Project 32

Day 1


        As I step off the end of the airplane ramp and feel my overpriced work shoes slouch into the sand of the island known as Project 32, I tell myself this is what I've always lived for. To be assigned a missing person’s case is one thing, but to be assigned to the case of a person who on paper has been dead for over 13 years is a totally different thing. I guess that's one of the many perks of working in the FBI.
         From the planes windows the island looked just like any other government holding facility, but as I look around now I realize why this is such an interesting topic around the office. There are two very long grey metal buildings connected so that they form a T, surrounded by grass and the occasional tree. It's as if the contractors were told to build a prison, but never got to install the barbwire, search lights or guard towers. There are over 200 people being kept here against their will, but nothing keeping then from escaping, but then again these are not your average prisoners.
         With my briefcase in hand and overnight bag slung over my shoulder I trek my way to what I'm guessing to be the entrance, seeing as it is the only door in sight. Once inside there is a long brightly lit hallway with numbered doors about every ten feet on each side, and windows showing into each of the rooms. This extends all the way to the end of the hallway, where I'm guessing it leads into the other half of the building. Whoever designed this place must have run out of coffee for the day, because it's blander than the ward for the criminally insane in the film Slingblade.
         One of the doors farther down on the left opens and a fairly young woman steps out into the hallway. She says something to the person inside the room and then closes the door, turning to face me. Her skin is cream against her coffee colored hair, and her lips are stained a pale rose color. "You must be detective Kross," she says aloud, even though it seems she's talking her herself more than to me. "Come with me."
         She turns and walks away from me; her small heels making a slight clicking sound on the tile floor. I start after her, having to walk faster than usual to keep up. As I pass by each of the windows I notice that the rooms are actually bedrooms, each with one or two occupants. After seeing these people I'm suddenly very interested in what is going on here. All anyone's ever been told of his project is that it's a holding facility, but no one has ever been told exactly who's being held here and why.
         The nurse has reached the end of the hallway and is turning left when I began to jog to catch up to her. Windows flash by with people milling around behind them, white furniture against white walls, making their needle bruised skin seem the color of the clouds outside. None of them are smiling, just sitting in their beds or walking around looking completely bored, but somehow use to it.
         I round the corner just in time to see which door the nurse is disappearing behind and follow her into the room. Six people sit around a circular table eating an assortment of food, but all of their conversation stops when I enter the room. The woman takes her place at the table as a partially bald middle aged man stands up. "You're the detective I assume," he says. "Welcome."
         "Thank you. I'm detective Jim Kross, here to investigate the disappearance of Sylvia Ellis." At the mention of her name everyone seems to be come slightly uncomfortable. They look like they've been on this island way too long. They're all wearing scrubs or white lab coats and none of the women are wearing much of any make up.
         "I'm Chris Tucker, and yes, Sylvia... well, I'll be happy to show you around tomorrow, but for now we're going to finish our dinner. I'm sure you're experiencing jet lag, so Chad here will show you to your room for the night," Chris motions to a large young man to the right of him and sits back down.
         I am directed to my room my Chad, who seems to be very tired and not one for conversation. I find the room to be much like those I saw earlier. The time here is slightly after 8 O'clock at night, but Chris was right in saying that I am use to a different time zone.
Chad leaves me to be, closing the door behind him as I set down my luggage. There is a closet but I don't intend to use it, hopefully I won't be here that long.


Day 2


        It's three in the afternoon and I'm standing in what use to be Sylvia Ellis's room. I've been in here since 8 O'clock this morning, but still can't find anything that appears to be out of place. All of the furniture is in the same position as all the other rooms, nothing is missing or dismantled and all of her belongings, few as they may be, are here. The only way to get off of the island is by one of the government’s private planes, unless of course you wanted to try your shot at swimming the couple thousand miles. So as far as I can see she got up and walked out of the building, somehow managed to get onto one of the airplanes without being seen (which would be extremely hard to do because of their small size) and is now somewhere in the continental US. The only problem with that theory is that no planes have landed here in the time frame that she's been missing, other that the one that dropped me off yesterday or course.
        This case seems to be a dead end. I'm still left wondering though, why was Sylvia kept here to begin with?
        It’s supper, finally. 7p.m. and we're all circled around the same table I saw them at last night. I've been invited to eat with them (thank God, it's not like I could have eaten anywhere else on this putrid spit of land). Apparently there's a group of cooks hidden somewhere in this building because a feast of hot food is sitting in front of us. Once everyone is seated Chris bows his head and blesses the food, giving us leave to dig in. He puts down his fork after a few minutes. "Well, I'm sure detective Kross here would like to be introduced to everyone. Becky and Robert, would you like to lead us?" He asks the man and women beside him. The woman has short blond hair and the man has no hair at all, but it looks like that's his own choice. They both have very strait, white teeth and blue eyes.
         "Of course, Chris," The lady says and smiles warmly at him then at me. "I'm Becky Lamear, and this is my husband Robert. We've been here for 7 years in May, and we have a home in Kingston, California." She continues smiling as she turns to the man beside her, implying that he should speak next.
         "And I am James Williams. I was born in Tifton, Georgia, and have been here for slightly over 20 years," James says in a peaceful southern accent.
         Chad is to the right of James, and doesn't seem to care much about anything that's going on. "I'm Chad Burton, I've been here for almost 5 years and I'm from Nashville, Tennessee," From what I can see I would venture to guess that Chad is only in his late twenties. Why would someone so young want to work and live here?
         The line skips over me since I'm sitting next to Chad and goes to the young nurse who I first saw when arriving here. She's said hardly anything all day, but when she has spoken she's been very polite. "I'm Karen Loveless," She begins, "I moved here over 13 years ago from Greenville, South Carolina," Her voice is sweeter then the icing on a wedding cake, and unlike all the other nurses she didn’t smell like antiseptic today when she passed me in the hallway, more like honey and lavender. Her green eyes fall back to her plate after being on the spot and let everyone know that she no longer wants to be the center of attention.
         "Well, as you know I'm Chris Tucker. I came to work here 24 years ago from New York City," He looks around the room at every one then back at me, "Would you like to tell us something about yourself?"
         "Um, I'm Detective Jim Kross. I've been with the FBI for almost 30 years. I'm unmarried and have an apartment in Atlanta," I answer. They all seem content with the information I've given them, and I decide that this would be a nice time to try and find out what's going on in this building. Granted, this is supposed to be secret, but I feel I have the right to know what Sylvia was held here seeing as I'm assigned to her case. "I’m afraid I need to change the subject though…I’m inclined to ask, to help me with my case of course..." I glance up at Chris, "What exactly have all these people done? To be sent here I mean?" As far as I can tell they all look completely harmless.
         He sighs, "I had assumed you would want to know... and it's not what they've done, it's what they have."
         "What they have?" I question. Robert chips in to answer this time.
         "They're all infected with a virus you see, and that's why they're held here," The words are slung out of his mouth like bullets, as if he doesn’t want them to be part of him any longer than they have to be.
         "What sort of Virus?"
         Chris comes back to life to answer me. "It's a form of Rabies."
         I'm silent.
         "They all have a very weakened drawn out form of Rabies. It has all the same effects as the average form, but you can live with it for almost 15 years. We still don't know how each of them got it, but we do know that they have it. It spreads through saliva or blood contact just like the usual, but doesn't start to have any effect on people for almost a month."
         "But anyone who gets it is kept here for the rest of their life?"
         "Yes, technically they're already dead by the time they get here though, as I'm sure you know."
         "Yes, I know,” I digest the information. “I assume research is being conducted to find a cure for it?"
         "Of course. The strand is slightly different that regular Rabies though, so we’ve had to start all over as far as finding the antidote."
         "How many people are here? Patients, I mean."
         "Sixty three."


Day 3


         I've walked all over this building and there is absolutely nothing that would give any proof as to how this infected women got out of here. I'm stalking my way down the hall, trying to come up with something I haven't already done that would help me. I've spoken to some of the patients already, but none of them had noticed anything out of the ordinary in the few days before Sylvia went missing. They all said she was really close to Karen though. Both she and Karen got here 13 years ago, and even though these patents are infected, they're still completely lucid. They can think and carry on a conversation, so it's plausible that Sylvia and Karen formed a bond.
        I slow down and start looking into the rooms I'm passing. Becky is in one of them talking to a patient as she injects him with something. He looks very tired and pale, but is smiling all the same, probably because he enjoys the company. Even with all the years the virus has put on him, you can still tell there’s no way he’s a day over 25.
         The next few doors are shut, but then I come to one where Chad is sitting alone replacing a bag of fluids. I stop and lean against the door frame. "So what made you want to come here?" I'm thinking he had some connection with the government, even as young as he is, and just had some hidden interest with the islands research.
         "My Dad..." He answers, not looking up from what he's doing.
         "Is he a researcher here?" I ask
         "No..."
         I'm left studying this kid trying to figure out how I'm going to get a real conversation out of him.
         "He's a patient," He says quietly.
         "Oh..." I'm speechless. That was not what I had expected to hear.
         "Yeah, he got infected back in 2003. I was suppose to think he was dead just like all the other people whose family members get it, but I caught them taking him away in the middle of the night by accident. They couldn't just tell me he’d been killed like they had planned, so they sent me here with him as a nurse." Chad volunteers his story to me.
         "I'm... sorry," I murmur, unsure exactly what to say.
         "Yeah… but I mean it could be a lot worse. He could really be dead, or I could be somewhere thinking he was when he's not."
         "But it still has to bother you... being stuck here..."
         "Yeah... but at least I can leave if I want to. None of the patients can, you know? Even though they're just as sane as I am."
I think about his comment as an older gentleman comes into the room. He’s wearing a very thick grey bathrobe and hasn’t shaved in at least 3 weeks, but he still looks very clean. He sits down on the bed while Chad finishes refilling the fluids, and then looks up at his son with the most tired eyes I’ve ever seen. His father is speaking a silent language to him that can usually only be read by someone who’s know you forever, but with this man eyes, even I can read his sorrow.

         These people may be stuck on this island with no communication with the outside world at all, but that hasn't affected the quality of their food at all. Tonight’s meal is hotter than anything I've ever gotten at a restaurant back home. The entire table is laid out in vegetables, potatoes, breads and a very large smoked turkey, and we're all crowed around it devouring our food in total silence, until Chris has a coughing fit and breaks the trance we're in.
"You okay?" Chad asks while Robert pats Chris on the back, even though that never does anything to help people who are choking.
         He coughs again, "Yeah, I think so." We're all still looking at him in concern though. He composes himself and speaks, "So how was everyone's day?"
         We all nod and murmur that it was good.
         "Becky, did you handle that outbreak okay? I noticed Mr. Hudson was being rather violent," Chris inquires.
         "Yes, he was, but I got Robert to help me hold him down to sedate him. So once we got that done he was okay." She answers. Sedation seems kind of extreme to me, but then again depending on the man’s size I guess it could be needed.
James looks up from his plate, “Do you know what the hallucination was of? Sometimes their minds come up with the most interesting things,” he asks.
“Um, I’m not sure to be honest. He kept yelling about bears, but he was talking so fast I couldn’t really understand him.”
“I bet it was lions and tigers and bears! Oh my!” Robert jokes and pokes his wife in stomach.
“Yeah Honey, I’m sure,” She laughs, layering a thick edge of sarcasm into her voice.
         "Chad could you pass me the salt?" James asks in the break in conversation. Chad reaches for the shaker and in the process knocks over Karens glass of water, which causes its contents to run off of the table and into her lap.
         "God, Chad! Look what you did!" Karen freaks out, screaming and jumping back from the table as she begins to vigorously wipe at her scrub top with her napkin. "You're such an idiot! I can't believe you did this. I mean look at me!" she holds out the wet spot of her top and shakes as though it’s the worst thing in the world.
         "I'm sorry! I really didn't mean to Karen, you know that," He apologizes, even though we all already know he didn't mean to. She's seriously overreacting.
         Karen storms out of the room yelling about Chad and scrubbing her shirt so hard that if it were a person it would be bruised. We're all left stunned.
         "Wow..." mumbles Chad, "I really didn't mean to…"
         "Is she okay?" I ask.
         "Um, I'm not sure... that was very, um, un-Karen like...." Chris says "She's usually very polite and composed."
         "Yeah..." Chad agrees, still in shock.

Day 4


        The outburst yesterday has put a damper on every ones mood. Chad is trying to keep a good distance from Karen in fear that she’ll bust out again, but to me it seems like she doesn’t have anything against him. She acts as if it was just a strange mood swing, and that it doesn’t really matter. I figure all this island air is finally getting to her head.
We’ve already had lunch and I still can’t get any ideas as to how Sylvia Ellis got off the island, so I turn my attention to the people working here to see if I can find anything there I may have missed. A lot of the time the people who were around the person the day or two before they went missing know more then they think in a situation like this.
        Becky, Robert and Chad have all finished their rounds and are currently sitting in the dining room discussing the political status of Cuba, while Chris is back in the labs consulting with the scientist, and James is with a patient listening to a story about their childhood. I’m wondering down the hallway when I pass Karen. She’s sitting in Sylvia’s old room reading a very loved copy of Gone with the Wind while humming softly to herself. The door is open slightly, so I knock on the wall to let her know I’m here before entering the room. She peers up at me and then looks back at her book, folds the corner of the page down, and shuts the novel, placing it on Sylvia’s night stand.
        “How are you?” I inquire casually. Her hair is like warm honey with the sun shining through the window onto it, and I can’t help but notice that she’s kept it down today.
        “I’m doing well, and yourself?” She answers, as if we’re just average people taking a stroll in the park.
        “I’m fine,” I respond, suddenly aware that I started this conversation with no thoughts on what to talk about. “So do you like to read?” I nod to the novel laying in the night stand.
        “It depends on the book really. I have many more at home, but this is the only one I have here,” her voice is a well played instrument in my ears.
        “I always use to play cards whenever I wanted entertainment at home, and got rather good at it too, but I guess reading is much better for you,” I laugh.
        She laughs also, “Yes…”
        “Do you miss being home, in the continental United States I mean?”  I realize that maybe this is none of my business, but still find the courage to ask.
        “Yeah, I do,” She admits, “I mean I don’t mind being here, not at all. It’s just that it would be nice to see people I don’t know every once in a while. I know that’s a strange thing to say, but I it’s the truth…”
        “No, it makes sense,” I mean what I say too, because I can understand her being lonely here, even with all of these people around her. She has no one she can really relate to here… not like she would back in the states…
        “Would you come back with me?” The question is abrupt and flies from my mouth on its own unruly terms, but I find the more I think about the offer the more I mean it. I could take her back with me, and with my status in the FBI, I could easily find her a job, and a well paying one at that.
        “Do you really mean that?” She asks in disbelief.
        “Yeah, I do.” I say, and to my surprise, she agrees.


Day 5


          I’ve called back to the main office and told them of my findings, or more so the lack of them, and they said that I should continue my search back on the mainland. I’ve had this job for over 20 years, and never once have I missed anything that would assist in the finding of someone, but here there is simply nothing to be found. During my phone call I also mentioned that I was going to be taking Karen back with me. It was more of a statement then my asking if I could, and considering that I’ve never ask for any favors before from the system they said they’d cover her spot on the island immediately and that she was free to go. It was easier than I had thought it would be to be honest. A plane is landing at 11a.m. today that both Karen and I will board. At that time we’ll both have said our final goodbyes to this island, and hopefully be able to leave it behind for good.
          We informed the crew of our decision last night at supper, and after the initial shock, they all said they wished us the best. We’re not a couple, and explained that to them, saying that I was just Karens ticket out, and she’d decided to take it. They all understood fairly well, or at least seemed to. Either way, she’s coming with me, because it’s what she wants. If there’s one thing I will admit to being, it’s a sucker for giving a women want she wants, but then again, aren’t all men?

          Both her bags and mine are sitting in a lump in my room and I’m taking one last look around the building making sure I didn’t miss anything. She’s going around saying goodbye to each of the patients and staff members, hugging some of them and occasionally shedding a tear or two. I can see how after having seen someone every day for 13 years you could become slightly disoriented at the thought of never seeing them again. There is the possibility that she’ll see some of her fellow crew members again, but it’ll be impossible to see any of the patients again once she leaves, and I think that’s the hardest thought for her to withstand. I know it would be for me.
        A very familiar sound runs through the building as our plane lands on the strip outside. Everyone in the building has come out into the hallway to watch us leave, and a few of the patients are crying. Becky and Robert are holding hands next to James, Chris and Chad outside of the dining room as Karen and I walk towards the door. They all say last minute goodbyes and wish me luck in my investigation.
        We pass through the doors into what seems to be the brightest sunlight I’ve ever experienced. The ocean is Gods over sized sloshing mirror as it reflects the sun’s rays back to us, with the sand that licks its edges gleaming like thousands of diamonds. The door clicks shut behind us as the driver of the plans waits at the top of the ramp to take our bags, his pilots hat perched atop his bald head to keep it from becoming sunburned.
        We walk closer to the plane, closer to the blinding water and suddenly it clicks inside of me why these people want to get out of here so badly. I’ve only spent 5 days here, and already I’m yearning for outside contact.
Karen follows close to my side, but with each step we take towards the plane she’s falling farther and farther behind me. Once she becomes a good three or four steps behind me I turn to look at her, only to become speechless by the expression on her face. It’s contorted into such fright and agony that if I wasn’t next to her I’d think she’d seen the Grim Reaper himself.  “For god’s sake, what’s happened?!” I gasp.
          “The water…I-I can’t… N-No! Just-Just get it away from me! Get it off!” A scream splits the air as her bags plummet to the ground and she breaks off into a sprint towards the building, her sandals flinging off in a trail behind her. I react from impulse and run after her, tackling her to the ground a few yards from the door and pinning her arms to the grass.
“What’s wrong with you!?” I question her with both my words and eyes, trying very hard not to yell. Tears began streaming do her cheeks like raindrops on car windshield.
          “I’M SORRY! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry! I’m s-sorry, I can’t…!” She’s crying so hard she can hardly speak.
          “For what Karen, for what? You haven’t done anything!” I shake her.
          “I killed her! I killed her, Jim. I killed her! I can’t believe I killed her!” She blubbers and squeezes her eyes shut causing more tears to fall from them.
          “You what?! Karen, Karen look at me! What are you talking about!?”
          “I killed her! She gave me the virus and I killed her! I’m so sorry Jim I’m just so sorry! I can’t do it, I can’t leave. The water, the water scares me, Jim. It scares me!”
         The words run through my head, “She gave me the virus and I killed her,” and I can’t focus enough because of the squirming girl beneath me to realize what she’s saying. Then she starts fighting back, really pushing against my hands trying to get free, and it all clicks inside of me. Sylvia gave Karen the virus, and because of it Karen killed her. That would explain the mood swing she had and also why she was so willing to leave the island, and now why she was afraid of the water, because hydrophobia is one of the symptoms of rabies. So, I let go of her wrist and stand up, extend my hand to her and help her up, steadying her once she’s looking me in the eye. She stares at me, unsure what she should do because of my actions. I look her strait in the eye and say the only thing I know to say.

“Karen… I have to arrest you.”