Edward absently checked the contents of his suitcases for the umpteenth time. His mind was elsewhere. He pictured himself lying on a white sand beach with a cool drink in his hand; golden skinned island girls in colorful sarongs seeing to his every need. Soon his body would follow his mind to that tropical island.
    He shook himself back to the present and purposefully checked the top drawer of the nightstand. He had to be sure his pager and cell phone were safely tucked away for the next two weeks.
     Two weeks. . . no technology. . . escape. . . .
     He quickly closed the drawer, picked up his luggage and without a backward glance left his apartment and headed for the airport.

    Edward found his seat on the plane. In his absent-minded state he failed to notice the grotesque beady-eyed little man eyeing him evilly from several rows away. The only thing on his mind at the moment was that for the next fourteen days he would be Edward Marcase-- Beach Bum.
    The flight was pleasant enough, unlike the last flight he had taken. To Hamburg. It made his stomach churn, just thinking about it. He forced the unpleasant thoughts from his mind and concentrated instead on being a Bum.
    Thinking of the white sand beach and the cool drink made him feel very lucky that he had found the brochures in his mailbox a week earlier. The trip was such a bargain that he couldn't resist. Even the necessity of changing aircraft in Hawaii didn't deter him. He was feeling in need of a break from everything, to run away from his responsibilities for awhile. He had turned a deaf ear to the protests raised by Cassian, Hailey and Shiroma. "They are just jealous," he had thought with a smug smile. So he had just finished off his last assignment quickly and left without a word.
    Well, almost without a word. He had e-mailed to tell them that he would be away for two weeks but didn't tell them where he was going exactly. Just that he was "running away to the South Pacific." Images of miles of beaches and beautiful tawny-skinned women in grass skirts filled his head. He was going to enjoy himself! And nothing, nobody was going to spoil it for him. He was going to have a good time even if it killed him!
    He ordered a martini and settled in comfortably to enjoy the movie they were showing: the remake of "The Island of Dr Moreau." He was in such high spirits that he even liked the dinner they had served him. He smiled once again, thinking of the scuba-diving and lazing around he would do. On the Isle of Norwam, in the South Pacific.
    Several rows away, the grotesque beady-eyed little man also smiled. But with great malice.

    The stopover in Hawaii went quickly and smoothly. Edward was glad of that. He hadn't seen his luggage but had been assured that everything had arrived.
    The small jet taxied toward the terminal on Norwam. Finally. The feeling of anticipation was almost overwhelming. He felt like a little kid waiting for Santa.
    As he descended the stairs he paused in amazement. He felt as if he had entered the Twilight Zone. The people, the atmosphere, the sounds transported him back to another era. What was so familiar about it he wondered? Paisley shirts, beads, shaggy haired youths in bell bottom pants. Were those platform shoes?
    He could hear music by the Doors blaring from an antiquated PA system. Imagine that, he mused, a Seventies theme park in the middle of the South Pacific.
    A jab in his side brought him back to reality for the moment. A dark skinned, shaggy haired youth had picked up his luggage and was heading for the front entrance of the terminal. Edward hastily followed.
    Outside the entrance he stopped dead in his tracks. The sight that greeted him was more amazing than the scene inside. There at the curb sat several VW busses painted in psychedelic colors and covered in flowers and peace signs. One of them had "Make Love Not War" lettered on its side.
    As Edward climbed into one of the buses he noticed that the driver bore a very strong resemblance to the youth who had helped with his luggage. Twins?
    He took a seat and slowly absorbed the scene outside. He was seeing more than double. He counted six, no seven, more youths who all looked amazingly alike.
    Not being a genetics expert, he explained it to himself as being the result of inbreeding due to the remoteness of the island. That was it, inbreeding. The bus lurched forward, instantly clearing Edward's mind of the images at the airport. He was on holiday. So what if everyone looked alike? He shrugged and concentrated on the scenery.

    His room was in a private wing of the hotel. Part of the special package, the dark-skinned, shaggy-haired receptionist told him. (More inbreeding? he wondered.) The hotel lobby had been decorated in Seventies style and all the staff were dressed like hippies. Maybe that's why they bore a strong resemblance to each other, he thought.
    His train of thought got derailed when he saw the view from his second-floor window. It was magnificent! The blue-green sea stretched out to the horizon and the white beach appeared deserted. He had to get down there! He pulled off his T-shirt and army boots, put on his shades and quickly wandered barefoot down to the beach.
    The tawny-skinned waitress in a colorful sarong brought him his third martini. "This is the life!" he thought before he drifted off to sleep in his hammock, bathed in glorious sunshine.

    He moaned and groaned as he practically crawled into his room. He should have remembered the sun block! Now he was cooked. He was an angry red in front, from head to toe, except where his shades and shorts protected him. Even his toes hurt! And he couldn't find his T-shirt. So he gingerly got hold of his suitcase and opened it for the first time to look for a change of clothes and something to soothe his burned skin. When he looked in, he groaned even more loudly.

    The paisley shirt and tie-dyed T-shirt he bought from the hotel boutique came with free beads. Well, they were better than the skimpy bikinis and lingerie he'd found in the suitcase! The shaggy-haired salesperson in bell bottom pants had tried to sell him the bell bottom pants and platform shoes too. No way, man! He was sticking to the lone pair of shorts he still had. Thank God he still had his army boots!
    As he soaked in the soothing bath, he looked at the brochures someone had left in his room while he was out. The nearby islands were even more beautiful than Norwam. One in particular caught his attention. He simply *had* to go there, sunburn or no! The pictures of sparkling white sand, crystal clear blue water and corals teeming with marine life beckoned him.
    The siren call of. . . Key Lardo.

    The island of Key Lardo was calling to Edward…the crystal clear, warm waters, the white sand, life in the slow lane...it reminded him of home, in Chicago...well, it reminded him of the local swimming pool, but without the stink of chlorine: warm, the water usually clean, and he always swam in the slow lane, ah those sandy bits at the bottom of the pool, so much dust and fluff from between people's toes!
    (But we digress.)
    Excited-- in spite of the painful sunburn-- at the thought of visiting that wonderful tropical island he'd seen in the brochure, he jumped up in the bath.
    He caught sight of himself in the mirror, and was shocked at the difference in his coloring front vs rear! He looked for his shirts but they weren't where he thought he had left them. Which, considering what they looked like, might be considered a Good Thing. But on! No time to concern oneself with such fripperies! He reached over to the stool where he'd left his sole pair of shorts: gone!
    "Oh, my word!" Edward exclaimed. (The last bit was translated into more polite language.) "Where oh where have my little shorts gone? Oh where, oh where can they be?"
    But there was worse to come: his army boots were gone too!
    Not the army boots! Yes!
    In their place, someone had left an oily loincloth (not unlike the one worn by Ron Ely in the 70's TV version of Tarzan) and a pair of flower power platform shoes.
    Outraged at the turn of events, Edward bravely donned the loincloth, though it took him a while to work out which way up it went, pulled on the platform shoes and wobbled his way down to reception. Curiously enough, no one circulating in the corridors gave him a second glance, and he couldn't decide whether to take this as a compliment or not.
     At the front desk, Edward complained loudly to the clerk: "Just look at what I'm having to wear!"
    The clerk replied in a laid back manner, "Groovy duds, man."
    Edward was incensed. "Where are MY clothes? I want to wear MY clothes! Someone came into my room while I was in the bath and made off with my clothes! What sort of hotel are you running here, that a guy's shorts and army boots aren't safe while he takes a bath?"
    "Come with me," said the man, "there's something in here I need to show you. . . ."
    Edward didn't hesitate a second. If there was a chance of retrieving even his boots he'd follow this guy to the moon.
    The man led him down a musty-smelling, dimly lit hallway. He stopped in front of a padlocked door and produced a large key from somewhere in the folds of the gaudy caftan he was wearing. He unlocked the lock and slowly pushed the door open, revealing a cramped storeroom filled with cardboard boxes marked "Army Surplus" and racks of clothing.
    Edward surveyed the scene and immediately opened the nearest box. It was full of combat boots. He felt a thrill run down his spine.
    Ten minutes and many sneezes later he had a pair that fit. While he rummaged through the boxes, he happened on a Swiss Army Knife, which he hid away in his boot.
    His attention turned to the racks of clothing. He had to find something quick and get rid of that horrible loincloth. Since the racks contained nothing but cut off jeans and shirts, the selection process was simple. He made his choices quickly and happily followed the man out of the room and back to the lobby.
    Edward thanked him for his help and started for the stairs. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a large bowl of candy bars on a table near the front desk. He grabbed a handful of Snickers bars and climbed up the stairs two at a time, anxious to change his clothes.
    His stomach rumbled as he tore open a candy bar. He hadn't eaten since the sunburn episode and he was famished. First things first. Then he changed into his shorts and shirt. He cringed when he looked in the mirror. He had mindlessly selected a paisley patterned shirt and he regretted the choice. Nothing he could do about that now. He put the knife in one pocket and a candy bar in the other and headed for the door. He had to get to Key Lardo before dark. There would be food, drink and relaxation waiting for him.
    Once in the lobby he was greeted by a grotesque beady-eyed little man who told him that he was his escort to Key Lardo. Edward followed him to the beach where the only means of transportation in sight was a small wooden rowboat.
    Edward looked questioningly at the little man but the only response he received was a gesture toward the boat. Edward rolled his eyes and groaned but recovered quickly. The lure of Key Lardo was too strong.

    The island had looked so close. Why had it taken two hours of steady rowing to get there? Not to mention having to endure the malevolent stare of the grotesque little man. He wondered why Igor came to mind whenever he looked at him.
    One final push of the oars and the small boat shot forward and lodged in the sand. The little man gingerly exited the boat.
    Edward had been sustained during his exertions by the candy bar. Now he was running on empty. He stood shakily for a moment, took one step forward and his world went black. He landed face first in the white sand of Key Lardo.

    An itchy burning sensation roused him. No, make that an itchy and a burning sensation. He was itchy all over! And the back of his body felt charred. He'd been lying in face down in the sun for too long. But what was causing the horrible itch? He sat up quickly and inspected himself. And scratched mightily.
    Sand fleas! He was being eaten alive!
    Desperate for relief, he ran into the sea, still scratching and ripping off his...
     (In view of our readers' delicate sensibilities, we will follow Mark Twain's lead and draw a Veil of Victorian Decency over the rest of this scene.)

    He stood on a rock in his squishy army boots, scratching himself and chewing on a salty, soggy Snickers bar, far away from the sandy beach where he was attacked.
    He looked out to sea, hoping against hope to catch a glimpse of his clothes floating out there. He had only managed to salvage his paisley shirt. He had made a grab for his shorts but only managed to grab at the Snickers bar and Swiss Army knife which fell out of the pocket. It was a hard decision to make: his shorts or food.
    He was hungry.
    Everything else had been carried away by the waves. In his frantic quest for relief, he hadn't noticed until it was too late.
    At least he had his paisley shirt, and the Swiss Army knife, which he managed to fish out of the sandy bottom. He couldn't locate the beady-eyed little man or the boat.
    "What the h**l happened?" he wondered. "When I get a hold of the people in charge...grrrrrr--!"
    With a sigh, a last backward glance at the clear blue sea and a lot of scratching, he squished his way into the jungle. He had to find some sign of civilization. He followed what he thought was a rough path.

    After what felt like an eternity of walking he came upon a stream with blessed cool water. After soothing his parched throat, he sat under a tree and took stock of his situation. He was lost and it would be dark soon. He needed shelter and some food. He thought he could see a fruit tree across the stream.
    He also needed to keep warm because the night could become very cool in his state of undress.
    He waded across the stream and looked at the fruit on the tree. It looked like a form of mango. And there were some were apparently ripe. He picked up a stick and started to flail at the fruit in an attempt to dislodge some of it.
    After being hit by several very ripe and injured fruit, he managed to gather enough to satisfy his growling stomach. Now for keeping warm. He didn't have any matches but he was sure he would remember what he was taught at Cub Scouts 101.
    He gathered pieces of firewood and proceeded to try to build a fire.

    The full moon saw an Edward alternately scratching and rubbing two pieces of wood together. He was sweating profusely and getting really heated. With a roar of frustration, he threw the wood into the bushes and kicked the tree behind him.
    The jungle rang with his howl of frustration and injury.

    The sunrise found a sleeping Edward draped on a branch overhanging the stream. The sudden scream of a macaw nearby startled him awake and he fell into the stream. He sputtered and splashed his way to the bank. He looked up to see dozens of brightly colored macaws sitting on the branches and cackling at him. He angrily splashed water at them and they cackled even louder. He could have sworn they sounded like a bunch of fat old women laughing at him. Some of them were even giving him the evil eye.
    He stalked off down the rough path, the sound of cackling macaws ringing in his ears. He shook his fists at the offensive birds and the macaws laughed even harder at his angry red back.
    In his irritation, he didn't notice the set of glowing yellow eyes following him...
    After a few more yards, he saw what he suspected was a building, half hidden in the undergrowth.
    "So the island is, or has been, inhabited at some time!" thought Edward. He tried to get close to the one story, thirty -foot long building. It was difficult, because the bushes and the trees growing all over it were dragging and scratching at his sore back and tearing his paisley shirt.
    "The knife!" said Edward aloud. "I have a Swiss army knife!"
    After much effort sawing and slicing at the undergrowth with the three-inch blade, he returned to snapping and bending the twigs as he had before.
    "It's about as much use as a butter knife," he complained aloud. He was making progress at last, though considering the amount of effort his curiosity had cost him, he didn't even know why he was bothering.
    "I don't know why I'm bothering to get inside this old abandoned building. It doesn't look like anybody has been here in a long time. What am I trying to achieve?" Edward said.
    Just then, he heard the unmistakable sound of water trickling from inside the building. It was a strange echoing type of sound, too. At first he thought he was mistaken. Then he heard a cough from roughly the same area. Silence. Then the sound of a loo being flushed, that was quite unmistakable. Tearing at the last few branches in his rush to reach the side of the building and find the person responsible for the sounds of civilized humanity, he finally got to the corner of the building and looked around it.
    Edward was amazed, and frustrated at the same time to find that he was now standing on a paved walkway running between the huts of a fancy Club Med type of complex. He had arrived there by the most tortuous route possible: the Club had left the jungle intact only at the back of the building. In front, it was landscaped and beautifully maintained.
     Unperturbed by this latest annoyance, Edward rushed inside the hut, and saw a man at the porcelain, evidently doing up his shorts. He waited, then strode up when he felt confident he was finished, and spun the man around to face him.
    "Who are you?" demanded Edward, "and what is this place?"
    Then Edward stared at the man. He KNEW he knew the man, but the long, shaggy beard, and the beaded headband holding back the below shoulder length hair threw Edward off.
    But only for a moment. Edward stepped back in amazement, exclaiming, "Daniel! What are you doing on my vacation?"
    "You talkin' to me? You talkin' to me?" repeated the Daniel look -alike as he gave Edward the once over. "Don't know any Daniel. Never saw you before in my life. Nice shirt. Lose your shorts?" He spoke quickly and mechanically.
    Edward was speechless. It was Daniel's voice and looking past the hair and beard it WAS Daniel. Or his twin.
    "I must be hallucinating," Edward thought to himself. He hadn't eaten for what seemed days. He was tired, sore and in dire need of a bath. And he needed FOOD. Real food.
    Without another word the Daniel look alike walked out of the building.
    "Wait just a minute, you!" shouted Edward as he ran after the exiting figure. He stopped dead in the doorway of the building as the man disappeared into one of the nearby cabins. He couldn't be walking around the grounds without any pants...
    He turned and went back inside. He had to do something about his clothes. Then he had an idea. Edward tore the sleeves from his shirt and removed the laces from his boots. He hastily fashioned another loincloth for himself. Satisfied with his handiwork he took a deep breath and prepared himself for his entrance into Key Lardo "society."
    Edward stepped out into the sun. "First things first," he thought.. He had to find the main office. Looking around, he spotted several people about fifty yards away.
    As he approached the group he experienced a strong sense of familiarity. It was a group of four men and three women. Three of the men looked exactly like the young men at the airport. The fourth was obviously a guest. Two of the women were identically lovely island girls. The third woman appeared to be a guest.
    Once again inbreeding came to mind for a brief moment, but he questioned the idea. He was sure someone in the group could help him with his immediate problem.
    Edward ignored their questioning stares. The twins giggled nervously at his approach. He tried to remain nonchalant as he introduced himself.
    "Hello, I'm Edward Marcase," he said as he extended his hand to the elegant blonde. "I'm here on vacation but have had some difficulties and I was hoping someone could direct me to the main office".
    "Nice to meet you, Edward," said the blonde. "I'm Lenore Gillespie." Edward could read the laughter in her eyes. "Leena and Meena will show you to the office. Once you're settled, perhaps you would like to join us for drinks. This is Roland Sackwell. He is also a guest here on Key Lardo."
    The two men exchanged greetings. Edward thanked Lenore for her help and, breathing a sigh of relief, he said he would be happy to have drinks with them once he had bathed and organized himself.
    He happily followed the twins, thinking that finally his vacation could begin.
    Leena and Meena escorted Edward over to the office and waited outside, giggling. Edward walked inside the tiny straw roofed hut. He didn't see anyone around, so he hit the bell on the desk in front of him. He turned to look out of the hut at the girls who were still giggling in a school-girlish manner from behind their hands. Edward waved to them nervously. When he turned his head back in the direction of the desk, he found himself nose to nose with a man.
     "Strange," thought Edward, "I didn't hear him come in!"
    The man was none other than Roland Sackwell, the man he had just been introduced to as a fellow guest! Edward took a big step backwards so that he could focus properly on the man:
    "I didn't think you worked here, I thought you were a guest," said Edward.
    "Aah! We all start off as guests," Roland explained, "but then they find you a. . . function! I'm one of the lucky ones! I work in this office!"
    Edward studied the man. "You mean to say that you came here on vacation, and now they are making you work in the office? Couldn't you pay the bill or something?"
    "Ah, my dear young man," Roland said, "when you take a vacation on Key Lardo you incur expenses, owe debts of gratitude so great, that they may never be repaid!"
    Edward frowned. "I don't understand what you're going on about. I've only come here for some R & R. And I packed my Visa card. They gave me a limit of $223 on it to use as I see fit. There is no risk that I will run out of cash!"
    The man returned to the other side of the desk and sat down. "Please," he said, motioning to the chair near Edward, "please make yourself comfortable. I have just a few simple questions I need to ask you before I can show you to your cabin. ONE: do you have any genetic disorders?"
    "W-what?" stammered Edward
    "I know! That's a toughie! I couldn't answer that one either. Let's try: TWO, have you ever been abducted by aliens as far as you know?"
    Edward stood up, outraged. "You're just making fun of me. Look, all I want is the chance to go and take a bath, find the village shop and buy some clothes, spend a few days on the beach dreaming in the sunshine, so that I can go back to work in two weeks time a renewed man!"
    "Well," said Roland, "you got the last part right, anyway."
    "That's it. Get a boat organized to take me back to the other island. I've gone off the idea of staying here. You're all a bunch of wierdos!" "Wait!" screamed Roland. "You can't leave before you have at least tried one of our famous home grown pineapple rum punches!" Roland got up and took Edward by the arm. "After one of these, I feel sure you'll change your mind about staying a while-- hehe!"
    Though unconvinced, Edward followed Roland. Lord knew that he could do with a stiff drink after all the hassle he'd had to endure in the last few days...

Edward woke up in a strange dark place. His head felt really peculiar; it seemed to have gained ten pounds and there was a buzzing in his ear. It took a while for him to remember what happened. The last thing he remembered was taking great thirsty gulps of the famous homegrown pineapple rum punch. He struggled to come to complete wakefulness. He tried and tried but he couldn't claw his way out of the darkness. Until he touched his head…
    Then he discovered the big wet towel that had been placed over his eyes and forehead. He made a feeble attempt to rip it off his head and struggled to sit up. And wished he hadn't. He knew the signs and the symptoms. This was bad. Very bad. He's had this numerous times before and he knew what he was in for.
    He had a hangover. A VERY bad hangover. The pineapple rum had punch all right!
    The room swam round and round, and in and out of focus. He took a while to focus on his surroundings and decide which way was up. He was sitting up, he thought-- after a few moments of heavy thinking. Now, if he could only stop that pneumatic drill from working in his head, he'd be in good shape. Almost.
    When things finally came into focus, he discovered that he was in a rather opulent room. Only then could he appreciate that he was sleeping in black satin sheets. The single lamp in the room showed that the four-poster bed was set in the middle of a large room which was lavishly furnished in the psychedelic style of the Seventies, which hurt his eyes and pounding head. He couldn't make the effort to pay more attention to his room. He had to find out where he was.
    One good thing had come out of this: he was no longer in paisley attire. He groped for the light black-satin robe and put it on. He staggered to the heavy curtains on his left and pulled the curtains open, keeping his eyes squeezed tightly shut in readiness for the onslaught of bright sunlight he was expecting.
    Instead, he was greeted by soft moonlight, which showed a beautifully manicured garden in front of his second-story window.
    And the bars on the window.
    Very solid bars which didn't budge when he pulled and pushed with all of his feeble strength. So he tried the door instead. He gripped the doorknob and yanked. And fell back against the door with heavy thud. Which didn't do his headache any good. He was a prisoner in the best room he'd ever had in his life.
    Bummer.
    So he decided to do the next best thing: get cleaned up. He still felt gritty and grimy from his earlier ordeal. He walked into the bathroom and whistled tunelessly in appreciation. The huge white marble bathroom was fully equipped for a man to spend many, many hours there. He spotted the Jacuzzi and set to work to give himself a good soak. If he were a prisoner, he might as well make the best of what resources he had. He had to get his brain back to working condition again. That called for a very long soak.

    After an hour's soaking, he looked a bit like a prune. But he *felt* much better. He got out of the soft bubbles and toweled himself off. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he stepped out of the bathroom. And yelled when he came face to face with…
    "Hailey!! What the devil are you doing here on Key Lardo?"
    "Hailey" stood there with his arms full of fresh towels and toiletries and a broad grin on his face. He was dressed strangely in what could only be called a uniform: starched white shirt, Bermuda shorts, knee socks. He stopped smiling and looked momentarily puzzled.
    Then with a VERY British accent he said, "I beg your pardon sir, but the name is Geeves. I'm to be your personal valet during your stay here on Key Lardo. I've brought you fresh clothing and breakfast will be served in two hours. Would you like it here in your room or will you be joining the others downstairs?"
    Edward followed Hailey/Geeves into the room. He remained speechless for a moment longer, then his stomach spoke first and he added that he would be joining the others for breakfast.
    "Before you go ahhh. . . Geeves. . . I need to have a few questions answered."
    "Sir?" said Geeves raising his eyebrow questioningly.
    Edward asked, "Why are there bars on the windows and why was my door locked from the other side? I feel like a prisoner here."
    "Sir. Key Lardo is a beautiful place but after dark it can be quite dangerous. The bars are to keep out the night creatures and the locked door is merely an extra precaution. We value our guests. Enjoy Key Lardo during the day but you must return to the compound before nightfall."
    Edward felt suspicion growing. He wanted real answers but decided against pressing Geeves for any more answers. Geeves showed him the fresh clothing and excused himself.
    Edward was alone with his thoughts. Why did everyone he met here either look alike or resemble someone from his real life in the States?
    He stood there in the center of the room deep in thought when a sharp hunger pang brought him out of it. He looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was six a.m. The sun was just coming up. Breakfast wasn't for two more hours. He would do some exploring to keep his mind off food.
    He walked out into the bright sunshine and the singing of birds. How could this beautiful place be dangerous? He decided to explore a cluster of small buildings about 500 yards away. As he approached them he thought he saw the Cassian lookalike disappear into on of the cabins. He heard what sounded like a low moan come from the building and then the rattling of chains.
    He tried the door. It was locked. There were no windows on any of the cabins. The noise had stopped so abruptly he wondered if he hadn't imagined it. He had plenty of questions that needed answering and by heck someone was going to give him those answers!
    He looked at his watch. Eight o'clock. BREAKFAST!
    As he walked into the dining room he was greeted cheerfully by a radiant Lenore. Already seated at the table was Roland Sackwell. Edward didn't say a word. He just followed his nose to the sideboard that was covered with steaming dishes of French toast, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and toast. There was fresh fruit and OH the smell of coffee! He filled a plate to near overflowing, took a seat and without a glance or word to anyone began to eat as if it were his last meal.
    Finally satisfied, he spoke. "I have a few questions and I want some REAL answers."
    Lenore raised one perfect eyebrow in invitation.
    Edward continued. "I want to know exactly what is going on here on Key Lardo. People look like my friends back home but don't seem to know who I am. There are bars on my windows and my door is locked. Strange noises come from locked buildings. Exactly what is this place?"
    Lenore stared thoughtfully at Edward then spoke in a sickeningly sweet voice. "My dear boy, you are such a Curious George. We had hoped your stay here would be pleasant and uneventful but you seem to attract trouble. Come with me."
    Lenore rose from her seat and walked to the door. She stopped and turned, motioning for Edward to follow. He suddenly felt very uneasy, wishing he could tap his heels together three times and find himself back in DC. Somehow he knew he was going to get his answers but now he wasn't sure he wanted them.
    Lenore went to the door, and stood there. "We have been working together on this island for many years. We want to find the answer to eternal life. Life without end! Can you imagine how wonderful that would be?"
    "I'd be more likely to agree with you if I had Brad Pitt's fortune. It all depends which side of the railroad tracks you live, if you ask me," replied Marcase.
    "I knew you'd be trouble," said Lenore, "but anyway, where was I? Ah, yes. Perfect eternal life, but how to achieve it? We were able to prolong life, you see, but we couldn't stop the aging process. So our first test subjects grew to be 190 years old, but they looked like *rap!" said Lenore in her sweet, bell-like voice.
    "I can imagine," said Marcase, "did they still have their own hair and teeth at 190 years? Hey, hang on, le petit instant! Whaddya mean, they were 190 years old? How long have you been doing these experiments?"
    "You want to know too much, Doctor Marcase. I have already told you more than I should."
    "Hey, you can't leave me hanging with a dry bone between my teeth to chew on. Tell me more!" demanded Edward.
    "No," Lenore said firmly, "that's your lot for now. When you go to work in the laboratory, we will tell you more!"
    "Huh?" said Marcase. "What laboratory?"
    "The laboratory the committee has decided you are best suited for working in, of course!" replied Lenore.
    "Now, hang onto your horses there, little missy!" said Marcase, inexplicably slipping into a John Wayne impression, "I keep telling you all that I'm here for R&R. Not work! Got it?"
    "Oh no, Dr. Marcase. Your vacation is over. You're here to work as we see fit."
    "Let me go back to the hotel, I'll show you the brochure. There's nothing in the brochure about working!"
    "You don't understand, Dr. Marcase," hissed Lenore, "you WILL do as I say, or--or the canary gets it!"
    "What are you babbling about, woman? What canary? There aren't any canaries here!" Marcase was foaming at the mouth, incredulous at the insane meanderings of Lenore's mind.
    "We've got a canary! A really big canary! Out there in one of the huts! And it's going to bite the bullet if you don't co-operate like I say!"
    "I'm off!" replied Marcase. He made his way to the exit but his path was blocked by a huge ex-football player.
    "Excuse me," said Marcase.
     "No!" the big guy said, "you stay here. Work like you bin told!" and with that he pushed Marcase back into the room. Marcase went clattering into the table behind him, and his hand ended up in a plate of someone's scrambled egg breakfast. That man ducked under the table for safety, as did all the other people in the room barring Lenore, Marcase and the big guy.
    "Put the chains on him!" Lenore commanded, "he wants to do it the hard way!"
    One lady poked her head out from under the tablecloth and gave a maniacal laugh: "The chains, he's getting the chains! Ah, ha, ha, ha!"
    With a great feeling of deja vu, Marcase found himself trussed up like a chicken. He was hoisted onto the shoulder of an ex-football player who apparently had trouble with eye-hand coordination (which explained why he was an ex-player). He bumped Marcase's head painfully on the doorway on the way out. The stars in Marcase's eyes and the ringing in his ears prevented him from taking any notice of where he was going.
    When he could see straight again, he found himself being unceremoniously dumped onto a wooden bunk, knocking his head once again on the wall.

    When he came to, his hands were still in chains. There was nothing else in his cell. He staggered to the door with a small barred window. Looking out he saw three men in white lab coats approaching his door. With much rattling of chains and tripping, he hurriedly moved away from the door and sat on his bunk.
    The door banged open with a rusty creak and in walked a bald little man with two hefty men who looked exactly alike and bore a strong resemblance to the ex-football player who brought Marcase here. The two hulks had nametags: "Dum" and "Dee." The little bald man had a nametag that said "Mawron." He looked over the glasses on his nose and peered intently at Marcase.
    "Well, Dr Marcase. . . I hope you have enjoyed our hospitality. It is now time to put you to work."
    Marcase growled. "Now look here, Moron," he started to say, but Dum moved menacingly toward him. Edward clamped his jaws shut with an audible clacking of his teeth.
    "Tsk, tsk. Did no one ever teach you manners?" Mawron glowered at Marcase. "AND the name is Mawron, NOT MORON!" he ended with a shout and a spray of spittle. He visibly tried with great effort to calm himself and continued, "You are going to work for us whether you like it or not!"
    Marcase wisely kept quiet.
    "Lenore said she had told you about the longevity experiments. Well, that was just a story we put into her feeble mind to explain to her why she looked so old although she was… shall we say, 'born' a year ago. We are in the business of cloning, Dr. Marcase. We force-grow our subjects and feed information into their minds to give them 'memories.'
    "But I am getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning. Have you heard of Dolly the sheep and Mr. Jefferson the calf?"
    Marcase nodded in reply and instantly regretted it when his head protested loudly with a great pounding in his brain.
     Mawron paced impatiently around the room. Waving his hands wildly, he continued without noticing Marcase's wince of pain. "Well, that is CHILD'S play compared to what we have done here! I have cloned hybrid creatures whose strength and agility will astound you!" Mawron continued with great vehemence.
    "Unfortunately, their mental capacities were left far behind. This was especially evident with our human hybrids. I believe you have met one of our Cassian clones? Ahhh...that was most satisfying. To have Cassian obeying my every command...no smart-mouthing me, no looking down on me! No belittling and laughing at my ABILITIES!!"
    Mawron was getting more and more agitated, twisting his hands and pulling on his white lab coat when he was not rubbing his bald pate. "But we need more than that to be able to replace key people with our clones. And that's where you come in." Mawron stopped his pacing right in front of Marcase.
    "Yesss..." he said with great malice in his eyes. Marcase had to lean hurriedly away, as the man smelled of formaldehyde. "It was easy to get you to fall for the phony brochure bit. Ah-hahahahaha..." he laughed maniacally for no reason, his eyes shining with lunatic glee. He looked very pleased with himself. He turned and resumed his pacing.
    "You see...all the other cell samples we could get were from discarded parts from Cassian and Hailey...a toenail clipping here, a strand of hair there...We could force grow their clones but we could not grow their minds. So...we needed the real thing." He turned dramatically on his heels to face Marcase squarely. His eyes were gleaming with a malicious and lunatic glee. He jabbed his finger at Marcase.
    "Yesss...we have ourselves a live sample here. We have watched you on our little island. Oh yessss...we saw you by the beach, at the stream with the macaws. Oh yesss...we have your behavioral pattern now! And when we have fresh samples from you...we will have a perfect clone of you! Hoo, hooo, hooo...yes, indeed!"
    With that, Dee and Dum moved towards Marcase. With strength and agility born of desperation, he evaded them and managed to shove the lumbering hulks into each other and they in turn flattened Mawron. Marcase ran out the door and headed down a long corridor, his rattling chains announcing his presence wherever he went. He ripped open a door and ran in.
    He yelped in fright and skidded to a halt when he caught sight of the occupants in the room.
    Edward couldn't believe his reeling mind. The room was filled with clones. At least half a dozen Cassians, four or five Haileys, Lenores and Sackwells. They all turned in unison at the sound of his entrance and stared blankly at the manacled intruder.
    Marcase did some fast thinking. Recalling Mawron's statement about implanting memories he knew it was a chance he had to take. He began pacing back and forth shouting and posturing very much like Mel Gibson in Braveheart.
    "THINK!" he said. "Ask yourselves what you are doing here on this island paradise locked away in a musty cabin! You came here for R&R and a madman steals your identities and locks you away to use you for his own sinister purposes."
    Edward could see understanding slowly dawning in their eyes. He continued giving them memories they never had, making them think they were guests on Key Lardo who had been abducted by a madman.
    "FREEDOM!" he shouted. "We must regain our freedom!"
    They all joined in the shouting. Someone chanted "Get Mawron, get Mawron!" as they charged toward the door. Edward, still in chains, was dragged along with the surging mass of angry bodies.
    Just as the crowd emerged from their prison they came face to face with Mawron and his two goons. "Get Mawron, get Mawron" the chanting began again.
    Edward ducked into the nearby bushes and watched as Mawron, Dum and Dee were carried away by the angry mob of suddenly coherent humans. He hoped he had instilled enough memories into their once empty minds to prompt them to take Mawron to his lab where he would receive his just desserts.
    Meanwhile, Edward had to find a way to remove his chains and make good his escape from this unholy paradise. He remembered one of the cabins was a tool shed.
    But which one? Eenie, meenie, mynie, moe-- he chose one and threw open the door only to be greeted by Daniel Cassian. Marcase peered at him.
    "This one looks almost sane," thought Marcase, but said, "Get away from me, you loony tunes person!"
    "Excuse me?" said the Cassian. Marcase pushed past him, and on into the tool shed to look for a hammer and a chisel to break his chains.
    "Go on," continued Marcase, "go back and join the others like a good boy. I've got work to do here!"
     "What work?" asked the Cassian.
    "That's right, bonzo, I've got these chains on. I need to get them off. So run along now, don't get in my way!"
    The Cassian looked shocked but did as he was told and went outside. Marcase hammered away at the chains, shouting loudly with frustration each time he whacked himself on the shin, or the toe, or the knee by mistake.
    "I'll be black and blue at this rate!" he said aloud. He looked up and saw a Hailey figure standing in the doorway, watching him. "What are you looking at, brainless?"
    The figure stared and then turned his back on him. Marcase had the impression that the Hailey figure was talking to someone, but he didn't really care because he was too busy bruising himself.
    "Oh, sugar, sugar, sugar!" said Marcase, because by now he was getting REALLY annoyed. Marcase finally managed to free his hands but the last remaining chain on his ankle refused to budge, so he gave up and decided he could carry the chain attached to the ankle brace.
    He walked thusly to the doorway, where his exit was blocked by the Hailey. Marcase tapped him on the shoulder. The Hailey turned his head to look at him, but he didn't move.
    "Excuse me, poo-poo pants," said Marcase, "I need to go out there." The Hailey turned to face him and frowned a scary frown at Marcase, but he still didn't speak. "Get out of my way, now, Mr. Teeny Wiener," said an incredibly brave Marcase.
    "Huh?!" replied the Hailey.
    A female voice behind him said, "It's OK, Michael, the hypodermic is ready now."
    "I don't need no needle," replied the Hailey. "I'm gonna punch out his lights!"
    Marcase grinned foolishly at the Hailey, quite unaware of the danger he was in. Cassian stepped forward again, and held the huffing and puffing Hailey back.
    "He's obviously delusional, hallucinating," Cassian explained. "Punching him may seem like the most satisfactory course of action right now, but sedation will work just as well!"
    "Grr," said the Hailey, "just let me give him one…a small one...OK. You win."
    "Thank you, Mr. Hailey," said Cassian soothingly, "it's for the best." Marcase stood listening to their conversation, grinning like an idiot. "Some of you clones can hold quite an interesting conversation, for ones so thick!" he informed them. "But you can't fool me, I know a clone when I see one." And with that, he poked the Hailey in the eye and laughed.
    "See, you don't even feel it!" continued Marcase, "here, take that!" and Marcase landed a pathetic punch on Hailey's jaw which didn't even disturb his hair-do.
    Hailey looked furious. "Come here, you little squirt!" he said.
    "NO!" said the female voice again, as Kimberly Shiroma walked into the room.
    "Hey," says Marcase, "they got one of you too! Come here and give me a kissy cuddle!"
     "Aggh!" replied Shiroma as she sidestepped Marcase's attempt to land a wet kiss. "Go ahead and give him one now, Michael!"
    Without any more ado, Michael flattened Marcase with a right hook.
    >tweet. tweet. tweet. tweet<

    Marcase awoke in familiar surroundings: he was in the medical room back at the lab. Hailey, Shiroma, and Hailey were all standing, arms folded, watching him wake up. None of them looked particularly pleased.
    "Hey, what happened to my vacation in Key Lardo?" demanded Marcase.
    "Do you mean Key Largo?" asked a confused Shiroma.
    "No," replied Marcase, "Key LARDO. I went there on my vacation."
    "You haven't been anywhere, Edward," replied Cassian tersely, "you've been working on that LSD formula again with all the lab doors and windows shut. I've warned you about that before!"
    "Are you saying I haven't been to the beach?" whimpered Marcase.
    "No beach," replied Cassian.
    Marcase's bottom lip began to quiver. "It all seemed so real. I even feel like I've been punched about!" he said, feeling his chin.
    "It seemed real to me too," said Shiroma.
    "Yeah," interjected Hailey, "and you put a hand on her again, and I'll make you wish you'd finished watching that Yoga video you bought at the garage sale last week. You'll need it to untie the knots I'll put you in."
    "Huh?" was all Marcase could say. He tried again. "I get the impression I've upset you, Michael," he began, but Hailey had already left the room with Shiroma.
    "Tsk, tsk, tsk" was all Cassian said before he also left Marcase alone to rub his sore chin.
    Outside the room, as Shiroma gathered up her things, she looked up and saw a calendar on the wall. "Oh, look, Michael," she said, "do you think that that might have been the inspiration for Edward's hallucinations?"
    Michael walked over to look at the photo of two identical twins playing on a tropical beach in the sunshine. Above the photo was the name and slogan of the calendar's sponsor: Get your keys professionally cut by Lenore and Roland Lardo, Sackwell Street.
    "Who knows what goes on in his mind?" replied Hailey. "Come on, I know a nice little place nearby where we can get a pineapple rum punch."
    "Sounds fab!" said Shiroma as they left together.

The end.