The Isle of Sin and Shadows

by Keri Lake

A tight fist squeezes around my lungs and steals my breath, and not even the constant rush of adrenaline smothers the cold when I glance over my shoulder toward the still waters of Lake Superior, where salmon-colored streaks of dusk stretch across the water’s placid surface, giving just enough light for me to steel my nerves.

Keri's imagery will always be some of the best

I can’t stand the cold, suffocating isolation of this place. The emptiness. The endless stretch of nothing.

Or maybe I’m just really fucking scared of being alone.

And that’s saying something, because I was equal parts feral and neurotic.

The fact is, I don’t know what I want. Like I’m rummaging through life’s big pantry, trying to decide what tastes good. My heart is starving for something I’ve never had before, but the ache in my chest feels masochistically good. It’s a reminder that I’m still alive. That I still crave something from this world. And the beauty in all that rejection lies in never having to mourn the end of something that was never there to begin with. Like cutting open a dry vein with no fear of bleeding out.

“Pack up. I’m taking you somewhere else.” “You just paid four hundred dollars for the room. And another fifty for the macarons that are on their way up.” “I paid fifty dollars for macarons?” “They’re French. What do you expect? And I love them. You told me to get what I wanted.”

“I’m willing to risk it.” “Yeah, well. I guess we’ll see. Do you know how many people I’ve scared off in my life? Too many to count.” Pushing up from his chair, he plants his fists at either side of me and leans in. “I don’t scare easily, moiselle.”

“I’ll take it slow, ma belle.”

She’s the first I’ve allowed to step inside that dark and empty hollow, where terrifying possibilities hide in the shadows.

She’s crazy, that’s what. My personal shot of chaos. A drug I want to inject whenever the fuck I’m feeling too calm and settled and my blood needs a spike of absolute bedlam and turmoil. A rush of adrenaline and lust that has my heart pumping overtime, just to keep up with a sudden urge to jump off a cliff while holding hands with her.

“You’re free to wear whatever you like, catin. Just as I’m free to kill anyone who looks at you in it.”

Chuckling, I needle his ribs, and lightly bite his chest. “So, what’s beautiful, then?” Some of the humor in his eyes fades, and he leans forward to kiss me. “You,” he says, forehead pressed to mine. “Je suis fou de toi.”

La lune. Les étoiles. Ma Céleste. The moon. The stars. My Céleste. It’s here, in this moment, that a ludicrous thought enters my mind, and I realize what lengths I would go to, to keep her.

“If you’re lying to me, if someone hurts her, I’ll spend the next seventy-two hours showing you my level of expertise at keeping someone alive during excruciating torture.”

“Newsflash: psychopaths don’t fall in love.”