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TITLE: Words Across the Sea
By Francy Judge
02/25/16
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It was the perfect crime. My skin tingled all over when I thought of counting the money. Tingled and burned after diving away from my exploding Nissan. The explosion worked. The cops or detectives or anyone chasing me would assume I was in my car as it flew off the cliff, dropped fifty feet, and crashed into a fiery mess. As I hid behind bushes to watch, an exploding piece of metal grazed my arm, branding the skin. I smelled like a barbeque at the gas station, but the pain was worth my freedom and new riches.

I steered the little fishing boat onto the shore, away from the crashing waves and rocks. I gathered my tent, food supplies, clothing, and bin of thousands of hundred dollar bills. I shielded my eyes as I glanced up at the tall palm trees where the scorching sun glistened over the canopy of leaves. This deserted island would be my home for the next month until I felt safe to move back with a new identity.

The tropical birds sang me to sleep under the crescent moon and a billion stars. I could stay here forever if it wasn’t for food…and the money I want to spend.

I must have been exhausted because I slept until the sun was high above the trees. My skin dripped with sweat like I didn’t know it could. I needed water. Before I unzipped the stifling tent, I noticed the shadow of a rectangle hanging on the outside of the fabric. I knew it wasn’t there before. I figured something damp must have landed on it and stuck.

A letter in an envelope was addressed to me, Mr. Luke Randolph, and pinned to the tent. Two Island Way, Sin Island. No country or zip. I yelled into the air. “What on Earth? Who would know I was here? I never saw one ship that could have seen me. And if this if Two Island Way, who lives at One Island Way?”

I picked up my knife and circled the area. Never saw anyone or a home, shack, or treehouse. I tried to forget about the strange letter and clean up in the waterfall, cooked some beans and read a book. Then it occurred to me—I was so freaked out, I never opened the letter. With shaking hands, I lifted the envelope flap and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper.

“Dear Mr. Randolph,

We know all about you. Everything. We will meet you in seven days.

Your neighbor.”

I tossed it in the tent and yelled as loud as I could. “You don’t scare me. Just stay away!”

For two nights, I could hardly sleep. Would someone visit me in five days?

Every morning a new letter arrived, counting down our meeting until day six.

“Mr. Randolph,

We are surprised you are still here. We know how guilty you feel after stealing the money. You stole money that was donated to build churches in poor countries. You knew it, and you are ashamed.

We will see you tomorrow.”

Tears welled in my eyes, and my heart felt strangled. I didn’t want to meet them tomorrow. I pulled down my tent, packed up everything in my boat and took off for home. I couldn’t live in fear like this. It was worse than prison. As waves crashed against the side of my boat, drenching my hair, I stared at the bin. I knew what I had to do. Then I saw it. Another letter.

“For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

I cranked the speed up as high as it could go.

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