Katy Carson @KopyKaty111
Is there any update on @ryanlalala? @TheIslandXperience
Ayyy its Jonah @p0rkbunzz
@TheIslandXperience wtf is this shit w no medics someone is dead
Elaine @Elainemusik
@TheIslandXperience @ryanlalala is fucking dead
When James searched Ryan LeHane’s handle, he found the same posts tagging his handle and not much else.
Well, looks like people are going to find out somehow and not in the way the festival PR people probably wanted,he thought.
He tried sleeping, but when the sky lightened into a soft purple and then baby blue, he put his shoes back on and left the dorm.
I should have given a statement. It’s weird that I didn’t give a statement, he thought.
James did not know where he intended to go, because the island’s layout lacked any structure and he had no idea where the security tent might be, but when he left the dorms and glanced northward toward the woods—out of respect? Curiosity?—James saw a security guard standing in the entrance to the trail. James approached him and told the guard he’d like to make a statement about last night’s incident. The guard, in his black sunglasses and neon vest, shifted on his feet.
“I have been instructed to let anyone asking to make a statement know that we are investigating it to the maximum extent of our abilities and to also inform them that providing a statement regarding any possible accident in the north part of the island is an offense counter to the agreements of the festival, which explicitly describe the forested area as being off-limits.”
The man paused and stumbled in a couple places of his speech, leading James to wonder whether he knew the meaning of every word.
“Are you trying to tell me that the festival is threatening people who want to make statements about the accident last night?” he asked and instinctively reached for the phone in his pocket.
“I am not saying that.”
“Who is in charge here? I want to make a statement, and I don’t give a shit if it’s in some fine print that no one read.”
“The head of security is busy at the moment,” the guard told him, staring ahead as though standing sentry at Buckingham Palace.
“Attending to the death scene of a festival goer, which I witnessed? I want to make a statement about it and your threats aren’t going to stop me. I want to speak with him.”
The guard sighed and reached up to press the walkie-talkie hooked to the left shoulder of his vest.
“Grant, can you come up front for a second? There’s a guest who wants to speak with you.”
After a moment of lag, the speaker crackled. “Roger.”
Several quiet minutes passed while James waited for Grant and the first guard pretended that he wasn’t there. Finally, another man in a neon vest appeared from the depths of the trees. Grant had dark hair and arms covered in tattoos, one of which he extended to James.
“Hi there, I’m Grant Thomspon, head of security here. What can I do for you?”
James took his hand and squeezed. “I want to make a statement about what happened last night.”
Grant put his hands on his hips but nodded. “I understand. You were in there last night, then?” He threw a thumb behind him.
“I was, and I’ve been informed that it’s a violation of the festival terms or whatever, but after what I saw I don’t really care if I’m asked to leave. I knew Ryan and want to make sure that the details are right on the report.”
Grant put his hands out, palms facing James, as if asking for mercy. “I can appreciate that, but I’ll be honest with you, man. We're doing everything we can, but this is kind of out of our league. We’re just a security team from the states, and mostly we deal with fights and minor accidents at worst. We do have protocol for this kind of thing, which I’ve never seen happen in the ten years I’ve been doing this kind of gig, and that's to contact the Bahamian police. But, look, they only have one boat they can send out and we weren't able to contact them until this morning. I know how that looks and sounds, but I want you to trust me when I say that the proper authorities are handling this.”
James’ phone felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket the entire time Grant was talking. Nothing he was saying was adding up.
“Why am I essentially being threatened against making a statement then?”
Grant put his hands up again, this time in defense. “We’re just a third party hired for this, okay? The festival doesn’t want anyone making statements that will interfere with an international death investigation, and we’re just being asked by their higher ups to pass that on. That is not our policy. If it were up to me, you can say whatever you want. I can take your name and whatever if you want, but I will have to pass that onto the festival.”
