Page 65 of Lost Paradise

“Hey, Jack,” I look up to find Mr. Coldwell approaching me. “Have you seen Astro? I’m putting together a small group to go check the markers Byron laid out.”

“I was just looking for him,” I explain.

He looks around as if half magically expecting the bloke to appear.

Eve joins us, looking all enchanting and surreal, holding two of the fishing spikes as she walks along the shore with her harem duo trailing behind her. She reminds me of Homer’s Illiad, Athena, radiant with her golden tresses cascading like sunlight, holding her spears with the grace of a warrior and the allure of a goddess, embodying beauty and boldness in every stride she makes in the light-colored sand.

“Here,” she holds both rods out to me, and rather than take them, I let her hold them out and stare at her. “I’m collecting fruit for dinner. I thought that’s why you’re here to catch some fish.” She looks at me, waiting for me to respond, but I can't help but be mesmerized by the tiny freckles scattered across her sunburnt nose.

“Astro’s gone AWOL; perhaps he’s gone to the lagoon,” Mr. Coldwell remarks to me as he observes Eve. I’m pretty sure herpresence makes his knob hard. Not only is she the only female stranded with us, but she has to be beautiful, which makes the masculine pain in our lower regions harder to control.

“We were just there,” Eve says. “He’s not there.”

“Maybe he dropped down a large hole,” Byron mutters.

“Or even better, found some cave and decided it’s better there,” Zane chimes in.

“Hmm…I like the cave,” Eve muses. “Quite fitting for the caveman he is.”

I cock my head at her thoughtfully. Seems like all three have joined some hate bandwagon on Astro. Not blaming them, he’s been an arse to everyone but me. But that’s because I don’t join his attention-seeking triggers to rattle everyone. I could have been pissed off at him for trying to get me away from our house so he could have his party back at college, but then anger would consume me, and I wouldn’t have half the fun watching him and them battle it out.

Mr. Coldwell breathes out a sigh of frustration. He still thinks he’s responsible for all of us, but that ship sailed the moment he nailed Eve on the shore the first time. There’s no doubt he’s got my respect, and I’m smart enough to know not to mess with the lad who has the skills to kill a person within seconds. We’re all smart enough not to challenge the geezer, even Astro, who probably has the darkest history among us, but I’d take on any of the four, even Zane. He might be an all-star athlete, but he doesn’t have the skills to win a street fight.

Not yet, anyway.

But I doubt Mr. Coldwell plans to teach Zane the skills I know he picked up training with Takeda Shingen for a year in Japan. Shingen, a descendant of the famous samurai Sakamoto Ryoma, is mainly known as a Japanese Che Guevara.

He’s not aware of it, but our lives crossed when I was ten and he was fifteen. In one of my parents’ multiple separations they constantly have with each other, my mother fled to Okinawa Island. Chasing some summer fling, she met in the Canary Islands and dragged me with her. It wasn’t because of some maternal instinct that she couldn’t live without me; I was her showcase puppy dog to garner sympathy from people as a single mom. Her lover of the time was a general in the US Armed Forces stationed on the island, and Shingen was a visiting martial arts instructor at the bases. His prodigy, Mr. Coldwell, hung around the base where I lived, waiting for him.

From a kid's perspective, I thought he was the most incredible person since cartoons started having epic battles and Batman became gothic and darker. He was living with a real-life samurai warrior. Little did I know back then that such fighters no longer exist.

I also know Mr. Coldwell’s first name, but I’m playing along with the others because it’s fun to watchThe Teacherall worked up and flustered.

“Let’s continue as planned to visit the area you marked,” he says to Byron and turns to Eve, “Can you arrange the dinner?”

Oh boy.

“Not a chance,” she says firmly. “I’m coming with you.”

I’m surprised she hasn’t blown a fuse with what he’s suggested.

“Someone has to prep dinner. You can’t fish in the dark.”

“Then you stay and prep it, and I’ll go with the others to the border.”

“Eve,” Mr. Coldwell rubs his temple, knowing anything he says now puts him in the dog house. “If something were to happen…”

“I don’t need you puffing your chest around me like some buffoon. I survived a plane crash, drowning, and being eaten by cannibals, and don’t get me started that none of you want my pussy going on strike on this stranded island, where I will parade naked all fucking day just to make your balls blue and painful.”

Fuck me.

I’ve always liked a woman with a bit of fire in her. Eve’s precisely the kind of plot twist that sets my soul blazing from a Manhattan society girl to a fierce Valkyrie.

I’d like her to use one of those spears she holds and have her carve her name on my chest.

If Mr. Coldwell continues his misogynistic attempts to keep Eve like his prized little mouse, I bet she will transform into a ruthless mythological warrioress.

“Maybe when Astro returns from whatever hole he’s crashed into, he can prep dinner,” I suggest, trying to keep the peace. I rarely intervene, but I’m eager to check out this magical border that Byron and Eve were on about earlier.

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