Metamorphosis 33

Act 1 -- The Island

At first, Sarah had been sure that she wouldn't be able to handle the heat of the Island, never mind the Mediterranean as a whole, imagining long and sleepless nights wrapped in sweat-soaked bedclothes and days of fatigue that would follow. She was used to a colder climate and the need to wrap up in warm clothes on a daily basis, but to her surprise, she found herself acclimatising within the first day aboard the ship that would carry her around the various islands on their cruise. Somehow the warmth seemed to sink into her skin, rather than fluster her, and she grew to enjoy the sensation of the sun on her bare skin more than she could have imagined.

Laura, on the other hand, was a different matter entirely. Sarah's best friend proved not only to be very susceptible to sunburn, but also irresistible to the many insects that called the islands they visited home. Where the blonde strode past such troubles like a serene siren on the way to the beach, the brunette spent most of her time batting away mosquitos or slathering her reddened skin in endless layers of sun-block in the vain hope of improving her situation. Of course, the irony was not lost on either of the friends that it had been Laura who convinced Sarah that the trip was a good idea in the first place, not knowing how things would turn out in reality.

But they had somehow managed to make the most of the time away, seeing the sights and making memories that should last them a lifetime to come. Though now that they were making the last stop of the cruise, Sarah was starting to feel her thoughts turning towards home and the chance to see her boyfriend again once they were back. That was when she had a second to herself and the space to actually think clearly, as the final night of the cruise was supposed to be the big blow-out of the trip, a party to top all of the others and a suitable finale to the fun and frivolities they had already enjoyed as they travelled around the Mediterranean.

"What in the hell are you doing?!?"

Sarah started at the sound of the familiar voice in her ear, almost dropping the cocktail that she was holding in her hand as she stared aimlessly out to sea. The drink was a complicated affair of fruit, straws, and novelty umbrellas, sweet and yet dangerously strong in terms of its alcohol content. And thus far, Sarah had drunk more of them than she cared to remember.

"Huh...what?" Sarah stammered.

"I said what are you doing," Laura repeated herself, "mooching in the corner by yourself?"

"I was just thinking," Sarah replied, "about going home."

Laura gave her friend a crooked smile and walked over to the edge of the terrace where the other woman was standing. She leaned on the railing at her side and looked out in the same direction, but it was clear that she had no interest in contemplating the wine-dark sea.

"You were thinking about Hunter," she said, "weren't you?"

"No," Sarah objected too loudly, "well...not just about him."

"Urgh...Sarah!" Laura shook her head in despair. "This vacation was supposed to be all about forgetting what goes on back home, remember? Especially your on-again off-again relationship with that animated Ken doll!"

"Hey," Sarah turned to face her friend, "Hunter is not some kind of male bimbo!"

"Well," Laura shrugged, "he looks like one, and that's for sure! But why are you even thinking about him right now? We have some serious partying to do before morning. And we're on an actual, bone fide billionaire's personal island! How crazy is that? It's like getting to hang out with Bruce Wayne or something!"

"I think the tour-guide said he was a millionaire," Sarah corrected her friend, "not a billionaire."

"Who cares about the details," Laura brushed her friend's comment aside, "the important thing is that we sniff this guy out and introduce ourselves to him. I mean, if he owns an entire island and is cool enough to let a boatload of strangers come party on it, then he has to be worth getting to know!"

Sarah felt an odd sense of dread run down the length of her spine at the very idea of trying to find which one of the people mingling and dancing around the palatial complex to which they had been admitted was actually Robert Castellano. In fact, the very idea of coming ashore and being the guest of the reclusive millionaire had put her in a state of unease, and only Laura's cajoling had made her disembark when the time actually came. It was not the invitation itself that bothered Sarah, more the contradiction that it implied about the man who had made it.

Until now, all that she had known about Robert Castellano was the basic information the man allowed to be released to the public, that he was a very rich and very reclusive millionaire. So, it came as a surprise to her that such a person would be willing to open up his own private island to an entire cruise ship and host them all for a party at his own expense. Even the announcement of the stop at the island had come out of the blue, and though the staff on the boat explained it as a surprise that was part of the cruise, she could not help thinking that it was nothing of the kind and that behind their professional masks, the crew were as baffled as the passengers.

"You're right," said another voice, "I am actually not a billionaire."

This time Laura was as surprised as Sarah, and both of the friends jumped at the sound.

As one they turned to see a man standing behind them, close enough to hear their words.

"But I do have to say that I like being compared to Bruce Wayne," the man chuckled. "Though I don't spend my evenings dressed in black and fighting crime. So, I'm sorry if that comes as anything of a disappointment."

Sarah swallowed hard as she took the time to look the newcomer from head to toe and back again, making a mental checklist as she did so. Tall and obviously given to working out on a daily basis, check. Immaculately groomed and yet somehow looking like it was all casual and involved no effort, check. Easy smile that spoke of being used to having every eye in the room on him, but making whoever he talked to feel like they were the only other person in the world, check. Sarah fought the urge to shake her head at the unfairness of the situation, wondering why in the hell this man was not possessed of an ugly face or some other blemish that would have balanced out his obvious charms even a little. Nobody should have had all those gifts, been a millionaire and on top of it all be so handsome as well.

"Mister Castellano, I presume?"

Sarah was surprised at the confidence with which she pronounced the words, and Laura too seemed shocked, both at the idea the man himself had just appeared out of nowhere and that her friend reacted with such apparent nonchalance. The only one of the three who did not seem in the least bit surprised was the newcomer himself, who simply gave them a winning smile before nodding his head to confirm that Sarah was right.

"You got me," he chuckled, "guilty as charged!"

"No way," Laura shook her head, "no way..."

"Ah," Castellano held up a hand, "don't say it a third time, please! It feels like that would make it into some kind of spell or something. You know? Like a charm that would make me disappear or turn back into a frog at midnight?"

Laura looked from Castellano to Sarah and back again, her expression that of a startled fish.

But Sarah herself could not help bursting into laughter.

"At least someone around here finds me funny," Castellano chuckled.

"I...I have to go get another drink," Laura stammered before hurrying away.

Sarah and Castellano watched her leave in silence, and then exchanged an awkward smile.

"Will she be okay?" he asked.

Sarah noted the tone in Castellano's voice, that beneath the amusement it sounded like he was genuinely concerned for her friend's wellbeing, and that could not help but endear the man to her more than a little.

"Trust me," Sarah said, "she'll get over it."

"I know that I shouldn't do that," Castellano shook his head, "yet it's hard to resist the chance to drop into a conversation like that. You might not believe me when I say this, but when you're me, there's never much of a chance to have any spontaneous fun. Every moment of your time is taken up with business and there's always somebody that wants to grab the few seconds that you have left over as well!"

Sarah felt a genuine pang of sympathy for the man, but she was sure that it came more from the fact that he was being charming than any real belief that his words were the whole truth. She looked around at the palatial surroundings and the sheer wealth that they suggested, and then cocked her head on one side as she regarded Castellano.

"Seriously?" Sarah asked. "Because to me it looks like you're just mixing with the rest of us!"

"Seriously," Castellano replied, "as soon as half of the people here realised who I was, they were pitching their ideas at me for businesses, investments, even offering to send me copies of their qualifications and asking me to consider hiring them. That's why I like to crash the conversations that are about me, but not about getting something out of me."

Sarah was still not sure that she believed what she was being told, but she found that she was enjoying the chance to talk to the man all the same. Sometimes it was worth listening to bullshit when it was of such a high quality, like appreciating it for the art of spinning a story, regardless of the actual truth. And Castellano seemed to be a master of that particular art form, as well as intent upon practising it on her too. At the very least it would make a story that she could dine out on for a good few months once she got home -- visiting a millionaire's private island and being charmed by him while drinking a cocktail by the Mediterranean moonlight.

"I bet you say that to all the awkward girls that come to your island," Sarah quipped.

Although she was doing the best that she could to sound nonchalant and unimpressed by Castellano, it was proving much harder than she had expected it would. Raised on a diet of modern Western media, she was used to the idea that the image of the slick and charismatic millionaire was a thing that existed only in fiction. But the guy was proving that she had been mistaken, and though the alcohol must have been a factor, Sarah could not deny that she was feeling drawn towards Castellano more with every second that passed.

"No, no," Castellano shook his head, "I make a point of never letting my guard down around most people. I only talk about this kind of thing to those that I feel a special pull towards."

"Wh...what do you mean?" Sarah cringed inwardly at the way she stammered the question.

But if he did notice her nerves, Castellano chose to ignore them.

"I have to confess that I was coming over here in the hope of getting a chance to speak to you," he shrugged, "and when I realised you were already talking about me...well, I saw the perfect chance to interject myself without needing to make it all formal and tedious."

Sarah could feel the blood rising in her cheeks as Castellano said all of this, and she knew that she must have been blushing in that moment. This wasn't supposed to be happening to her, not as a modern woman that was more than used to dealing with the insincere chat-up lines guys regularly trotted out. But somehow the idea that a millionaire wanted to single her out for his attention was too flattering to allow natural cynicism to prevail.

"Y...you're serious?" she asked.

"Of course I am," Castellano nodded. "Come on -- let's grab a drink somewhere a little more private."

Sarah knew that she should have said no, that she could easily have used Laura as an excuse to get out of going somewhere alone with this stranger. But the problem was that she actually wanted to go where he was leading her, and so she did nothing but nod and follow on Castellano's wake. After all, it was a small island where she could not really get lost, and everyone at the party could see who she was with and where they were going too. All it would take was a cry for help and she would be extricated form the situation, and of course all of that thinking hinged on the notion that she might want to be saved from the clutches of Robert Castellano -- a scenario that Sarah found hard to imagine.

Sarah could not help looking back over her shoulder as she followed Castellano into a doorway in a wall a little way off, the wall that had thus far been the only thing keeping the passengers from the cruise ship corralled in the part of the island that they were allowed to see and roam around in. She obligingly stepped through and allowed him to close it behind them, turning to see that a small private garden lay on the other side, but she felt the need to speak up as the door clicked shut, even if only to show that she was not merely a silent participant in what Castellano was doing.

"What about Laura," she asked in a controlled tone, "what if she comes back and finds me gone?"

Without missing a beat, Castellano gave Sarah another winning smile.

"No need to worry," he said. "I'll have one of my people tell her where we are, and then she can join us. I wasn't intending to steal you away on your own -- sorry if that's what you thought was going on here!"

Sarah couldn't help feeling relieved the moment that the words emerged from Castellano's mouth, because as much as she found the millionaire charming, she was still not about to put herself solely in his hands, especially on an island that he owned entirely. She had no idea what the relationship between Castellano and the mainland authorities might have been, but people who could afford their own island probably did not buy one that would make it easy for bureaucrats to stick an officious nose into their private business. But the fact that she now knew Laura would be joining them meant that she was able to relax and enjoy the chance to be shown around Castellano's private domain by the man himself.

"Very nice," Sarah smiled as she was shown to a small table with a matching couple of chairs, "very nice indeed, Mister Castellano." There was a growing confidence in her voice as she sat down and accepted the drink that the millionaire handed her, the same kind of confidence that she was known for back home when amongst friends. The change did not seem to have escaped the notice of her host either, and he could not suppress a chuckle as he sat down in the chair opposite.

"I think so," he nodded, "I think so. This is more my kind of taste than the rest of the island tends to be, less showy and more substantial than what you see out there. Most of it is for show, so that I can keep up appearances with the people that visit the island. You see, they expect to see me living in the kind of crazy opulence that's on show out there. But it can start to become onerous after a while."

"You do seem to suffer," Sarah made a mock show of sympathy, "it must be terribly hard."

Castellano chuckled again, seeming to take on offence from the way that he was being mocked.

"Yes, yes," he nodded, "poor little me."

Sarah laughed too, realising that she was doing so with more abandon as time went by, the strength of the drink she was sipping being considerably more than the ones she had already consumed at the beginning of the night.

"And I suppose this is the part where you tell me that you're so terribly lonely," Sarah was on a roll now, unable to stop herself as the words began to tumble from her lips, "that all you really want is a woman that understands you -- maybe even loves you. But that's the one thing in the world that all of your money can't buy. Until tonight, when you stumbled across a couple of crazy, quirky girls on a cruise, yeah?"

Castellano shook his head as he continued to laugh.

"Well," he said, "that would make sense if this were a Hollywood movie or some kind of trashy romantic novel. But as it's the real world, it goes more like this -- the millionaire doesn't want companions, he wants human playthings. And the girls that he sets his sights on are, as you say, crazy and quirky. Yet also naïve enough to drink the spiked cocktails that he offered her. So she falls unconscious and the ships sails away without her..."

Sarah shook her head in confusion and made to get up.

Or at least she tried to stand up and failed in the attempt.

As soon as she left the safety of the chair, the world wheeled and span around her, turning into a baffling kaleidoscope of vertiginous colours and shapes, none of which made sense as up became down and reality turned inside out.

The last thing that she heard was the sound of Castellano, still chuckling as she faded into unconsciousness.

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Paul Livingston had been awoken in the middle of the night to the incessant and high-pitched ringing sound of his mobile phone which was adjacent to him on the bedside locker. Paul was reluctant to answer the phone preferring instead to enjoy his well-earned slumber. Paul was a leading surgeon in the United Kingdom and a prominent researcher in the field of genetics research. He had published several successful books on the subject and was well regarded in his field and was lauded for his ground-breaking and sometimes risky surgeries that had drastically improved the quality of life for his patients. His techniques had revolutionized the field of cosmetic surgery forever.

Paul rolled over onto his side and picked up his phone and groggily wiped his eyes so he could see the screen of his phone. He saw the caller was listed as Robert Castellano and he immediately sat bolt upright in bed. His jerky movement caused his wife to awaken. Robert sat on the side of the bed holding the still ringing phone in his hand. He was fully awake now.

"Paul," said his wife sleepily, "who is calling you so early in the morning?" she asked as she gestured at the alarm clock beside her bed where the LED lights indicated that it was 1 a.m. in the morning.

"It's nothing to worry about honey," said Paul reassuringly. "It is just work-related business," he said as he stood up and retrieved his dressing gown from the hook adjacent to his bed. His wife was too tired to argue and went back to sleep, turning away from him and snuggling into the expensive and extremely comfortable duvet.

Paul walked across the tiled floor of the bedroom hurriedly, feeling the cold chill of the tiles. The phone had stopped ringing and Paul was anxious to return the call. Afterall Robert Castellano was not known for his patience and Paul knew it was imperative he rang him back pronto.

Paul opened the door that led out onto the balcony. He briefly admired the central London view as he took a deep breath of that cold English air. The rain was drizzling as Paul hit the redial button on his phone and waited for Robert to pick up. As Paul listened to the dial tone his mind started to remember the early days of his career.

Ten years ago, Paul was a virtual unknown. His peers and fellow academics had written him off as an abject failure, a mad and delinquent Doctor with ideas that were quite simply untenable. No one was willing to fund Paul, not medical institutions, non-profits or governmental funding groups paid him the blindest bit of attention. All the organisations responsible for funding had already written him off without truly listening to the content of his pitches. His ideas were considered too dangerous and unethical to be worth consideration in the realms of "serious science".

Paul had been despondent and in a bad place both professionally and personally. His girlfriend of five years had also ended their relationship around the same time. Paul had been ready to give up on his precious research and follow a more traditional path when his paths had crossed with Robert at a charity dinner. Robert had taken a keen interest in his research and had invited him to his house that night to hear more. Robert had been enthralled by the potential of his work. Paul remembered the vindication he had felt that night when Robert had confessed that he thought his ideas were going to revolutionize the medical field in drastic and impactful ways. He had even suggested that Paul could win a Nobel prize for his work.