It's just Christina and I left on the beach—my best friend since middle school—at least what remains of her. 

          I've been staring at her for what seems like forever, watching as she continues to bury her face into the sand, hiding from whatever she's trying to escape. I think about all our happy childhood memories. Perhaps she feels bad about all those fun times we went ding dong ditching my neighbour, Mr. Edwards. God, he was such a grumpy old man, and would give the most priceless reactions as we spied on him in the bushes across the street after ringing his doorbell over and over.

          I miss those days with Christina. The days where we'd go shopping for hours on end, trying on new clothes. The days where we'd stay up all night, gossiping over boys. And the days where we'd party like there's no tomorrow, drinking until we passed out. I'm starting to feel so hopeless. Even though we've only been here on the island for two days, I can feel the despair flowing through my veins, spreading like a virus. It's as if I'm never going to experience memories with Christina like that again—or anyone for that matter. Am I truly going crazy here? I really don't know anymore. Regardless, I have to try talking to Christina.

          But there's something else I want to address first. There, upon the ridge where Shawn climbed earlier, is a shiny, flashing light hidden between some rocks. At first, I asked myself if this was just another hallucination inside my head, like the whole oil tanker ship incident (which I'm still completely baffled and terrified by). But unlike the ship passing, this flashing light has yet to disappear, and continues to play psychological games with my consciousness.

         Nonetheless, Shawn may have fooled me once, but he won't fool me twice. After my last couple of encounters with him, I think it's fair to say he's not, and was never, the man I figured he was. They say one's true colours are revealed in states of vulnerability, and Shawn didn't disappoint. It breaks my heart knowing I gave so much love and devotion to someone, who, in the end, turned their back on me. I don't care how sorry he is, or how many apologies he offers. When he returns back to the beach, I'm standing my ground, and no forgiveness will be given or shown.

          He is, quite literally, the ONLY reason I'm not searching every nook and cranny of this damn island for my brother. I legitimately feel that my safety is at risk around Shawn, and for me to venture back into the jungle alone with him could turn out to be very deadly. His behaviour is so fucking unpredictable. All I can do is continue to cross my fingers, and pray that Oscar is somehow still drawing breath.

           Regardless, I start to make my way down to the east point of the beach to explore the ridge, leaving Christina behind in the sand for the time being.

          As I walk, I begin to notice that my eyes, for whatever reason, are feeling a little bit sensitive. Not thinking much of it, I push the thought away, and keep going towards the shining light on top of the mountainside. I wonder what it could possibly be. It's been up there ever since Shawn took off and disappeared into the jungle.

          Once I eventually reach the base of the ridge, I start to carefully climb up the small trail behind that leads to the peak. It's much steeper than I originally anticipated, and I even reconsider if I should go up there at all. Though my fearful curiosity seems to outweigh my intuition once again, and I continue my way up. I feel a burning sensation inside my quads and calves, as if I'm getting a good workout at the gym. My breathing becomes rather shallow and heavy while I make a final push.

          I stop and take a break as I reach the top, placing my hands behind my head, feeling a few droplets of sweat trickle down my back. Even though I'm going through hell and back with my emotions, I can't deny that it's a very beautiful view of the tropical island up here.

          After recollecting myself and catching my breath back, I wander over to the shining light wedged in between the rocks. 

          I gasp in shock...I can't believe what I'm seeing. How on earth is this possible?

           The shiny light is the sun reflecting into a small hand mirror—but not just any kind of mirror. The exact same one that my ex-boyfriend, Dean Johnson, bought me for Christmas one year, along with many other beautiful gifts—as he was always one to spoil me rotten. Once again, Dean has made yet another encounter since the Vietnam trip began. The first being when I looked out the window of the plane while boarding in Seattle. The second was that picture of us on my phone at the campfire last night. And now this.

          Honestly, with the way things have been going, I'm not surprised this has happened. I bend over and pick up the mirror, gently caressing it in my hands. Yes—the exact same one he bought me. It has a golden handle and border surrounding the glass mirror, along with a red ruby-like diamond in the centre. I used it every single day when I was younger, in the morning, in the afternoon, in the nighttime. It even has the same small crack in the top left corner from when I accidentally dropped it while doing my makeup one time. I don't know what was so special to me about this silly little mirror, but it just made me feel happy. I smile softly to myself, remembering all the amazing times I had with Dean.

          But my facial expression slowly turns into a frown as I see my reflection in the mirror. Jesus. I barely even recognize myself. Like Shawn said earlier, despite my denial, I just look so...evil. There's really no other way to put it. I can sense so much violent hatred and pent-up rage behind my swollen eyes, my jawline grimacing as I keep staring in disbelief. I'm straight-up terrified of the person looking back at me.

           So I place the mirror back down in between the rocks, leaving it there. I run my fingers over my face slowly. Was that really me I was looking at? I feel a chill pass down my spine. I also begin to notice that the sensitive irritation in my eyes is increasing. I blink a few times, itching around my lashes, feeling my mascara smudge slightly. It's almost like cutting onions. It's becoming quite uncomfortable, but I continue to push through, and make my way back down the ridge.

          However, that's when I notice something on my departure. There, down on one of the rocks, hanging over a tree branch, is a splatter of a red liquid—which I can only assume at this point is blood. So, if everything adds up, Shawn was actually telling the truth about how he slipped and cut himself on the branch. That's really surprising, and also leads me to believe that there's still a chance that Oscar is alive.

          Once I complete my way down the ridge, I begin to refocus my attention on Christina. As I walk back to the campsite, I think about what I'll say to her, and how I'll start the conversation, almost as if rehearsing my lines like an actress with a script. I want to be calm and patient with her. I know the last time I tried talking to her I got pretty frustrated, and even started yelling. I need to lay back and stay calm, kind of like talking with a therapist. 

          I take a deep breath as I approach her, watching as she continues to lay in that bizarre fetal position. I take a knee, sitting beside her.

          I start with a  simple, "Hey."

          As I expected, there's no response.

          I take another breath. "Listen, Christina. I just wanna say sorry for the way I got mad earlier. I—I'm just so worried about everything. Something seriously, seriously weird is happening on this island."

          Again, she gives me nothing—not even the slightest movement.

          I continue, "I just wish we never came here. I wish we could've stayed back in Hanoi where we'd be safe. You know what I mean?"

          Nothing.

           "Maybe if we hadn't been so damn adventurous, we wouldn't have found ourselves in this position." I laugh to myself—a nervous laugh. "Who would have ever known things would turn out like this."

          I gaze out to the horizon for what feels like the thousandth time, seeing nothing but water. As scary as it is, I feel a sense of comfort, almost as if I'm staring into a painting back home in my apartment in Seattle, and can just snap myself out of this horrible nightmare.

          "If you could go back in time, would there be anything in your life you would have done differently?" I randomly ask. "Anything you would have changed?" However, I feel a strong sensation lingering in my gut as I ask that question. Would you have done anything differently? As if there is indeed something in my past life that I would have changed. But as to what that is, I can't seem to figure out.

          "If you could live forever...would you? To never have to get out of bed in the morning. To never have to leave the playground with your friends. To never have to see the day you turn old and grey." I feel like I'm just talking to myself at this point. Babbling nonsense that won't matter when my time comes. I think I'm just going to give up and let Christina be on her own—that's clearly what she wants.

          I smile sadly. "Well, if you need anything, I'll be sitting over by where the tents were. Just remember, Christina, we're best friends. Don't ever forget—"

          "No!" she finally yells, but still keeps her face hidden. "No, we're not friends, Jane! I don't even fucking know you!"

          I'm shocked. I don't know what to say. I can't tell what's stranger: hearing Christina's voice again, or the bizarre choice of words she has for me.  Just like me when I looked into the mirror and saw myself back on the ridge, it doesn't even sound like her.

          "Christina...what's going on, sweetheart? What are you talking about?"

          "Don't you fucking dare sweetheart me, bitch! You're the reason I'm on this Godforsaken island! And I'm NEVER getting off—all because of YOU!" She drives her face into the sand even more aggressively.

          "Is this about Oscar?" I question, confused. "Is that why you're getting so angry?"

          "No—it has nothing to do with that fucking piece of shit! Just like you, I don't even know him! I don't know any of you guys; yet I'm stuck here on this island forever with you fucking bastards!"

          I'm at a loss for words. Is it possible that Christina is losing her mind as well? I don't doubt it.

          "What do you mean you don't know me, Christina? Why would you say something like that, especially when we've been friends since middle school?"

           "Because it's true—you're just some dumb hoe I served in a nightclub one evening! I deal with people like you every single night of my job—greedy, selfish people! You have everything you need in life, but all you want is more, more, more!"

          Wait a second. Didn't Oscar mention something about a nightclub before he disappeared earlier today in the morning? Back when I first discovered his illness in the tent.

          "Please, Christina," I practically beg. "Help me understand why you've been acting this way."

          "Didn't I just explain? Do you ever listen, Jane! Or are you more concerned about the next guy you're going to fuck?"

          I gulp, feeling a burning sense of guilt trickle down my throat like vodka. With all the chaos going on, I didn't even realize that I have tears streaming down my eyes. Not because I'm sad or emotional, but because the sensitive irritation has gotten to the point I can barely even keep them open. It feels like I'm being forced to stare directly into the sun. It's just brutal. I want to curl up in a ball and cry.

          "C-Christina—" I desperately scratch at my eyes, attempting to avoid the incredible discomfort. "Just tell me what I can do to help.

          Christina shakes her head, still hiding her face. "There's nothing you can do for me, Jane! You made your bed, now we ALL have to lay in it! Now stop asking me questions you already know the answers to, or I'm gonna have to fucking KILL YOU with my bare hands!"

          And that's when I start to feel a soft tingle inside my ears, almost like there's a bee buzzing around my face. After a few seconds, the new sensation begins to slowly turn into white noise, but it's the furthest thing from being calm and peaceful. It's a high-pitched ringing noise, almost as if I'm developing tinnitus. It's the most aggravating noise I've ever heard, making me cringe and quiver. The only thing I can compare it to metaphorically, is that awful feeling you get in the back of your neck when someone runs their fingernails down a chalkboard.

          "See!" Christina screams, covering her ears. "It's all your fault, Jane! You dumb...fucking...CUNT!"

         My head twists and turns in every direction, wondering as to what could be causing that nightmare of a sound. It feels like the ringing is slowly getting louder with each passing second, as if someone is gradually turning up a dial, attempting to torture me into confessing secret information. I stand up and begin walking away from Christina, leaving her alone. I lay down by the other end of the beach, the tears continuing to pour down my cheeks like waterfalls from the sensitive irritation in my eyes. 

          I copy Christina by covering my ears with my hands like they're mufflers you see construction workers wearing. Doing anything possible to help minimize the excruciating noise my sensitive eardrums are being exposed to.

          All I can ask myself is one thing.

          How the fuck am I supposed to get through this?