JUDE BRIGHT ( EMMA KENNEY ) is an EIGHTEEN year old from QUEENS, NEW YORK. she is known around the island as THE SPITFIRE because she is FEARLESS and STRAIGHT FORWARD but can also be RECKLESS and FLIPPANT. she reminds of bloody noses, skinned knees, heavy flannel shirts.
BASICS !
NAME: jude campbell bright
NICKNAMES: jay, bright
BIRTHDAY: 07/04/2002
AGE: 18
HOMETOWN: manhattan, new york
BIRTHPLACE: queens, new york
RELIGION: atheist
ETHNICITY: caucasian ( scottish and irish )
NATIONALITY: american
EDUCATION: high school senior
RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single
SOCIAL CLASS: lower middle class growing up, upper middle class at time of trip
PHYSICAL !
HEIGHT: 5′7
EYES: green
HAIR: red
BUILD: stocky but athletic
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: freckles, a scar on left elbow, stick-n-poke tattoo of a tennis ball on right ankle, stick-n-poke tattoo of a lit match on arm, split lip ( temporary )
NOTABLE FEATURES: tangled red hair
PHYSICAL DISABILITIES: none
ALLERGIES: cinnamon
PERSONALITY & BEHAVIOR !
HOBBIES: hockey, playing drums, playing guitar, skateboarding
LIKES: girls, weed, mint juul pods, 90′s rock, doing stupid shit, fast food, sex
DISLIKES: orange juice, the letter ‘y,’ chemistry, warm weather, authority, sincerity, men
QUIRKS: smiles from the right side of her mouth, drums her fingers on her jeans
who: @ofjcnnys
when: day 19
where: mango time babyyyy
look at jude and jenny, being soooo fucking useful. for all jude knows, the chore chart’s still in use, but she’s certainly given up on paying attention to it, starting sometime around the blackbox head injury thing, which is probably also the last time jude and jenny were in the woods alone together, but whatever. jude’s head is fine now - or, like... as fine as it ever is, which, you know. now, though, they’re on a fruit hunt through the forest, because what the fuck else are they gonna do? “jesus fuck, i’m tired of the fucking fruit,” she complains, glancing over at jenny. “i mean, nice that we won’t get fucking scurvy, or whatever, but goddd. i would do some unholy shit for, like, a sandwich right now. maybe we should all try out hunting and just see how it goes. i mean, i know we’ve got vegans and shit, so not them, but, like - y’know. i mean, shit, we’re probably gonna starve either way, but at least we can do it with some fucking variety for a while, right?”
“i know, i’m a big flatterer, that’s how i get all the girls,” she kept the joke going for a moment longer. shane pulled her knees up to her chest, shifting her shoes in the dirt, already missing the familiar feel of sand beneath her feet. “yeah, i guess that warrants a little break. but hey, at least you moved on from swinging on me. though, i’m not gonna lie, i’ve wanted to do that to her once or twice.” if shane had moved quicker last night, she probably would have been right by jude’s side doing the same thing. instead she had focused on making sure joss was out of the line of fire. so much for that. she let out a sigh. “didn’t you hear? i, so selfishly, wasn’t at camp when it happened,” she tried to make a joke out of everything but if she was honestly, it was hard to do so. “oh, uh, honestly, i haven’t checked if any of my shit got saved,” she said rather than answering the first question. shane’s been avoiding going around the other eves and she felt like it would make her look worse if she made it seem like she only cared about her shit. it’s not like it mattered after all. she didn’t have anything worth saving. her running shoes had been sitting collecting sand for days, erin’s probably thrown away her book by now, joss had her hoodie still, also probably tossed somewhere at this point. she had nothing else.
-
“oh, for sure. i mean, that’s how you got me that one time,” jude says with a mock-serious nod, then she plunks herself down on a rock and rests her arms over her knees. “know what, though? you, me, nyla - we would make a sick fucking fight club. need one more person, i guess - this one’s a little outta left field, but i feel like odessa could fight a bitch. in that, like, student-body-president kinda way, y’know? popping off her acrylics and, like putting her school uniform blazer on the sidewalk. or whatever,” jude fatasizes. when shane says she ‘so selfishly wasn’t at camp,’ jude raises an eyebrow. “what do you mean? did you miss out on getting half-drowned with the rest of us ‘cause you were getting laid? be honest,” she prompts - that sounds way more fun than waking up hungover with seawater in your lungs. they should all be taking a page out of shane’s book, damn. “i don’t even have shit to save,” jude says with a wave of her hand. she’d discarded all of her personal belongings a ways back. the juul and the wax pen aren’t the hugest deal, and she’s trying not to think too hard about the keepsake from her mom that she discarded in a fit of confusion and emotion - not that the memory is all that clear, anyways. she’d been pretty messed up from bashing her head in. “someone’s got an inventory around here, probably. divya or one of the other, like, responsible ones, y’know.”
grim is knocking, i’m a dead girl walking
always hits me hardest in strangers’ cars
aches in my body like i stayed up boxing
i’m a dead girl walking but i’ve walked this far
hey, will you hit me where it hurts?
i won’t feel anything otherwise
babe, i don’t know anything for sure
don’t think i’ll make it, but i guess i might
world is watching
me, the dead girl walking
keep my ghosts from talking and the mask won’t fall
i’m a dead girl walking for a good time call
should enjoy it while i can walk
mouth full of blood like i just flossed
does the bleeding mean i’m still alive?
you should see the other guy
you should see the other guy!
ah there it was, jude’s annoying comments. it was enough to crack a very faint smile on shane’s face. at least there was something she could always count on here. it was weirdly comforting considering everything that happened today. not that she would ever admit that to jude, she would never let shane live that down. probably hold it over her head until they died on this damn island. “mm yeah, youre pretty voice, that’s definitely how i would describe it,” she said back, a slight sense of teasing coming back to her voice. “you good though? i don’t think i’ve ever seen you go this long without saying something dumb.” leave it to shane to show that she cares by saying something shitty. it was the pattern for today, clearly. at least with jude, she knew she wouldn’t take it the wrong way. at least, she hoped she wouldn’t but considering what happened with joss, maybe she should stop assuming things.
-
“wooow, super fuckin’ flattered,” jude says with a sarcastic little grin, placing a hand to her chest as though she’s just received a particularly heartfelt compliment. “me? i’m fuckin’ solid. just, y’know, between the fucking hangover and the fact that i tried to start an island fightclub with nyla last night, figured i’d maybe give it a bit of a rest for half a day,” she explains, “please, hold your applause. i know, i know. shocking.” it’s honestly equal parts sweet and weird that shane almost seems like she’s implying that she, like, gives a shit, or something. or maybe jude’s just getting overly sentimental in the aftermath of her hundredth near death experience, who knows? “i see high tide didn’t wash your ass out,” jude observes, which is her way of saying and that’s kind of a good thing in my book, “you doin’ alright? lose anything in whatever the fuck kinda natural disaster that was?”
who: open
when: a little bit after the riptide
where: idk wherever everyone’s congregating
it seems fitting that jude shows half-drowned and late, carrying elise’s suitcase in hand. she’d woken up to the tide basically trying to pull her under, and also, like, super hungover, in case anybody was wondering. like, it would have been a bad morning anyways, but, hey, here’s an added natural disaster. she’d managed, duh - caught herself on a rock, went “what the fuck,” swam her way back (though swimming isn’t her strong suit, exactly), and nabbed elise’s bag on the way - good luck, maybe, in the midst of a bunch of really horrible luck. “okay,” she says as she drops the suitcase unceremoniously at her feet once she’s reached everyone else, “which god did the rest of you motherfuckers royally piss off to get you sent to this hell?” like, for jude, she figures whatever the fuck this is is just some kind of, you know, cosmic retribution for her nonstop assholery. but if she were anybody else - like, you know, someone really morally upstanding, or whatever - she’d be totally pissed to be here, ‘cause, like, where’s the good karma? “i’m glad i’ve done so much stupid shit, for real, ‘cause at least i got, like, my money’s worth, or whatever.”
closed starter @jvdes
when: evening day 18
where: idk camp wherever jude ended up
after her fight with joss, shane felt like shit. she felt stupid and regretted everything she had said the moment it left her mouth, but being the person that she was, she wasn’t thinking in the moment. now that it was over and she felt as if she fucked up immensely, shane felt as if she needed to distance herself from the others. at least most of the others. typically, she would go to jenny, find comfort in them and explain how she was feeling and why she had acted the way that she did, but they were talking to halima and she didn’t want to be that needy girlfriend who needed their attention 24/7/ so she seeked out jude, the only other person she felt wouldn’t judge her for her out burst. typically she would find jude was the last person she would seek out for comfort, but considering she’s had her own fair share of fights with the eves, mainly joss, they had this in common. finding the other girl, shane went over to her and plopped down on the ground without announcing herself. “you’ve been more quite than usual,” she pointed out instead of giving a greeting. “did the tide wash away your voice?” it was supposed to be a joke but her words came out with no humor.
-
presently, jude’s trying to wring her ( freshly washed in the ocean anyways, fuck, timing’s such a bitch ) hoodie free of water, twisting it back and forth between her hands as shane approaches her. if jude had been quiet - and she had, at least, y’know, comparatively, after her initial exclamation of ‘fuck’ when she’d finally made it inland enough to not keep drowning - it’s only because she’s both violently hungover and also recovering from her eighteenth near death experience in the last, like, two weeks. it would surprise her that shane’s seeking her out in the first place, but jude woke up to a riptide this morning, so she’s beyond being surprised in this fucking place by now. at least, like, for the next... six hours, maybe. “why?” jude asks, raising a teasing eyebrow, “you miss it? ‘cause if i didn’t know any better, it’d sound like you miss hearing my pretty voice.” of course, jude does know better, but how can she resist being a little bit annoying? who could expect that of her?
— nothing’s ever enough, i’ll never learn to grow up, i know you’d kill to do anything i do.
jude’s already talking by the time the video starts, and nobody’s surprised. “ - not gonna fucking do this, i don’t - ”
“i’m not sure who gave you the idea that this was optional, but it isn’t.” a disembodied man’s voice from behind the camera, though of course gretchen knows him well enough to recognize it. the camera’s focused on jude, sitting uncomfortably at a dining room table that looks like it’s never been used. jude stands out in every sense of the word, contrasting from her pristine surroundings so greatly it’s almost unnerving. it looks as though she’s been badly photoshopped into this upper middle class dining room; her close are ill-fitting and her hair is a mess and she’s sporting a bruise near her jaw. she looks like she’s ready to bolt at any moment; she looks pissed.
“there’s no way in hell - ”
“shut up. introduce yourself.” clipped tones, vaguely professional, a voice fastened together into something almost steady. matter-of-fact, authoritative, like it’s that simple: introduce yourself. just one order.
“fuck you and fuck this,” she says, and she removes a sticker-covered juul from the front pocket of her flannel shirt just to take a puff. there’s scoff from behind the camera, and then a suit moves into frame, though the man’s too tall for his face to show, everything from the chest up cut off. he wrestles the juul out of her hand as she makes noise of protest, jutting out one of her elbows to hit him. he freezes at this impact, and so does she, suddenly rigid, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she watches him. her eyes trail to the camera, and they’re quiet for a moment before he finally retreats, moving back to his position out of frame.
“just do it,” he says, voice so tight that it sounds as though it could burst.
“no,” jude says, resting her elbows on the table, always defiant.
behind the camera, the man slams a fist down on the table hard enough to rattle it, hard enough to make the camera shake. between the toppling frame and the way she tries to hide it, you’d barely even notice the way jude winces at the noise. her shoulders jump a little and she looks down at the table. “do it,” he repeats.
“my name is jude,” she says. her voice has gone flat, bottomless, hollow. she keeps her eyes trained to the table. “i’m from new york.”
“describe yourself in three words,” he instructs.
“absolutely fucking miserable.” she pushes away from the table and walks out of frame, her whole body a tightly wound coil.
“We’re approximately…. 150 miles, give or take, from the island we found you. In the Pacific. We’re not particularly close to anything. Unless you count that island, of course, but even then it’s still quite far.” Vague but an answer. It was true too. “Of course,” David answered Jude easily. “Your parents do. Rather in your case, your guardian. But the people responsible for you all, they know.” Again, not a lie. Some of their parents, some of the people responsible for these girls, knew exactly what the Dawn of Eve team were up to. Others didn’t quite know the exact details. “Well, it’s a bit too late for that,” David responded with a bit of a chuckle. “Given the unique situation you’ve found yourself in and my involvement.” Though when Jude mentions her unanswered questions, her lack of freedom and privacy, David’s expression became serious once more. “These things are in place for your benefit and protection. Being marooned on an island for 20 days is no thrill for the human mind. We don’t understand the extent of what you all went through, especially since some of you are so tight-lipped. Your isolation, the camera, it’s for the good of yourself and others.” That’s the story they had to feed them anyway. “Did you know one of you hurt yourself? Broke your own arm? We wouldn’t have known that had there not been surveillance.”
David knew Jude would bite. Eventually. It’s why he felt confident taking this subject on compared to the more complex ones. He was sure Parker would enjoy playing mind games with them; it wasn’t David’s thing however. “Your friends are okay. You all are, obviously. We’re keeping you all quarantined for safety and verification reasons.” That’s what they were told to say anyway. David is almost excited for Jude’s skepticism, answers tucked away and ready to be shared. “Some of you are more cooperative than others. And you should thank your friends when you see them again. It’s the only reason we figured out what was going on here. It’s thanks to their full names that we were able to come across the missing persons reports that helped us fill in the blanks, figure out information a lot of you were unwilling to give like names. If you recall, there was a mix-up with the flight information. According to your parents and guardians, your plane arrived in Hawaii. So people have been under the assumption that you all went missing there, likely kidnapped. There’s been ongoing searches. But since you’ve all been found and we’ve contacted the proper people, parents and guardians, they’ve ceased. Contrary to what you might believe, nothing that’s happening to you here is malicious. It’s just protocol. ‘Boring adult stuff’ as you young people might say.”
-
150 miles means nothing to jude, it might as well be gibberish, but she nods and shrugs anyways like she cares or something, but whatever. and it’s not like she has any reason to believe he’s telling the truth, anyways, but where might not matter. the words your guardian are enough to have jude clamping her bottom lip between her teeth, but she says nothing, or nothing about that. it’s a lot, okay? and it takes a lot to keep her shit together anyways, and she doesn’t wanna talk about or think about her uncle, least of all with this same-named man, so she pivots, says, “i wanna use your phone. i could not care less about whatever protocol shit you’re gonna make up, ‘cause if this really isn’t some fucked-up kidnapping situation where you’ve all but got me in solitary fuckin’ confinement, you’ll let me use it for a fucking minute.” it’s just a test - who the fuck would she call? maybe she’d go to google maps, but mostly, she just wants to see if he’ll bite.
she scoffs at the idea that it’s for her own good - everybody always says shit like that - but it’s only when he mentions that someone is hurt that her head snaps towards him and she says “what the fuck?” before she can catch the childlike horror that creeps into her voice, but - what the fuck. if she had planned to keep it together, to stay fucking cool and be all tough and shit, well, that was enough to change things. “who?” she says, then she processes it, thinks about it, and - right, she has no reason to trust this people. maybe it’s true or maybe it’s all a lie, or worse, and likely, that’s not how the fucking story went. how’s she supposed to know it wasn’t one of these fucking guards who did it, anyways? or one of these freaky fucking doctors? they could tell her anything and she wouldn’t know for sure because she’s trapped her and she can’t talk to anyone. she jumps to her feet and crosses the room, fists balled at her sides, putting distance between her and this man though she’s not sure why. is she afraid? of him, of herself, what she’ll do? maybe she’s just afraid, period.
“obviously they’re not all fucking okay, what the fuck are you talking about?” she spits, a little breathless, angry. “i mean, even putting aside the broken arm, and what the fuck, what about the fucking bodies? what did you do with the fucking bodies? all those fucking guys, even? shit doesn’t just disappear like that and now you’re saying we’re quarantined but you won’t tell us when it ends and it’s only each other we’re not allowed to see, but you come in here whenever the fuck you want. this is fucking INSANE, if you wanted to spare us that fucking trauma you could get us on, like, fucking facetime, with each other, with our families, but you want us to feel fucking crazy. you tell us all of this fucking bullshit about planes that doesn’t make any sense and then you play it off as ‘adult stuff,’ like i’m too fucking stupid to get it, but i’m an adult, and you can’t fucking keep me here against my will, i didn’t do anything wrong!”
“Well, I either talk to you here or talk to you in the room we’ve set aside for interviews. Figured I’d save you from making the trip.” David sensed Jude would appreciate the honesty. She didn’t have a choice when it came to talking to him. She had to either way. “We’re not particularly close to a Wendy’s. I also tend to keep a pretty clean diet. Wendy’s… isn’t an ideal meal I’d chose for myself.” David liked to be known as a man who enjoyed salads and lean meats. A hearty vegetable soup even. The greasy meals he enjoyed in the quiet of his car late at night in some fast food establishment’s parking lot was… not a side of him he’d like people to know about. “The FBI. That’s who I work for,” David answered when Jude said something about whoever ‘they’ is. “I just wanted to talk,” he admitted casually. “You’ve had a lot of questions these past couple of days. Unfortunately, due to protocol, we didn’t have the time to go over them. There are eighteen of you girls after all. Only so many hours in a day to talk to everyone. I wanted to give you answers to the things you’re curious about. So… go on then,” he nodded his head at her. “You ask me things this time.” Almost like a challenge. He brought the cup of tea up to his lips for a sip as he waited.
-
“oh, well, shit, i appreciate that,” jude says, and her tone is kinda bitchy, but honestly? yeah, she fucking hates being dragged down there. this is better. “what the fuck are we close to, then, dude? where the FUCK are we? does anyone else actually know where we are, aside from you people?” not that anyone would care, in jude’s case, but that’s not true of all of them. surely some of them have people out there that care about them. “the FBI?” jude raises an eyebrow. she’s not even sure if she believes that, but: “i don’t want the FBI knowing shit about me, dude.” she lets him speak, crosses her arms over her chest. “oh, you’re just so generous. you give a shit what i wanna know about, but you won’t let me the fuck out of here, or stop watching me on that fucking camera, or let me see the others,” she scoffs.
it’s hard not to let her face slip into a snarl - it kind of does, honestly - but, fuck, she does have questions. “i mean, i’ve got no fucking reason to trust anything you say. fuckin’ obviously,” she points out. but, but, but - her resolves cracks just ever so slightly, and she bites her lip, angry with herself for having to ask: “what about everyone else? are they okay?” because even if he lies, she has to try. because that’s what fucking matters. then she adds: “you know all this shit about me, right? i never told you guys my name, but you know it. who told you all that? what exactly do you know?” because if she wants to have any kind of upper hand, she supposes she’ll need to see it from both perspectives, right? ( she wants to know, too, if they’ve spoken to her uncle, but she can’t bring herself to bring him up. she wants to know, and she’d rather fucking die than think about that, too ). there’s more, of course, a thousand more things she wants to say or ask or mostly accuse, but she crosses her arms and waits, instead, limbs itching with restlessness, heart thudding in her chest.
WHO: @jvdes
WHEN: Day 3, Afternoon
WHERE: Jude’s Room
This wasn’t something David was proud of. Truly, it wasn’t. What they were doing to these girls was unethical – and that was to put it lightly. But Gretchen had things on him. And when his duty felt particularly challenging, he had to remind himself that this gig was only for a few weeks. Compared to the upwards for 20 years he could be doing if Gretchen revealed what she knew to the authorities, this was far better. Cup of tea in hand, David accompanied the staff member bringing in Jude’s lunch for the afternoon. He knew Jude wouldn’t be especially excited to see him so he made sure to stick to the wall by the door, ensuring there was an ample amount of space between himself and the redhead. “Hello, Jude–” He greeted, giving a nod of his head. Jude was… not for Parker to deal with, to put things kindly. The man wore bowties and David knew Jiu Jitsu. It made sense that Gretchen entrusted Subject 070401 to him instead. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m joining you this afternoon. I just thought you might appreciate a less formal setting today…. Your meal looks good– ” He tilted his chin toward the tray the staff member had set down. As opposed to soup or some sad sandwich, David requested for something a bit more teen-friendly for Jude to consume today. A cheeseburger. Some fries. A bottle of Sprite. A pack of Cosmic brownies. He was hoping it’d put Jude in a better mood, make her less of a hassle to deal with during this time. “We don’t get anything nearly as exciting in the staff canteen.”
-
it was about all jude could do to cling onto some semblance of composure. the longer she stayed trapped here, people coming and going as they pleased and leaving her to drown in her own thoughts the rest of the time, the more she felt like something had burrowed it's way under her skin. she didn't like this guy - she didn't like the way he said hello, instead of hi. she didn't like how he told her what he thought she'd appreciate ( couldn’t he tell by now that she was an unappreciative bitch? ). she definitely didn't like his name. “if i said i minded, would you actually fucking leave? or is that just something you're saying to break the ice?" she inquired (not kindly) as she reached for the food. (she'd pretty much given up on any kind of hunger strike here. if they were drugging her, well, then they were boring fucking drugs, and they certainly weren't making her any more compliant, so, whatever.) “oh, you're jealous, huh? they keeping you locked in a room, too? 'cause if they're not, then i don't see why you can't go down and get yourself some Wendy's for lunch, dude. they've gotta be paying you good enough to afford a 4 for 4. whoever they is,” she mused, wasting no time beginning to eat. “what do you want, anyways?”
Tell me about your sleeping habits over the past month. Have you noticed any changes? Difficulty sleeping? Restlessness? What was it like before you were on the island?
“what the fuck does that have to do with anything?” jude demanded, leaning back in her chair and placing her feet on the table. jude was a light sleeper to begin with, at least when she was sober, and especially at her uncle’s. on the island, she slept rarely, the exception being when she was injured. restlessness? yes, that, constantly. but that wasn’t the island’s fault; she was always that way.
How would you describe your appetite over the past 5 weeks? Have your eating habits changed in any way? What was it like before you were on the island?
jude ate sporadically, and when she was able. this was true in new york and on the island, the major difference being whether she was short on cash or short on food in general. at home, she ate when she had cash on hand and wasn’t busy doing anything else. if her uncle was gone long enough, she’d try and raid the cupboards, though she wasn’t much of a cook. “i dunno, dude, it was a fucking island. we ate fruit. we killed stuff. i mean, i didn’t kill anything. i would have tried eventually, i guess, y’know, kill something, caveman shit, but i get the sense it’s harder than it sounds.” it wasn’t that she feared she’d have some kind of moral objection to it, but more that it required a great deal of quiet and patience to track a living animal.
Prior to the island, could you tell me about any times over the past few months that you’ve been bothered by low feelings, stress, or sadness?
well, she tried to avoid those feelings whenever possible. you could call it keeping busy, maybe, in the loosest possible terms. why would she wanna feel that shit? when she let everything catch up to her, it felt like a personal fucking failing. so fucking pathetic. “i don’t know. jesus, ace detective, what the fuck does this have to do with the plane? you guys are so fucking suspicious all the time. you know that, right? like, if you’re trying to play it off all normal like this isn’t weird as hell, you’re doing an awful fucking job.”
How frequently have you had little pleasure or interest in the activities you usually enjoy? Would you tell me more?
“i like what i like. no, i’m not gonna fucking tell you more.” well, that wasn’t wrong; she did like what she liked. she liked having sex and getting high. it was better than being at her uncle’s house, better than thinking about how fucked she was. she liked doing those things as much as she always had, though she depended on them more since her mom had died. she’d gotten kicked off of the hockey team, and she missed that. she didn’t have her drums anymore, and she missed those. but she was still interested, or whatever. it kept her moving forward, so she wasn’t just sitting still.
How frequently have you been bothered by not being able to stop worrying?
“literally never in my life until you fucking people. jesus.” jude was someone who sometimes actively avoided thought, though her answer was still only a half truth. she wasn’t a worrier, per se, but if she did find herself worrying ( about what would happen to her, be it at her uncle’s or on the island ), she got high or got in a fight or did something to stamp it out. so, maybe she worried sometimes, but she was able to stop it so easily that it was almost a talent. and there was a certain comfort that came once it had faded. maybe she had started worrying over what would happen to her, but then it would dawn on her as clear as day that she didn’t need to, because she didn’t matter. it was like a call and response: is he going to really kill me some day? if he does, who cares? am i going to die here? if i do, so what? whatever, whatever, whatever. it didn’t ever really matter.
Tell me about how confident you have been feeling in your capabilities recently.
“well, you know, i’ve really realized i’ve got a more impressive artistic eye than i originally gave myself credit for, so,” she referenced the violent doodles she’d added to the walls over the past few days. in truth, she wasn’t sure what they meant by capabilities. she was capable, she guessed. she hadn’t had a total breakdown yet. she was handling herself. she was even pretty sure she was bothering these people, which was perhaps her biggest skill. she wasn’t necessarily a super talented person, a smart person, and she knew that, but she supposed had maintained her sense of self, her anger, even here, when they probably wanted her to think she was crazy. she was a little proud of herself for that. she felt like she was still essentially herself, that she wasn’t as truly ruined as she thought she was for a few days on the island, and that was a comfort to her. she was still jude, and maybe nobody liked jude - she didn’t even like jude - but evidently, nobody could get rid of her. like a cockroach at the end of the world. ( weird to be so resilient when you kind of hate your life. weird to survive like this when you don’t even really want to. she’s just always got a fucking point to prove - never backs down when she should. )
Let’s talk about how often you have felt satisfied with yourself over the past few months.
jude sometimes made a point of trying to accept herself as she was, since nobody else seemed to be able to. she had to be satisfied with herself for making some bitchy remark, or winning a fight, because those were the things she could do. nobody else might appreciate it, but she had to, or else who would? not that she cared to answer, because she thought it was a stupid question. she didn’t know what it had to do with anything. “what the fuck are you even talking about any more? why do you care? what the fuck is going on?”
How often over the past few weeks have you felt the future was bleak?
“the future is bleak. i mean, for one thing, you’re keeping me fucking trapped in here, so.” and even aside from that, she had felt that way for a long time. she was alive because nothing had killed her yet. she went through the motions and acted on whims and tried to feel something, to be touched in one way or another, but she’d understood that she was never going to be someone happy or successful, that she was never really worth much. she didn’t have the money to get away from her uncle, and even if she did, it’s not like she contributed anything of great value to the world. she didn’t really want or wish for anything in particular, because she wouldn’t know what to ask for. she was just going through the motions, you know - doing what she did. seeing what happened.
Can you tell me about your hopes and dreams for the future? What feelings have you had recently about working toward those goals?
“i’m honestly shocked i’m not dead yet.” if she woke up in a year and wasn’t dead yet, she’d be shocked then, too. “my uncle always says i’m headed straight to jail or the morgue. so, i guess i’ll look into those. see which one i prefer. like athletes choosing between colleges.” she was joking. mostly. kind of. she didn’t care enough to try and make that clear to them. they could think whatever they wanted.
Describe how ‘supported’ you feel by others around you – your friends, family, or otherwise.
“i don’t.” jude said this with a casual nonchalance. she didn’t want to linger on the question. she didn’t have a family and she barely had friends - okay, fine, what did that have to do with any of this? how was the relevant? if she needed to get the majority of her human contact through fist fights or nameless hookups because she was that unpalatable, how was that relevant?
What is it different on the island? Did you feel more or less supported?
“honestly, dude, at this point, i literally do not fucking remembered. like, i’ve been here so long, i do not know shit anymore. i mean, i’m pretty sure i’ve got, like, serious brain damage over here, and you’re sitting me down and asking me about my plans for the future. i’ve got, like, cell death! what the fuck do you expect from me? a memoir? i do not have any idea what to tell you.” all of this to say: it had been sort of nice to have people to talk to. even if they hated her, and a lot of them probably did. maybe all of them.
Let’s discuss how you have been feeling about your relationships recently. Did you make any significant relationships on the island? How do you feel about them?
“i’m not gonna tell you about the others. it’s not any of your fucking business. if you care so much, go talk to them. i know you don’t wanna be fucking talking to me right now.” jude didn’t like being asked how she felt about things. it made her kind of uneasy. too much to sort through, and anyways, she wasn’t gonna go around talking all about everyone else, not if she could help it. it wasn’t her business to talk that much about them, either. she hoped they were all smart enough to not go around blabbing too much, but also knew that not all of them were that smart - or, at least, that suspicious. you could be smart but trusting and that would fuck you over, too. or you could be stupid but suspicious, like jude, and that might be enough.
Tell me about any important activities or projects that you’ve been involved with recently. How much enjoyment do you get from these?
“i deal drugs. it’s very important. i enjoy it a lot. i’m a big help to my community.” jesus fuck! what kinds of questions were these!
Were you particularly involved with activities on the island? Did you want to be?
“um, what counts as an activity?” she asked, thinking of her and shane’s fight club. that probably didn’t count. she’d gotten the black box with alexa and bev; that had to be some kind of activity. she supposed she wasn’t not involved. she was around. she did chores, and shit. it’s not like things wouldn’t have been fine without her, they would’ve, but she did stuff because she was there and might as well have.
How frequently have you been doing things that mean something to you or your life?
jude thought about it, tipping precariously further back in her chair. she didn’t think she’d ever done something that really meant anything to her or her life. how was she supposed to know what ‘meant something’ to her? what kind of psych major nonsense was this? “never. can i go now?”
bev leaned in as jude mentioned that it was a similar thing that had led her to the same place, though that split second where bev pictured it was the same thing felt too off. as jude began her tale, bev placed her elbow on the desk and used her hand to twirl a few strands of her hair, making sure to let her hair move just enough to give the slight smell of her shampoo, which she hoped was inticing and flirty enough.
she gasped when jude revealed the reason for her detention, which was way more creative than anything bev had guessed. “no juggling? what a dictatorship, and like, all offense to armstrong because i’ve seen that bitch try to juggle class and tinder and, “ bev leans in a little more, to speak in a whisper but really just to get closer,” ….he can’t.” at first she thought that insult was enough, but why ruin the joy of a bit of gossip too? “by the way, i saw over his shoulder, his profile pic on tinder is of a cat, so what the hell kind of dates is he even going on?” she made sure to giggle, so it wouldn’t come off as just mean, more observational.
“but seriously, when did you learn to juggle? like, that’s so cool, the hand eye coordination and all,” she teased just enough, or at least she hoped. “i am actually asking though, like, what’s the weirdest thing youve tried juggling? and i don’t mean in your dating life, unless that’s a whole other area you want to get into.” because bev did, if only to confirm that this really hot girl was actually into girls before using any more hair moves.
-
jude was, at heart, a talker, but damn, it was hard to keep track of what was coming out of her mouth when she was so fucking distracted by the other girl winding her hair around her fingers. jude deserved an award for making it to the end of her sentence without forgetting the topic of her story completely. she leaned forward conspiratorially when bev began describing their teacher’s tinder, then laughed. “wow, what the fuck. hm... crazy cat ladies, maybe? shit, dude, i dunno. but, like, they say there’s someone for everyone, right?” she shrugged, offering bev a quick wink.
“when i was, like, ten, i sprained my ankle, and i couldn’t skate or play hockey for, like, three weeks, and i was super fucking bored. plus, i wasn’t allowed to play drums after 7 pm in my apartment complex, so i had literally nothing to do all night, so i just learned to juggle off of, like, wikihow,” jude explained, pretty thrilled bev was at least somewhat appreciative of jude’s clown talent. she thought on the question, grinned, and answered: “kitchen knives. that... ended badly,” she confessed. “what about you? got any weird secret talents you wanna tell me about?”
“Thank you for joining us again today. We know you have a lot of questions,” Agent Wilkes says once you’re seated. “We weren’t the most forthcoming regarding the details of your circumstance yesterday and we intend on clearing those up today. We just needed some time to get all of the details in order. I believe once you're aware of what we’ve found, you’ll understand why we’ve been so... reserved.” Agent Wilkes has his own folder and he opens that up and takes a look at the papers inside of it before speaking again.
prelude.
jude didn’t do so well with being bored. she paced. she hid from the camera in the corner of the bathroom. she wrote on the walls. she didn’t sleep at all. she started missing things more than she’d liked to admit. that’s what boredom did - she had nothing, and missed everything, and wanted to do something besides stare at the ceiling. even in the middle of her anger and suspicion and fear, she had enough free time to miss things.
she missed drugs and hockey and skating and the drums and driving. she missed fighting and music and having sex. she missed 7-11 and drinking. she missed the others. she missed her mom.
she juggled with pages she tore out of that stupid magazine. she drew intricate murals of stick figure violence and beautifully calligraphed curse words on the walls. she colored her nails with the marker. she tried to slap morse code into the walls just in case someone was roomed next to her, but she didn’t know morse code, and she wasn’t sure if any of the others did, so it was just nonsense. she tried to ignore the pounding in her chest. she felt more combative than ever.
they led her to the interview room as she maintained a distance like a feral animal, growling at animal control. she fucking hated these guys. she hated it here. it was like jail - “you can’t just fucking keep me here, i’ll fuck you up!” she had announced earlier in the day to one unsuspecting scrubbed-up people that brought her jello or whatever.
they started talking at her, giving jude all of this information that she had to pretend to be smart enough to comprehend, nodding as she tried to piece it together, cursing the fact that she wasn’t born any fucking smarter. jesus christ. and it’s not like she even knew at this point what to believe. something was wrong, and she didn’t know if these people had anything to do with it, but she distrusted them on principal, though she was pretty sure she’d never feel safe or secure again, so whatever, right? maybe these people were involved with whatever fucked up thing that had happened to them. maybe they weren’t, and had just presumably drugged jude and the others and kept them trapped here for fun. did it even matter now?
they were giving her these letters and numbers, and she chewed on her lip, processing very little - only that someone had fucked up, right? wrote it down all wrong, maybe, or whatever, so nobody actually searched for them, even though they should have. maybe it was a lie, or maybe it was the truth.
“a waste of resources?” jude repeated incredulously. “a waste of fucking resources? a bunch of fucking people died. if i kill you guys both is that just no big deal, then? no security guards gonna come in, that’s a waste of resources? you know, i bet the security guards fucking hate you, too. i mean, you’re british, and look at you! you’re wearing a fucking bowtie! someone’s so gonna fucking sue. you guys probably weren’t even involved but someone’s gonna ruin your fucking lives, too. probably one of the rich ones. they’ve got fucking lawyers, right? they’ll fuck you up,” she threatened.
interview.
how many of you were on the plane? what was it like inside?
“i don’t know,” jude answered. “all of us. some other people. pilot. i don’t know the exact numbers,” she said mulishly. this was an honest answer. if she had counted ( and she probably hadn’t ), she wouldn’t remember the number now. “it was a plane, i don’t know. private, a little airline charter or whatever. those are fucking dangerous as fuck. they are.” her mom was on a flight with a total of 12 people when she’d crashed.
do you recall if there was anything suspicious on the plane?
jude scoffed. “no. it was just a fucking plane. i mean - i knew something was fucking wrong. but, whatever, it was just a fucking plane.” jude had been on guard from the beginning; it was a tiny little plane going over the ocean, and something terrible was going to happen. but that wasn’t because she was psychic, or some ace detective - she’d just seen it happen before. she just knew.
did anyone look or act suspicious in the plane?
“jesus christ, no. i mean, we were supposed to be going to hawaii.” she’d noticed in passing that the other eves were all super attractive, but that was the extent of her observations. she’d been hungover. she’d been high. she’d been sure she was going to die. none of it had mattered.
how long were you in the air before the plane started to malfunction?
“i don’t know. long enough for me to get high. i can’t remember if that’s illegal or not. i mean, it probably is. i don’t know. i didn’t check, i didn’t, like, read the rules. i know plenty about planes, plenty about plane crashes, but i didn’t read the rules. think that’s why we crashed?” she challenged, arms crossed, rambling, antagonistic. “that? or ‘cause we didn’t all put our phones on airplane mode, or something? i don’t have any idea what the fuck all of that is even about, actually. i bet you do,” she said, and pointed to dr. hessman. “you look like you know a bunch of useless shit like that.”
to the best of your ability, do you remember the moments before the plane crash?
“nobody does. you probably know that, right? that’s, like, super fucked up. i mean, i remember the lights going out. some people screamed, i think. you know how in high school, when the power flickers, everyone screams like it’s the end of the fucking world? it was like that. but i won’t say it’s dramatic, ‘cause clearly it fucking wasn’t. and if you’re gonna die, or whatever, and screaming is what you wanna do, then fine, whatever. me, i just took a hit off my pen, but that’s me. what about you, huh? say you’re about to die. last thing you wanna do?” it was kind of a threat. not really, but, like, a little bit.
she had been calm. she had been strangely calm, because at the first sign of turbulence, she’d thought, i was right. of course. i’m going to die, just like mom. and the thought hadn’t really bothered her much at all. she had been so calm, like she’d known it was all going to happen. but the actual right before part, as they plummeted to the ocean? fucking blank.
what’s the first thing you remember after waking up?
“i laughed,” she admitted, shoving a hand through her hair. she had woken up, sand in her mouth, looked around, and laughed. “i thought maybe i was in hell, or something. i mean, i’m not, like, religious. but it was very, like, english class, full circle, poetic justice, or some gay shit like that.” she’d looked around and laughed hysterically, like it was all so fucking ridiculous, and she’d pretty much laughed like that until jill. and then, when jude saw that, and realized what had happened, and realized that someone was dead ( and realized that her mom was dead all over again ), she stopped laughing, and backed away, and she didn’t say another thing for a couple of days. she could be so fucking useless sometimes. people told her so all of the time, and they were right. she was so good for nothing sometimes. all of the time. so, how come she was still alive? ( if laughing was the first thing she remembered from the island, then that was the last: thinking she was no big loss. thinking she was going to die, but it was okay ).
did you have any significant injuries from the crash?
she shrugged, shook her head, scrubbed a hand over her face. she’d been injured when she’d woken, but how could she be expected to remember what had caused which pain now? the bruises, the cuts, the swelling, the split lip, the aching in her ribs - it could have been her fight at school, the plane crash, her uncle. “i’m here now, aren’t i? couldn’t have been that significant.” she was tough. she could take a lot. physically, she could take a lot. she prided herself on that. she comforted herself with that. “i’ve got a lot of fucking endurance.” that’s all it ever was: an endurance test. sharp pain in the jaw. one giant wound.
who was around you when you woke up?
“i don’t know,” jude said, and she felt like she was repeating the same fucking thing over and over. she hadn’t been paying attention. she hadn’t been paying enough attention, and now she had no fucking answers, but it was all bullshit, anyways, right? they probably knew all of this stuff already, right? or if they didn’t, they didn’t need to. anyways, someone else was bound to give these guys a full fucking map of who was where and when, knowing them. maybe bev or joss. “you’ve talked to the others, right? i bet i’m not your first choice to bring out here. i mean, i’m not plan A, or whatever. so, you’ve talked to them, huh? what’d they say? you probably don’t even need to talk to me. i mean, clearly i’m no fucking use to you, anyways. and you can’t keep me here forever. you can kill me if you want, or you can let me go, but you can’t keep me here. you can’t keep the others, either.” she wanted to know if they were okay, though they probably weren’t. she wanted to see them, though she wasn’t sure if they wanted to see her, and even if they did, whether they’d be allowed to see each other was a completely different question.
how long did it take you to find the others from your flight? we were told there was a pilot and a flight attendant with you all on the flight. you didn’t manage to find them?
she barely remembered the first couple of days after jill died. even jill dying was fuzzy, though she remembered the way she’d shut down. there was a lot she didn’t remember - that’s maybe why it didn’t seem suspicious that she remembered so little of the plane crash until the others confided that they also had a blank spot there. she was used to bits of her memory being gone entirely. used to doing things she couldn’t recall. especially since her mom had died, there were entire weekends missing from her memory. so, no, it wasn’t clear to her, the process of finding the others, or how long it took. she just shrugged, tired of saying i don’t know. she kind of scoffed at the question of whether they’d ‘managed’ to find the pilot and flight attendant. “no. did you?”
what happened on your first day on the island?
good fucking question. well, she didn’t remember the details, but she knew the highlights: “somebody fucking died. what’d you do with her fucking body? and odessa’s? where the fuck are their bodies? and, jesus, seriously, where IS your fucking bitcoin man, guys?”
“that’s me,” bev said with a tone of pride and shoulders slightly back to reflect that. sure, the athletic groups didn’t always count dance and she had given up the roles of co-captain in favor of having a better position to strategize in but it still felt good to be recognized.
bev set her things down on the desk in front of her and sat beside jude, making sure that her hands were shaking enough to give her away. why was being around hot people so nerve wracking? “oh, apparently there’s like ‘school inappropriate’ lyrics to wap, who knew?” she gave jude a wink because of course, everyone did. “so in short, silencing my art.” which was what she accused the staff advisor of but of course, in a futile effort.
“what about you? i’m gonna take a wild guess from the whole feet up, chilled out vibe that this isn’t your first time.” she had hoped that it would come off as playful, fun, flirty, irresistible maybe and not like a judgment. “some sort of hockey fight?"
-
jude grinned brightly at bev’s reveal as to why she’d been sent to detention. okay, she hadn’t really been expecting that, but she kind of loved it. she flushed lightly as the other winked at her, turning in her seat a little to face bev better. “seriously? that’s so fucked up. stifling your creativity, or some shit. they basically did the same thing to me,”she confided in the other. when bev guessed that jude was 1. a detention frequenter ( true ) and 2. prone to getting into fights during hockey ( also true ), jude straightened her shoulders a little, proud but unsure if she should feel that way. “nah, nah, i was just, like, showing off my natural talent, and armstrong got all pissed. it’s always no juggling in detention, never wow jude, that’s so cool, it probably takes serious fucking hand-eye coordination that comes from years of being a dedicated athlete. you know?” she rambled, then realized, only when she was finished, that maybe she should have just gone with bev’s assumption about a fight, because it’s possible that was, like, way less embarrassing. “if that’s, like, super lame, you can just pretend i said something sexier,” she offered with a lopsided grin. she felt compelled to impress this girl she just met - maybe because she was cute. yeah, probably that was why.
jude had packed her things in a rush, heartbeat loud in her ears, lip bleeding as she shoved anything she saw into her duffel. she wasn’t even thinking about it, not really. and it’s not like she had a plan. and it’s not like it’s the first time she packed a bag, or anything, though this, of course, was much bigger. she just knew: she didn’t want to stay there.
jude bright’s flight inventory.
it would be probably pretty boring if i just tried to list out every article of clothing i thought jude owned and shoved into her duffle so i’m going to skip ahead to miscellaneous because i feel like that’s going to tell you what you need to know.
misc.
an expertly hidden half ounce of weed
4 mint juul pods ( rip! )
ASUS 14 inch laptop and charger
iphone X and charger
half empty pack of 5 wintermint gum
5a tipped vic firth drumsticks
457 dollars cash hidden in an empty adderall container
a brown leather wallet containing jude’s drivers license, 12.33 in small bills and change, a debit card ( balance of 153.85 ), and a picture of her and her mom from 2003.
“Hello,” the one in the suit greets. “Thank you for joining us. We just have a few questions for you.” The men introduce themselves. The one in the suit is Agent David Wilkes, FBI. A stoic and authoritative – though not unkind – professional from the looks of things. The man in the sweater is Dr. Parker Hessman. He doesn’t appear very threatening with his thick-rimmed glasses but he’s a trauma psychologist and it’s never good when one of those are around.
“We’ll start off easy,” Agent Wilkes begins. “Just some preliminary questions as we don’t want to overwhelm you. Let’s begin shall we?”
prelude.
jude woke with a start, well into fight-or-flight. she remembered - not that much. the boat. shane freaking out. the rock sock. and - a jab. what the fuck? she shoved herself off the bed and nearly passed out, lightheaded and still groggy as she paced the room. where the FUCK am i? and where were the others? and what the fuck was happening? it was still as clear as day that something was wrong, but at least things were interesting; at least it was a different type of room.
the camera caught her eye within seconds of scanning the room. they’re watching us. fucking duh. she flipped off the camera and looked around the room. could she use that lamp as a weapon? maybe. maybe, maybe, maybe. not that she knew what the fuck she was fighting for. not that she knew what she was up against, or what she hoped to gain from harming it. it didn’t matter - it’s not like she had something good waiting for her if she somehow saved herself, or whatever. but she didn’t like feeling helpless, and it’d feel good to hurt something.
she noticed the mirror in the bathroom, next. her first thought was a trick she’d learned from the internet, or maybe her mom. she pressed her thumbnail against the surface, watching the reflection to see if it was two-way glass. when she saw space between the thumb and the reflection, she was satisfied, and stepped back.
( she didn’t look like herself, or how she remembered herself. her hair was short and messy, and the state of her battered, sunburned skin made her wince more than the pain itself. she looked fucked, and kinda gaunt, thinner than she remembered being, eyes bigger than she thought they should be. she didn’t look very tough at all. )
they’d taken her clothes. her stuff. even her septum ring was out ( it’d probably been bloody, too, from her fight with shane ). someone had touched her and taken her things and she hadn’t even been able to fight back. well, they’d been at an advantage, but whatever. not anymore.
then someone came in, which she should have expected. “saw i was awake from the camera, huh?” she gestured up to it. her voice came out hoarse, though she continued, demanding to know things, everything - where were the others? and where were they, like, physically? geographically? what the fuck had they done to her? she certainly didn’t remember going willingly. ( mostly, more than anything, she wanted to know if the others were okay. but she didn’t think they’d answer her ). she was angry, but talking too fast to bother actually fighting, and maybe that’s why they just led her to the next room, instead of shutting her up some other way.
interview.
what is your name?
“you already know that, right?” she asked, pushing off of the table and standing up, instead. her limbs ached, everything hurt her, but she didn’t want to sit still - or, she couldn’t, seriously couldn’t. “so, like, fuck it, dude, you tell me. what’s my name, man? or, hell, what’s your name? what’s your name?” she challenged, palms flat on the table as she leaned towards the main interviewer.
how old are you?
she didn’t want to speak to these people. she thought these questions were stupid. “same age as everyone else here. wherever the fuck they are - will you actually let me fucking see them? seriously? probably fucking not, but maybe if i fucking knew they were okay, then, like, i’d tell you shit. but i don’t even know where we are. i don’t know what you did to me.”
where are you from?
“y’know your story doesn’t add up, right? can i see your fake id, actually? i wanna see if it’s as good as hers. that woman from before.” she wouldn’t have answered the question even if she believed these people had her best interest at heart. it’s not like heading home was in her best interest, either.
what’s your nationality?
“tell me more about your bitcoin man.”
do you go to school? what school do you attend?
“i’m probably, like, expelled-in-absence now. or whatever.”
how do you know these girls? did you know them prior to the retreat?
“fucked one of ‘em.”
what is the dawn of eve retreat?
“jesus, man. i don’t know. literally google it? like, pull out your phone - i KNOW you’ve got one - and google it, or something.” she genuinely didn’t know what it was, to be fair. she’d thought it was, like, either an anti-whore camp, or maybe some kind of pray-the-gay away thing. or: “maybe it was exactly fuckin’ this. my uncle would love that. jesus.” she was just kidding. mostly, it was a stupid joke, because nobody was that sick. not even him. probably.
how did you hear about the dawn of eve retreat?
“does it matter? why the fuck do you care? people died - did anyone else die? did you kill anyone? sha - she said that you wouldn’t. i wasn’t so sure. you guys are fucking suspicious as hell.”
what is your reason for attending the dawn of eve retreat?
“i probably did a lot of shit. i deserved that retreat or i deserved this, or whatever. but i didn’t want to fucking go, and i was right, okay?”
how long was the retreat supposed to be?
“no, seriously. tell me more about your fucking bitcoin guy.”
