Ryan Coleman could hear the lustrous blue ocean breaking against the beach below, and the winds tickled the branches and leaves of the trees surrounding him. The path barely existed, untrod with weeds and grass flowing over the shallow, narrow ditch. He ran, his legs burned with complaint for him to cease. His breath was hard and labored while his lungs worked to keep oxygen in his system.

The island, a mere twelve square miles, had no land nearby, just lost somewhere in the south Pacific, the ideal private location for him and his wife to stay the week of their honeymoon. The island had four houses, all opened to different sections of the ocean with all the amenities one could want. Also the servant quarters lay on the outskirts, where the maids, butler and chef stayed in rotation while on the island.

Now they were all dead, slaughtered overnight. His wife was missing as well, and he was searching the island in hopes that she was simply hiding. That, and to find the killer.

Someone had knocked out the phone and radio, and the next ship to return would not arrive for days. Trapped with a killer and his wife missing, and no hope of assistance arriving soon, he feared for both of their lives.

Ryan turned, the sound of a branch snapping resonating behind him. Statue in form, he remained still, eyes moving to survey the landscape, his breaths still hard while he tried to control them. Nothing moved, save for the waves far off to his side and the gentle swaying of the trees.

“Hazel?” His voice was shaky at first, then became more firm as he shouted in frustration. “Hazel! Is that you?”

Rustling sounds came from behind him, and he turned to find the source. Nothing stirred, and his heart rate increased. He grasped his chest, trying to hold it from leaping through his ribs and away to safety.

The third noise, back where he had stopped to look first, drove him back into a run, trying to make it back to the abodes.


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