Driftwood Beach

The soft ticking of a large austere clock hanging on the wall was the only indication that time was moving forward. It was almost perfectly synchronized with the almost inaudible ticking of the silver Rolex on Dylan Drake's left wrist. Dylan, however, was in the same position he had been since 8 AM. Sitting erect at his computer, his hands on the keyboard, eyes unblinking, and mouth set into an expressionless line. His only movement came from his fingers that whizzed over the keys. Their clicking harmonizing with the ticking melody. Finally, he broke eye contact with his computer screen and glanced down at the marine blue face of his watch. If it were not for his watch informing him of the date and time, Dylan wouldn't know the difference between any of his identical days. It had been three years ago that Dylan had arrived on Wall Street, hungry for something new that he would be bored of within a year. That was how Dylan Drake was, nothing held his interest for too long, and yet he performed impeccably. None of his superiors had ever complained. Locking his computer, he grabbed his leather briefcase and headed to the elevators.

Wall Street was as busy as ever during the afternoon rush hour. The monochrome buildings released the automated workers who were either heading for their homes or for the nearest establishment that sold adult beverages. For Dylan, it was the latter. A three-minute walk later, he arrived at the Stone Street Tavern, where a group of businessmen in suits of varying shades of neutral, insipid colors awaited him. Dylan ordered his usual Rickey as he listened to the conversation taking place. It was concerning the upcoming trip he had planned with his friends. "All I'm asking for is for there to be beautiful women, I plan to forget New York City with booze and girls." said Chad as he winked at the blonde waitress who was serving him his Moscow Mule. The group chortled and agreed. Ah yes, the upcoming trip to the island thought Dylan. That would be a pleasant change in the endless monotony of sepia buildings, droning emails, and leather briefcases. Five rounds of drinks later, Dylan ambled towards his luxury apartment with thoughts of nothing, heavy on his mind, and a backdrop of towering black spires stretching into a midnight blue and indigo sky tinted with the last orange of the dying sun. The vast array of burning stars hidden behind a curtain of smog.

Dylan arrived at 45 Wall Street, where a stately doorman in a handsome suit greeted him. He walked down the marble hallway with mahogany trim, the light of the lamps casting a long shadow behind him. Dylan reached his apartment, where he paid an extra grand for two extra bedrooms simply for the view the balcony on this side of the building provided. His stocks in the gin industry provided and so he reaped the rewards. Dylan started his nightly ritual in the master bathroom. He looked into the mirror as he dried his face. His eyes were of someone who had never wanted for anything, and yet they lacked. After his personal hygiene he would survey his extensive closet full of somber suits that could have been cut from the same cloth. He would then take the chosen suit and hang it on the hook of the closet door. Ready for the next day. He then remembered that tomorrow would be different, there was no need for a suit, because tomorrow his trip to the island would commence.

Dylan Drake and his posse of Ivy League graduates boarded the airplane; First Class. Where they ordered drink after drink, their rambunctious laughter reminding the passengers in coach of the carefree excess that they could only day dream about. As they flew through time zones, they fell into a drunken stupor where Dylan would dream of lovely maidens and siren songs. A slight turbulence disturbed his slumber, he peered out the window and saw Cristo Redentor (Christ the Redeemer) against a piercing azure speckled with altostratus clouds that swam lazily across the sky like a flock of delicate swans. The immense outstretched arms welcomed Dylan to the striking turquoise waters, and imposing mountains of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. It was in Rio where they would board the yacht that would take them on to Driftwood Beach, a private beach on an island about 100 miles off of the coast of Brazil. It was rumored that Driftwood Beach was the epitome of tropical beauty; crystalline waters and fine white sand caressed by a crescent of lush greenery with a symphony of soothing waterfalls that would serenade its guests to a peaceful slumber during the balmy nights. To boast it's exclusivity, only one visit of fifty people was allowed per month. The lucky few were housed in stylish bungalows scattered along the edge of the beach. Each bungalow had an attendant in charge of the domestic activities. These attendants were also in charge of the driftwood fires that would burn nightly along the beach.

The night found Dylan sitting on the deck of the yacht gazing into the sparkling heavens above, the reflection of a golden waxing gibbous moon perfectly reflected in the inky water below. Tearing his eyes away from the night sky, he looked across the gentle waves where the blue, lavender, and green lights from the driftwood fires pirouetted in welcome. Despite the warm temperature, Dylan felt a slight shiver travel through his body as he watched the abnormal colors of the fires. At the dock, their attendants waited to guide them towards their assigned bungalow. Dylan and his friends followed a petite figure across the beach, it was hard to distinguish her features in the dark, but from the green light of a nearby fire they could see she had a cascade of raven curls rippling down her back. When they arrived at their bungalow she opened the door for them, turned on the old-fashioned oil lamps and then left without a word. The front of the bungalow was purely glass, Dylan observed the dancing flames of the blue-green fires casting flickering shadows. Their light was joined by the dim lights of the lamps from the other bungalows nearby. As his friends argued behind him over who got which room, he slid open the glass door and stepped out onto the deck where a white hammock flagged him down.

Three days had passed since their arrival at Driftwood Beach, and each day seemed to be taken straight out of paradise. There were daily excursions to explore the secret caves waiting to be discovered behind the sparkling curtains of the waterfalls. The tidal pools would be bursting with life and color, each an island within itself. If the tidal pools were islands, the reefs were whole worlds brimming with exotic marine life beyond the imagination. There was also the option of sunbathing on the beach with an endless number of drinks from the open tiki bar. This was the option most popular with the crème de la crème, and where Dylan could find his friends. They had gotten overly friendly with some of the other passengers that it didn't surprise Dylan to see his friends staggering to their bungalow at all times of the night. Their bodies outlined by the cool flames of the fires that would start to burn as soon as the sun retreated.

The morning of their last day was inaugurated by the frantic cries of an early hiker sprinting his way back to the beach, incoherent sentences forming between his frantic gasps for air. Not fully understanding, a group followed him to a seaside cave decorated with stalactites. Since it was low tide, the glistening blue green water was ebbing near the entrance, but was not completely engulfing the cave. Upon the golden sand lay the ivory skeleton of a human. As Dylan leaned in closer, he saw a shining plate and screws on the skeletons left leg, exactly where Chad had broken his leg while playing football four years ago. Horrified, Dylan informed his two friends of this startling discovery. Their minds rejected the possibility, they had just seen Chad last night, partying with another group on the beach. This skeleton was razed to the bone, it was impossible for a body to decompose that quickly. Shaken, they headed back to the beach where they met up with the rest of their group to frantically search for their missing friend. The nightfall felt heavy and oppressive upon them, and still there was no sign of Chad. An unease had settled over the whole beach, as each person questioned who or what could have done this. The group of friends sat on the deck of the bungalow and stared into the green light of the fires, discussing what they should do. There was no cell signal, no way to contact authorities to start an investigation. It seemed like the only option was to wait until the next day when the yacht would pick them up at the dock.

By 11:00 PM it seemed like Dylan was the only one awake. The lamps in all the bungalows had been extinguished, the only light came from the driftwood fires which burned exclusively with green flames. The full moon was hanging low on the horizon, creating a second moon in the calm jet-black waters below. He saw a red tint spreading across the face of the moon like red wine sensually soaking into ivory silk. The salty ocean breeze caressed his brow with sweet melancholic fingers that left him with the feeling of altschmerz deep in his heart. Seeking to drown his sorrows in a bottle of liquor; he lumbered to the beach where he searched for the horizon, only to find the vast void of dark sea and sky becoming one and stretching endlessly before him with nothing in them that could catch his echoing thoughts. "A midnight swim helps to clear my mind." a serene voice carried over the water. The rays of the Blood Moon bathed the bare alabaster shoulders of a maiden even more lovely than the one in his dream. She stretched a hand out towards him, her raven hair floating languidly. Dylan entered the water, noting how much lighter he felt. She smiled as he took her hands, and slowly she started to sink, submerging them both into the dark water. As he sank, he heard the ethereal siren song envelop him from within. With a final glance at his Rolex, he saw that it had stopped ticking, and that the green light from the driftwood fires was fading away into the distance.