Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 904 - 906

Chapter 904: Chapter 906

Zoey offered a thin smile. "I dreamed of standing in water up to my waist, staring at my own reflection. It smiled before I did."

Jude nodded slowly. "We’re close. Every memory counts."

They worked, their hands efficient. He watched them, heart clenched, knowing that each of them was scarred. Not outwardly, though some had bruises in memory, but in the core where trust lived. And right now, that core was fragile.

At noon they shared salty fish and boiled reeds, salads of young leaves. Conversation was sparse. A breeze stirred leaves overhead. The island hummed.

"Afternoon," Stella said suddenly, stepping into the clearing and brushing off her pants. In her hand was a dry parchment scroll. "I found this in the storage root cellar."

Jude took it, scanning the rough handwriting, the same spirals they’d used for markers. When he frowned, she added, "Looked like you left it."

He read: Do not trust touch while the sky rises red. Watch the watchers. When the water runs backward, come home.

He stared up at Stella. "Did you write this?"

She shook her head. "No. It was rolled tight between logs. I’ve never seen it before today."

A hush fell. They looked at the sky, which was clear and blue, no hint of red. Natalie glanced at the fish traps. "Water backward... that’s impossible."

Jude held the scroll gently. "Maybe not literal." He looked around. "Could be metaphor. We need to all read it."

He unrolled another blank strip of bark and passed out charcoal sticks. "Everyone, write: did you touch anything odd today? Any sense of memory slipping? Even for a moment?"

Hands shook slightly as words were scrawled, brief reminders of trembling fingers, sudden yawns, soft voice in wind, fleeting images at the shoreline. They placed strips in wooden bowl in the center of camp. Jude read one privately: When I stirred the fire, I picked up someone else’s voice. He shivered.

They finished the entries in silence. Then Jude stood. "We do the watchers’ ritual tonight, everyone in pairs, stay alert, switch every hour. If anyone disappears or acts strange, we’ll signal."

A nod from Grace. Lucy gulped. Emma placed a hand over her heart. The pact made, each pair separated to prepare for night.

By dusk, pairs were stationed at the outer poles where floodlights would keep watch beyond torch reach. Jude and Grace took the first shift, warm cloaks, drying blankets, flint and blade, ready.

They sat shoulder to shoulder. The floodlight cast a pale orb around them, spotlight in the darkening wild. He offered her tea; she accepted and took a deep breath.

"Still strong?" he asked gently.

"Yes," she replied. "But I still feel... memory like water pulling, sometimes."

He squeezed her hand. "We stay awake."

Midnight came in a sudden hush. The frogs stilled. The wind dropped. The world waited.

"It’s too quiet," Grace whispered.

They heard the rustle first, like clothes dragged through leaves. Then a shuffle, measured, just beyond the light, maybe twenty feet.

Jude raised his hand. "Grace, move back," he said softly.

They eased backward, maintaining sight of the movement. In the darkness, a shape drifted, tall, slender, pale-blue silhouette, shifting shape like a ripple in water. It paused, level with them. It tilted. Their hearts pounded.

Jude reached for his blade, but remembered. No aggression. Not unless needed. The thing stepped forward into light. A woman’s face, pale as moonlight, lips parted as if to speak. Then the eyes, hollow, vacant, blue-white.

Grace stifled a gasp. Jude’s voice faltered. "Who are you?"

The thing didn’t move. Then mouth twisted, gave a smile that wasn’t comforting.

Grace whispered, "Say name."

The thing didn’t. The shape faded, wisped back into shadows, retreated, almost mocking. And the forest sighed.

Both exhaled.

"He came again," Grace said.

Jude nodded. "Did you stay alert?"

She swallowed. "Yes."

"Did you feel anything, strange?"

"Not memory. Just fear."

They held their positions until dawn, but nothing moved again. When the first light came, they returned to camp. Everyone grouped around fire, eyes worried.

Jude gave his partner a nod. "We saw it. We’ll track again. Tonight, we take three pairs."

Grace stared into the embers. "We need to find meaning in the scroll."

Before breakfast ended, all agreed: They’d search again during day for signs, marks in soil, arrangements of stones, fungus clusters. Everyone paired deliberately.

Jude took Emma. They walked south into the thickest part of forest. Bloodroot and moss underfoot. Ivy and vines overhead. They spoke softly of plans, life beyond island, hopes unsaid.

At the fork where Nefertari and Stella found an iron stake during their walk yesterday, Jude paused. The stake now lay again in earth, unsheathed. They examined it, runes etched, no rust. Emma reached out.

"Don’t touch," Jude said immediately, voice low.

Emma paused. "Something about it feels... ancient."

They circled it and marked with twine. Natalie tied a ribbon to nearby branch. Grace had sketched runes in spiral marker earlier. It was another node.

They sat quietly, listening to forest.

"When the water runs backward," Emma repeated from the scroll. "What does that mean?"

Jude bit his lip. "Maybe when the river flows upstream. Maybe that means we’ve turned reality inside out."

Emma frowned. "Feels too... symbolic."

Jude nodded. "This place uses symbols. It speaks in them. We need to interpret."

They stayed longer, collected leaves, bark, wrote notes.

By afternoon they regrouped. Reports were mixed, some pairs found nothing. Others found stones arranged like staring faces. A circular clearing with no plant life. A dried mushroom circle. A faint echo, as if dozens of voices whispered when no one else was there.

They returned with caution notes: pale whispers, locations, feel of being watched.

Dinner was spartan. The wooden bowl of paper strips lay in center, hearts wary.

They sat, digesting the day.

Jude stood. "We identified three new nodes: the stake, the clearing, the void. Tomorrow, we map and pray."

Lucy pressed a strip into his hand. It read: When I knelt by stone, I smelled my father’s pipe. She swallowed, tears in eyes. "Memory, but not mine."