of, "I missed you."

Eloise listened to Greg's explanation of the shooting with the others. She was angered by the whispers of doubt regarding Greg's ability and authority. She felt unable to defend him, though. They were lovers. She had no credibility. She bit her tongue.

She'd tried to talk to him after breakfast. But there was still so much going on that required his attention. Her frustration had only been increasing. She'd slipped into her tent, found her tentmates out, slipped her hands into her panties, and masturbated until she exploded in ecstasy. It hadn't been the same thing as being fucked by Greg, of course. But she'd been about to explode without release.

Eloise was more relaxed when she emerged from her tent. She watched as the Community began James Johnson's funeral preparations. The dead rapist had been wrapped in a cloth in which he would be buried. He was laid out on a stretcher made from bamboo poles and jackets. The sleeves of the jackets had been pulled into the bodies of the coats. Then the poles were slipped down through the sleeves.

Eloise couldn't help but chuckle a bit at the concept. She'd done the same as a girl scout when a friend had twisted her ankle on a hike. She wondered how many experiences from her scouting or summer school days would come handy here in the days, months, and possibly years to come.

The pall bearers lifted James's body and carried him to and through the South Trail. Eloise was surprised to see nearly the entire Community slowly fall into the procession. She was particularly surprised to see Gail Peters join the others. James had raped Gail. Why would she show the man the respect of attending his funeral?

Eloise had considered staying in the Village. But the number of those staying behind shrunk to just a couple of handfuls. She'd never been a rebel. For good or bad, she didn't want to be remembered as one of those who'd thought James unworthy of respect.

She hurried to join Gail. With the In-Flight Services Supervisor were Yolanda and Virginia Pierce. The sisters seemed to be particularly emotional about what was happening. Eloise didn't know, of course, that Yolanda was the true rape victim. She didn't understand the teen's dismay. Had she been friends with James?

She was a beautiful young woman. Pretty face, shapely body. She was just 16, though, while James Johnson had been in his 30s. But Eloise knew that these were only numbers to some men. They were only numbers to some women. Still, it didn't even occur to Eloise that perhaps there was more to this rape story than she knew.

Several minutes later, the procession reached its destination. A grave had been dug close to the tree line where the jungle met the sands of the beach. The castaways created a semicircle, the ends near the forest, the curve in the sand. They stood there three or four of five deep in places.

Feeling less tentative, Eloise looked for Greg. She casually and slowly weaved her way through the others until she was standing beside him. His mind was elsewhere. Without giving warning of what was coming, Eloise took Greg's hand into her own, not knowing how he would react.

 

[HumanBean]

(OOC: Again, the pic I use below -- which was actually chosen by Penny but first posted by me below -- is a bit out of context. Imagine her at the beach with the jungle behind her; also, picture her wearing a modest black dress. BTW, I'm going to be writing Paula, for reasons that will become apparent over time.)

Day 6, noon
James Johnson's funeral

Greg Hamilton with Eloise Friendly; Paula Griggs with Gail Peters:

Greg had been suffering pussy withdrawal, just as Eloise had been suffering the associated cock syndrome. The only difference between them had been that his mind had been wracked with so many issues that were his concern as either the Marshall, a Council Member, or both.

If was nice then that -- as he watched the pall bearers lowering James Johnson's wrapped body into the hole they'd dug earlier -- he felt his lover's hand move into his own as it dangled at his side. He was initially surprised, then smiled without hesitation; he felt no reason to hide their little act of intimacy because he had decided during the trek to the mountain that he was ready for their relationship to become public knowledge.

Oh, it wasn't as if he wanted them to stand together at dinner and announce to the Community, Hey, ya'll, for your information, we're fucking But Greg was fine with the word getting out and around in a natural, casual way, presuming that Eloise was -- something which the hand holding told him she likely was ready for also.

Greg gently squeezed Eloise's hand in his as he looked back out upon the service, finding the pall bearer/gravediggers finished with lowering Johnson gently into the grave. Most of the castaways were to his left or right in a semicircle, but there were a handful of people standing essentially right at the jungle's meeting with the beach. One of those people was Paula Griggs, who was an active-duty Chaplain with the Australian Defense Force. He made eye contact with her and said from the opposite side of Johnson's grave, "I've been told that you have been chosen to offer a few words?"

As Greg listened to Paula speak about the man lying in the bottom of the sandy hole, he wondered if she'd known him at all. There were still so many of the castaways with whom Greg was still getting acquainted; by now, he knew every one of them by face and most of them by name, and yet occasionally he caught himself feeling awkward as someone came up to ask him a question or make a comment and he hoped that they would tell him their name or, at the least, someone else would use it incidentally so that he himself could act like he'd known it all along.

..................​

If Greg had spoken his question regarding her familiarity with James out loud, Paula would have been tempted to tell him No, I don't know the man at all. Still, she was able to speak over his grave as if she'd known him for years. She'd always had a knack of saying a lot without really saying a lot; it was something she'd had to learn to get her through the dozen or so funerals over which she officiated most months of the year without any real knowledge of the deceased.

She'd taken some time this morning to speak to the handful of men and women who had known James, and from that she'd been able to give him a proper send off. No one had known if James was a church goer, though, so Paula had kept the ceremony spiritual but not specifically religious in nature. That, too, was a gift.

"If anyone would like to say a few words," she offered when she'd finished her own part of the service, "I am certain that James would appreciate your partaking of his departure to the afterlife."

Paula typically made this offer, and more often than not some friend or family member said something kind and loving. In this case, she'd very nearly skipped this step. After all, this was the funeral of an alleged rapist who'd been shot dead as he tried to take hold of the Marshall's gun -- also allegedly -- for, presumably, nefarious reasons. There was no telling what might come out of the mouth of a castaway regarding either the rape or the killing.

Fortunately, though, there were only a few very short farewells for the man, some religious, some not, before the castaways began turning and dispersing in every direction. The three of the gravediggers remained behind to begin shoveling sand over the body, with Paula also remaining there for a moment as a sign of respect.

But when she saw Gail Peters turn and begin to walk away, she told the three men she would return in a moment to conclude her words over the grave and yet-to-be-positioned marker, then hurried off to catch up with Gail. Once at her side, Paula asked, "Can we speak a moment?"

She gestured a direction out toward the surf, wanting to have some sound cover for their conversation, then slipped her hand into the crook of Gail's elbow and headed them that way at a leisurely pace. Once they were out of hearing range of any other castaway, Paula asked with a sincere, sympathetic tone, "How are you, Gail? How are you dealing with all of this?"

She hesitated to let Gail speak if she wanted to, then told her, "Each and every one of us has been dealing with a lot since we arrived here ... since we were abandoned here. I've done my best to make myself known to each of the castaways ... to let them know that -- if they feel the need -- I am hear to listen to them ... to help them with whatever might be affecting them ... might be causing them any stress."

Paula caught Gail's eyes, smiled, and said, "And I want you to know that I am here for you, too ... particularly you. This ... thing that happened to you ... if can be very damaging, emotionally crippling even, if you let it fester within you. I have learned that most victims of sexual assault survive and even thrive ... if they talk to someone in whom they find total trust. I want you to know that I can be that person for you."

 

[PennySaver]

Day 6, early afternoon
Following James Johnson's funeral

Gail Peters with Paula Griggs:

"Can we speak a moment?"

Gail hadn't expected Paula to approach her here, at the funeral. Later maybe, when they were in a more private setting perhaps. Paula was about the closest thing the Community had to a Counselor, after all.

"Of course," Gail answered. They turned toward the ocean.

"How are you, Gail?" Paula began. "How are you dealing with all of this?"

Gail knew that Paula was speaking not of the funeral but of the rape. She felt a bit awkward about the topic, of course. Gail hadn't been raped. She'd only said she had. Of course, it hadn't been like other false accusations. Gail hadn't been trying to punish some man by accusing him of sexual assault.

She'd been trying to draw attention away from the true rape victim, 16-year-old Yolanda Pierce. She'd also been trying to support Greg by putting a victim's face to the crime that had resulted in James Johnson's death. For now, both seemed to have worked.

Gail questioned, however, whether her secrets would remain secret if Paula delved into the situation. She didn't like the idea of lying to the island's pastor and spiritual counselor. It seemed ... sacrilegious. Gail wasn't the religious type. Oh sure, Sunday school with her gramma when she was a child. Still, she didn't feel comfortable expanding on the tale of James Johnson with the Communities Chaplain.

"I'm fine, Paula," she said. It was true. She stressed, "Really. I'm fine. Thank you for your concern."

But Paula persisted. "Each and every one of us has been dealing with a lot since we arrived here ... since we were abandoned here."

That was very true indeed. Gail had taken it upon herself to get to know each and every passenger of Flight 1122. She wasn't a counselor, of course. She didn't have Paula's training. Her involvement had been more unemotional. And yet, she'd seen how some of the castaways weren't adjusting as well as others.

There were people who almost seemed happy to be here. Rachel Hendricks, for one. Rachel got up every morning, dressed for swimming, headed to the East Beach, snorkeled, fished, came home. Gail had never seen an expression of sadness on the woman's face. She'd never heard a word of regret come from the woman's mouth.

Eloise Friendly was another one. Oh, sure, the young Flight Attendant had seemed like a total scaredy cat initially. But then she'd hooked up with Greg Hamilton. Since then, Eloise had acted like she was on vacation.

And Doris Parker. Now there was a story. Doris was so occupied with sex that Gail wondered if she even knew she was on an otherwise deserted island. Doris had told her tentmates about her sex club adventures in Sydney. Gail had also heard rumors of the woman's threesome on the beach.

There was yet more gossip that the young beauty was trading sex for black market goods provided to her by Lance King. Of course, the details regarding this story were far from factual. Doris had fucked Lance because Steph Harrison had asked her to. Of course, Gail didn't know that.

Paula continued, "I've done my best to make myself known to each of the castaways ... to let them know that -- if they feel the need -- I am hear to listen to them ... to help them with whatever might be affecting them ... might be causing them any stress."

"Yes, I know," Gail responded politely. "I've heard from some of the others. They've told me you are a godsend." She chuckled. "Even the ones who say they aren't religious or spiritual."

Gail wasn't trying to offend Paula, of course. She just wanted the woman to know that even those who didn't know that the bible began with In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth appreciated all that she'd done for them.

"And I want you to know that I am here for you, too," Paula continued. She moved a bit forward to better make eye contact with Gail. She continued, "... particularly you. This ... thing that happened to you ... if can be very damaging, emotionally crippling even, if you let it fester within you."

Gail was becoming uncomfortable. It wasn't like it might have been with a true sexual assault victim. It couldn't be, because she wasn't one. It was about the lying. Gail hadn't actually lied to Paula. Not yet, anyway. But it was coming. If this conversation continued, Gail wasn't going to go down that path. She didn't want that.

"I won't let it," she told the Chaplain. She clarified, "Fester, I mean."

Paula talked about how talking about such traumas could be helpful. She offered herself as a sounding board, "I want you to know that I can be that person for you."

"Thank you, Paula," Gail again said. "I appreciate it. I really do. I ... I just don't know if I'm ready to talk about it right now. But later, sure."

There was a call from behind them. Gail almost missed it over the sound of the nearby surf. She turned to find Doris Parker jogging slowly out toward them. The woman stopped a couple of dozen yards short. She had an expression that was hard to read. Had she realized that perhaps she might have interrupted a counseling session. Or was it something else?

"Maybe we can talk later today?" Gail asked. She didn't really have an interest in talking about this at any point. She just wanted to get away from Paula at this moment in time. Gail looked to Doris again, smiled knowingly, and said, "I think you might have another patient."

They chuckled together. Gail turned and continued down the beach. She wanted some alone time. She looked back after a bit. Doris and Paula were standing together, talking. Gail studied them a moment. Gail was pretty good at reading situations. And she knew Doris. What she saw happening between them was subtle. It was also intimate. It was more than just a counseling session.

............​

Doris waited for Gail to turn and depart before approaching Paula. She stopped close to her. Intimately close. She said softly, "We didn't get to finish our conversation this morning."

Doris had been sensing something in Paula over the past couple of days. It had made her hopeful.

This morning, she'd sat with the Chaplain at breakfast for the first time. The conversation had begun as a normal one. They talked about the food. They talked about being trapped on a deserted island. They talked about the Community. They talked about the dead guy about to be buried.

After breakfast, Doris had searched out Paula. She'd restarted their conversation about nothing in particular. There were others within earshot. It made saying what Doris wanted to say impossible. She'd finally asked, "Can we talk somewhere ... privately."

But they'd been interrupted. There was a funeral to execute. Paula had responsibilities. Doris had reluctantly let the woman go attend her duties.

But now, she had her alone again. She stepped a bit closer. Peeking to her right, she caught Gail looking their way. She gave the stewardess a bit of a glare. Gail turned and headed up the beach again. Doris turned her attention back to Paula.

"I have a tent all to myself now," Doris said. She stepped a tiny bit closer. She let her gaze drop to Paula's bosom, then back up. "There was an empty tent."

She wasn't about to tell Paula how she'd gotten possession of it. Lance had arranged it somehow. He'd arranged it, of course, because she was really good at sucking cock.

"I thought maybe you might like to come by tonight?" Doris said with a suggestive tone in her voice. "I have a couple of what I'm told are the last of the little airline bottles of rum."

She reached out to trace a fingertip over Paula's forearm. The gesture was obviously meant to imply a desire for intimacy.