Page 86 of Alice Chen's Reality Check

Something clicks for me. “It looked like someone punched him.”

“There were also signs of a struggle,” Daniel adds. Then, when he sees the look I give him, he adds, “Hey, I took forensics for a semester in undergrad and a few criminal law classes in law school.”

I hold up my hands. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Alice can correct me if I’m wrong,” Daniel says, “but I think there were tracks in the mud around his body. Like someone had been dragging him.”

“Look at you, Nancy Drew, Esquire,” I say.

“Thanks, I loved playing the Nancy Drew games as a kid,” Daniel says.

“Same. My favorite wasGhost Dogs of Moon Lake,” says Lex.

“This is very cute, and I love this for our friendship,” I say, waving between Daniel and Lex, “but can we get back to the topic at hand? The fact that Anton’s dead and maybe…” I don’t want to believe this could happen, but I have to admit the possibility. “Maybe someone killed him.”

“There’s a nonzero chance,” Daniel agrees. “Whatever the case may be, whether it’s negligence or murder, we need to involve the authorities at this point. Get a real investigation started so the chain of custody on any evidence is airtight.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” Lex says. “Nothing and no one is getting offthis island. Help isn’t coming.”

The three of us fall silent.

Finally, I say, “We may be trapped, but we’re not helpless. We can do something about this. We have to. For Anton.”

“Anton’s dead. It’s over for him. We need to make sure that we get off this island alive,” Lex says. They sag back into the chair, the shadows below their eyes deepening. I wonder how much sleep they’ve been getting.

“These goals aren’t mutually exclusive,” I reason. Now that I have a purpose, a plan is forming and I’m back on familiar ground. “Step one: We figure out if Anton was murdered, or if he died because of a massive OSHA violation. Step two: If Anton was indeed murdered, then we make a list of suspects.”

“That won’t be easy,” Lex says. “I can tell you for a fact that everyone hated Anton, including the whole crew. He was an asshole.”

“Doesn’t help that he got a lot of people injured with those fireworks he botched,” I agree. “Even Dawn Taylor got hurt.”

“Hang on,” Daniel says, looking from me to Lex. “Are we sure this is a good idea? You’re proposing that we play detective.”

“It can’t be that hard. I’ve watched all of the Benoit Blanc movies, and I was the best individual contributor during our Escape the Lab teacher team-building exercise back in October,” I say. I drop the false bravado and look Daniel in the eye. “But seriously, it makes sense. We’ve had too many ‘accidents’ on set, and at this point, I’m fairly sure all of those were intentional. If we want to stay safe, we need to know if there is a murderer loose on the island—and if so, who.”

On that cheery note, Lex’s walkie-talkie lets out a burst of static, and we all jump as Leah’s voice tells Lex that she’s en route to the villa to pick up the contestants.

“Sounds like you’re being summoned,” Lex says, rising. “I gotta head out.”

“Be careful,” I say, and Lex nods. They slip out, closing the door silently behind them. Barely a few minutes later, Leah arrives, her facepale with exhaustion.

“Anton didn’t make it,” she says bluntly. “We’re filming a memorial in ten. Get ready and meet me outside.”

“Wait, Leah,” I say, grabbing Leah’s arm.

She hisses, her face contorting in pain. I snatch my hand back. I forgot she’d been hurt the other night during the storm. “Sorry, Leah. I just wanted to ask if we could sit this one out. I just don’t think I can stomach filming right now, after what happened.”

Leah looks almost sorry when she says, “Order from the top, Alice. You don’t get a choice. Put on something dark, okay?”

—

We file down to the beach in silence. The sparkling blue of the ocean and the verdant green of the palm trees feel at odds with the sober atmosphere of our procession.

While we were cooped up in our rooms, the production crew must’ve been hard at work setting up the memorial. A circle of candles—the same ones that were used on our first date night on the beach—have been placed in the sand, and there’s a bonfire going in the middle. Lit by the firelight is a heap of things—a pair of aviator sunglasses, a tie-dyed bucket hat, and a duffel bag. In front of it all is a sign that readsIn Memory of Anton Brophyin Times New Roman font.

It’s clearly designed to be a camera-ready moment, and honestly, it’s not even a good one. The whole thing is obviously staged so that it can be fed straight toUS Weekly.

“This sucks,” I say, but I don’t know if I mean the cheapness of the effort, the entire murder situation, or Anton’s actual death.

---