[Invitation to Eden 20.0] The Island of Eden Read Online Free Page A

“In the plane.”
    Something inside me, as loud and clear as if someone were whispering in my ear tells me Joely has nowhere else to go. It just doesn’t tell me why.
    “You can’t stay in the plane.” Exasperated, I run fingers through my hair. After the day I’ve had, I know it’s standing up in thick black spikes all over my head, but I don’t care what I look like. In fact, if I never have to think about what I look like ever again, that will be just fine with me.
    “Come camp out for a bit.” I hold out a hand, scowl when she steps back.
    “I’ll be in the plane,” she repeats firmly. “Best camping spot I know.”
    And then she’s gone, her steps making small waves in the crystal-like water of the lagoon. Shading my eyes, I watch as she climbs back into the tin can with wings, sliding the door shut behind her. Her actions speak of competence, but I wonder if the reason she’s so familiar to me is because my own loneliness recognizes its twin in her.
    But standing here, on the beach of my own island, I find an anchor. Clutching tightly to it with both hands, I watch the sun set, blazing streaks of apricot and amethyst painted by the fingers of God.
    And beneath that miraculous view, a small metal plane, bobbing all alone on the darkening water. It looks as solitary as I felt, right up until I set foot on this island.

Chapter Three
    I ’ve done many things in my life, but I’ve never slept under the open sky. I’d thought it might feel strange, being out here all alone, when I’m so used to the crush of the city. Instead, I haul my sleeping bag out of my tent and lie on my back under a velvet dark sky dripping with silver stars.
    I’m exhausted, but I feel as though I could stay awake forever like this and be perfectly content, lulled by the gentle sound of the waves lapping at the shore, washing away my pain—the cold light of the stars filling me back up with something new and clean and pure.
    I’ve always been a man with a plan, but right in this perfect moment in time, I could care less about where I go from here. Instead, I wallow in the strange sensation of peace. And I’m not afraid of sleep the way I have been since the accident, which is yet another triumph.
    For the last six months, my memories have terrorized me each time I close my eyes. Haunting me. Reminding me of the pain I’d brought on myself. Of bitterness and betrayal.
    Here, I fall asleep without even being aware that it is happening.
    The next time I open my eyes, I am standing in the middle of the woods. My toes curl, digging into a tangle of roots and the moistness of soil.
    In front of me is a small, rugged wooden shack of sorts. It’s barely bigger than two outhouses placed side by side, constructed roughly from branches, woven together with plant matter.
    “What the fuck?” I’d be lying if I said that my pulse doesn’t pick up speed as I blink the grogginess from my eyes and realize that, somehow, I’ve made my way into the island’s forest in my sleep.
    My body tenses, a human’s instinctual response to the possibility of danger. But as I take a deep breath, the calmness of the night filters back in, the quiet of the island soothing my inner animal.
    When I purchased the island, every scrap of information that I could find on it said that it was deserted, and likely always had been. But this tiny, crude building is evidence that someone was here first.
    When I press my hand against the low door, the cool night air pulses with something that feels a lot like magic.
    Before I can ruminate too much on what might be inside—bats, rats, a human skeleton—I press my weight against the door. It swings inward on loose hinges made of what appear to be braided palm leaves; I squint, and all I can see inside is darkness and dust.
    Then I enter the shack, and the sight before me takes my breath away.
    She is kneeling at the base of a large flight of stone steps. Beyond her I can see a castle, a crown atop the mountain of