Maybe the whole thing was just Gwennie being embarrassed that the plans for the big TV debut had been cancelled before they ever got off the ground. But Alison didn't believe it. Even if that had happened, Gwennie would have resurfaced by now, with her own humorous spin on the reality TV show that wasn't. No, something had happened.

But no one else seemed to take her sister's disappearance seriously. Not her roommates, two other aspiring actors Gwen had only given vague explanations to when she prepaid her share of the rent for two months and took off, refusing to tell them if she got the part she'd auditioned for or had other plans. Certainly not the overworked police detective who had taken down Alison's information, then said there wasn't much he could do on a missing person report unless there was some evidence of foul play.

"The rule -- the only rule -- is that you are never to talk to the cameramen," Brogan continued. If you disobey this instruction, there will be serious consequences."

The group exchanged a look, and a young woman raised her hand timidly. "What kind of consequences?"

Brogan fixed a piercing look in her direction. "And you are . . . ?"

"Miranda. Miranda Collins." She reminded Alison of a Manga character, with her short, spiky hairstyle, big eyes, and her delicate, heart-shaped face.

"Well, Miranda, break this rule and you'll be off the show, sent home and forfeit the chance of winning the prize money."

He paused while the group digested this information. It seemed to Alison that he was making rather a big deal about what would really be nothing more than an outtake that would never make the final edit. She wondered if Gwen had disobeyed this prime directive and been thrown off the show before the taping had even really begun. Gwennie's approach to rules had always been to see how far she could bend them before they snapped.

"Everybody clear on the rules?" Brogan said, pausing for any additional comments and continuing when there were none. "Fine. If you encounter a problem you should try to solve it yourself. Or enlist the help of one of your fellow contestants." He looked around the room. "If you're going to ask where your zone of privacy is, don't bother. You don't have one."

A few people murmured nervously, and his voice became more clipped.

"If any of you were introverts, you wouldn't have auditioned for a reality TV adventure, now would you? You've all seen these programs. The human psyche is stripped bare, and the audience eats it up."

There was a giggle. The girl who had introduced herself as Miranda spoke up. "How much else is going to be bare to your cameras, Mr. Brogan?"

"Just call me Brogan. The cameras will be on you 24-7. Of course, most of what goes on at the Island ends up on the cutting room floor. Rest assured, no one is interested in seeing you squat down in the woods and pee."

A quiet voice in the back of the room spoke up. "I think the young lady was really asking about sex."

Miranda giggled again and flushed slightly. Other nervous laughter was heard in the room.

"Yes, sex, of course. I'm so glad you raised that question. Let's just get it all out on the table. Our audience expects to be titillated. In essence, they are peeping Toms, getting their weekly fix by looking through the electronic keyhole at all of you.

"They're watching for glimpses of you ladies in various states of undress, hoping to see some wet clothes clinging to your body as you walk through the surf. You get the picture. And our female viewers are expecting to see ordinary men responding to extraordinary circumstances and flexing their muscles, preferably with their shirts off."

Alison, who had chosen a seat strategically located near the center of the room, glanced around at her fellow applicants. After years first working in and then owning a health club, she considered herself immune to guys flexing muscles. Still, under other circumstances, there were a few men in the room she wouldn't mind seeing work up a bit of a sweat.

"Remember," Brogan continued, "you're the first of what I hope will be a long series of contestants on Reality Island, so we'll be experimenting a bit. The idea, though, is to use the typical TV drama series as my barometer for decency in broadcasting."

The laughter that rippled through the room now seemed less nervous, more relaxed. But Alison felt the tension curling in a hot fist in her stomach. Why is he insisting that this is the first group to audition?

And what the hell happened to my sister?

By the time he began the final interviews, about half the candidates had started up conversations in small groups, while the rest remained apart, eying each other suspiciously, probably worried that some casual comment would be overheard and used to eliminate them.

Alison had come here hoping that by posing as a contestant she could get the director alone and question him about Gwen. But Brogan's total denial that there even was an earlier taping had her heart pounding as she stepped into the small interview room. Suppose, once she revealed her real purpose, he continued to deny it, and demanded that she leave? She'd have nothing she could take to the authorities, and nowhere else to turn.

There was only one solution. If Brogan wouldn't talk, then maybe someone else on the production staff would. But to find them, she had to get to Reality Island herself, and the only way to do that was by actually becoming a contestant.

She sat down in the chair and looked across the table at the director. She didn't try to hide either her nerves or her determination - she figured a little hint of desperation showing through the desire to be selected could work in her favor. He looked up from her application.

"Not a lot of information here."

She shrugged. "Not much to say." She'd put a phony last name on the application, listed a reference in New York who would back her up, and written "fitness instructor" under occupation.

"Where are you working now? I don't see it here."

"I'm sort of in between jobs right now." When he didn't comment, she continued, expanding on what she'd written on the application. "I've been doing a little fill-in work teaching exercise classes. But what I really want to do is start my own business."

"Really." He paused. "And you have the capital needed for a venture like that?"

"No. That's why I'm working at some clubs now, just trying to figure out what it's like out here, maybe line up a financial backer. I don't want to spend the rest of my life working for other people."

He tapped his pen on the application a few moments and looked it over again.

"So, Alison, why don't you tell me why you answered the ad?"

He seemed to be buying her statement about the health club, so she figured she could use that to convince him she'd be a competitive contestant if he chose her.

"Well," Alison said, "it's not cheap starting a business. Even if I had the money to rent the space, I'd still need to buy equipment, pay for advertising. I'm tired of waiting, and the prize money on the show would go a long way toward the start-up funds I need. The exposure wouldn't hurt either. These shows are all about survival, right?" She thought she saw him almost smile, but it was so fleeting she wasn't sure.

"Anyway, what better promotion for my gym than a couple million viewers in greater L.A. seeing my fitness skills in action." From what Gwen had told her, it seemed pretty unlikely the show would ever air in L.A. But Brogan hadn't told the group of hopeful contestants that. In fact, he hadn't said anything in the other room about overseas sales.

She tried to channel her sister's naïve enthusiasm as she looked directly into his eyes. "Do you have any cliffs I can climb on this Reality Island, Brogan? Any wilderness trials I could endure? Because if people see me doing it, then they'll want me to train them."

"I think we could work that out, Alison."

She leaned earnestly across the table. "Just give me a chance, Brogan. I'll show you the meaning of the word survival."

"Believe me, Alison," he said, "if you make it onto the show, you will."

* * *

Judging from the position of the sun in the sky, it was mid-afternoon when the small, charter jet touched down. Their watches had been collected onboard with the rest of their personal items, so Alison wasn't sure how long the flight had been.

The eight contestants were loaded into an old, beat-up bus and transported a few miles to a dilapidated dock. As they drove down the dusty road, Alison looked back and saw the small plane already lifting off. There were no buildings in sight, but a powerful-looking speedboat was moored there.

The driver of the bus - the same man who had collected their personal possessions on the plane - directed them to get on board. Alison had taken a seat up front on the bus and tried to get the driver into a conversation, but he'd ignored her and she finally gave up. Hopefully she'd have better luck with the production staff once they actually arrived at the island.

"Where's our luggage?" The well-dressed woman standing on the dock looked out of place with the rest of the contestants. She was wearing a crisp pale blue linen slacks suit, and soft leather shoes with low heels, sleekly coordinated with her designer handbag. Her perfectly relaxed hair was pulled back in a knot, over delicate pearl earnings.

The driver answered her curtly. "Your bags will be delivered to the island."

"But that's . . . Our luggage was on the plane. I really don't see why we couldn't just bring it with us."

"Brogan's orders, Ma'am. Now would you please get on the boat." It was more of an order than a request. The woman looked around and, apparently realizing there was no other alternative, climbed onto the boat and sat down stiffly on one of the cushioned seats.

It was starting to make Alison a little nervous as well. First the cell phones and other electronics, and now their luggage was gone? Maybe Brogan was searching it, but for what?

The rest of the contestants stepped onboard and in moments, the boat was planing. Alison felt the wind and spray on her face as it sped over the choppy water. She watched the land fade and finally disappear behind her, and she shivered.

As they approached the island, it was already reaching nightfall. A long stretch of sandy beach gave way to a rocky coastline, all backed by thick, green vegetation. It reminded Alison of travel brochure photos she and Gwen had pored over when they were kids, the way other girls pored over fashion magazines. She wondered what Gwen had felt as the boat pulled up to the dock, if indeed she had even gotten that far.

Brogan was waiting for them. Within minutes, the contestants were seated around a campfire.

"Welcome to Reality Island," Brogan said. "Now that you're here, I want you to forget all your ideas about how reality shows are filmed. This is not like any reality show you've ever seen. Following the rules is the only way you have a shot at being the person who walks home with the prize.

"We operate this show on a point system. Once a week you'll receive a report on your standings. What makes it frustrating for you -- and particularly interesting for our viewers -- is that although you'll be given your totals and your standing each week, you won't be told what you did to gain or lose points.

Slip below a certain point level, and you'll be off the show. If you feel the need to discuss any issue with me, my door is always open. However, points will be deducted from your score every time you avail yourself of that opportunity.

"Activities will be posted here on the Challenge Board," he said, pointing to a bulletin board nailed roughly to a tree. "These challenges are designed to test both your cunning and your physical capabilities." He paused. "And your will to survive. If I didn't think each of you was capable of completing these challenges, I wouldn't have selected you for this show."

I wonder, Alison thought. It would seem like a little failure -- or at least the probability of some -- would be a necessary ingredient to add interest to the program. We'll see, she thought. We can only wait and see.

"Any questions?"

When he was met with silence, Brogan continued. "You all have something else in common. Everyone here has a secret."

What was her "secret?" Alison wondered. Or, more accurately, what did Brogan think it was? Her chest felt tight and she took a slow, deep breath. Had Brogan already figured out why she was really here?

Writer's Note

What kind of secrets do you think they have?