She seemed almost
nervous
, which was highly out of character for her. For the past two hours, she had paced the small cottage, frequently peeking out of the tiny window facing the sea.
They never spoke much—or at all, really—but he was convinced he knew her well. One who lives in close proximity to another person for two years cannot help but learn a few things about their neighbor.
When he first met her, he was disappointed. He hadn't expected his task to be easy but he had hoped that he would have a partner he could pass the time with and trust.
She never smiled. She preferred to spend time in her room, and if she decided to spend an hour or two in the living room, she read. He caught her listening to music sometimes, humming under her breath. He could have sworn he even saw her body sway as if to dance along.
She didn't trust him, so therefore he couldn't trust her. She watched him with a fixed stare sometimes. It felt like she was waiting to catch him doing something. It frustrated him as much as it made him anxious.
She was frustratingly calm and methodical in all she did. Every other day she walked the long beach to feed Helen, somber but energized with purpose. On her off days, the days when it was his turn to walk on the cold and windy shore, she stood on the sand and watched him. He could feel her eyes on his back until he disappeared into the cave.
She was a mystery he felt desperate to solve. She bit her nails. She had a temper. She had a healthy appetite. She ran on the beach for exercise, no matter how cold it was. She wore the same two sweaters all week, and the only form-fitting garment she owned was a worn pair of jeans.
He'd dismissed her easily the first day he met her, deciding she wasn't his type. He wasn't sure if her looks grew on him or he just missed female companionship, but his opinion of her changed within a few months. Now he longed for her with a passion he'd only heard about in movies and songs. He watched her mournfully, wishing the two of them were anywhere except the miserable island they would have to live on for another two years.
Sometimes it felt like they were the last two people on earth, though he knew they weren't. They lived on the edge of the world with only Helen's awful presence for companionship.
Still, it was easy for him to forget about the outside world. It was her task to get into the small boat and paddle her way to the mainland. She met with a man once a week; he brought her various supplies and food. She made their requests—for example, he asked for a new pair of boots last time she went—and normally they were granted. When he asked for a TV, she came back with a box of out-of-date magazines. Cell phones were out of the question. They had a radio they could use to contact someone, but only for emergencies.
She asked him once if he wanted to go in her place or switch off like they did with Helen. She said it was good to get a change in scenery. He told her no, and she didn't ask him again or press the issue. He figured she knew why he couldn't go; he wouldn't have the strength to row back.
Temptation and longing were the only things he felt anymore. Occasionally he was angry. He felt lied to, betrayed by their employers. He told her that one night. She said nothing. He didn't know how she felt about their situation. She was as still and quiet as the air around them.
When they'd first come to the island, he thought this would be one of the easiest jobs he'd ever had. He would spend four years on a beautiful sunny island and get to listen to the sea as he fell asleep. Now he hated the awful sound of the waves churning, the dreadful slap and crash of water running over rocks and sand. He couldn't stand the smell of salt or the coarse sand that seemed to coat everything around them. And it was
never
sunny. It was always cold and overcast.
She never complained, but he sensed she loathed it all as much as he did.
This night was different. He could
feel
the tension humming through her body. She hadn't touched her food or run off to her room. She stood near the window for a long time, peering out into the dusk.
Eventually he had to speak.
"What's wrong?"
Her eyes met his, and the expression in them was almost wild. He realized she wasn't just tense or restless—she was afraid.
"What was Helen like when you visited her yesterday?"
Ah, it was about their charge. She must have been especially unsettling today. It wasn't the first time.
"Normal. For her."
Her brunette hair was messy, which made her seem even more scared than she already was. "Did she say anything to you?"
He sat up from his reclined position on the sofa and put his book on the table. "What happened?"
Her eyes turned back to the window. Darkness had just fully settled in the sky. He could hear the wind push against the weakened and tired cottage.
"It's nothing," she whispered, more to herself than to him.
"If you—"
"It's nothing," she repeated more firmly. She regarded him for a moment, then climbed the stairs up to her room.
That night, he heard her having nightmares. It wasn't the first time, but they never said anything about it to each other. He kept thinking about the creature down the beach and shivered. If something happened, he had to know. Tomorrow was his day. He wasn't going to just walk into that cave when Helen was in a mood.
He woke up late. The sun was too far in the sky, and he could smell the coffee she'd made. Usually it was
his
job to make coffee, even if she made it better.
He came into the living room and saw her looking out of the window again, wrapped up in her other sweater. He preferred this one—creamy white and smooth. When he fantasized about her, she wore only this sweater.
"Good morning. Sorry I slept late."
She looked at him but remained silent.
He prepared his coffee and tried to settle his nerves. Her anxiety was contagious, and he could feel that whatever had been on her mind the night before was still there.
"Is it still raining?" he asked her, though he could hear the drops relentlessly pounding on the roof.
She ignored him. "I don't think you should go alone today."
He sat in his chair and assessed her. Her face was incredibly pale, paler than normal, and her expression was haunted. Ordinarily nothing got to her. Whatever happened must have been pretty bad.
Helen. Helen was their responsibility, their burden, their albatross. In a sick way, she was their child.
Helen's appearance resembled that of a typical twenty year old woman's. She was a science experiment gone wrong, literally, and they'd been hired to guard her for four years. She'd been transported there by plane and had nearly taken the plane down. She killed a few men during the journey.
Helen had special abilities, of course. Frightening abilities. No one understood them. It was beyond mind control or telekinesis, beyond seeing the future or reading someone's thoughts. She had been bred to be a weapon and they had succeeded on that front. Her only flaw was she could not be controlled.
So they had to do away with her, but they couldn't kill her. She wouldn't allow it and the doctors
were
morbidly curious. They wanted to see what would happen after a few years. Would she mature like an average human? Perhaps they could reason with her. It couldn't hurt, right? It wouldn't be all for nothing.
They flew her to the edge of the world, to the tiniest and most isolated, lonely island they could find and shoved her into a cave. They locked her in with shackles and rocks, knowing full well that one day this would not be enough to contain her. Then they hired people to watch her for four years (why they picked four years for the contract was beyond him) and forgot about their dirty little secret. Last he heard, they were in the lab trying to do it again.
In his mind, they should have destroyed her when they had the chance. Now it was too late. She threatened them. Got into their minds.
He assumed she liked living in the cave for now because he was fairly certain she could escape.
Helen liked watching him when he came to feed her. She would put down her book and shake her shackles a bit to casually remind him that she was dangerous. Yet he'd sit and chat with her a while about nonsense. Strange that Helen could look like a typical woman until you talked with her a bit. Until you looked into her eyes. Then you could sense the rottenness inside, the evil that men with too much time and money and dreadful curiosity had formed.
"Are you sorry they made you?" he asked her one day.
She looked over at him, her eyes glowing almost red. "Why would you ask that?"
"Aren't you lonely? Bored?"
Helen smiled. "I don't feel loneliness or boredom."
"Don't you want to be free?"
He was asking dangerous questions. His partner on the island would kill him. He had to know.
