The Storm and the Darkness

by Sarah M. Cradit

  You shouldn’t be in a hurry, anyway. You need a plan. And it better be good, because it isn’t just the girl you should be concerned about. You could be in a serious pickle if this backfires.

  Aye, his father’s voice responded, you best remember you ain’t cut out for what waits for you in the pokey, though come to think of it, it might make a right man out of ya, fer once...

  Alex shivered, shaking off the disdainful voice. Hateful or not, his father was right again. If I sense things are going south, I ain’t going down alone.

  Chapter Forty-Five: Oz

  “Do you even know where we are going once we reach the island?”

  Nicolas looked up from his cell phone. He had been trying to get a reception, but as Ana’s cell phone hadn’t worked a day since she got to the island, Oz thought it was a futile effort. Nicolas, being stubborn, insisted he just needed to find the “sweet spot.” Even if it worked for a little while, it would be useful.

  “I have the address, if that’s what you mean.”

  “And how is that going to be helpful, exactly? Do you have a map? GPS? The roads are closed and the island is covered in snow.”

  Nicolas was still fiddling with his phone. Waving it around, squinting his eyes, and in general being annoyingly obtuse. “We’ll figure it out, don’t worry!”

  Oz had always been exasperated by Nicolas’ laissez faire approach to life. We’ll get there when we get there. We don’t need a plan. Oh, let’s see where this road goes.

  “Nic,” he said evenly, “please, tell me you have a better plan than that.”

  “No, not really Ozzy,” he replied casually, moving around the small cabin with his arm outstretched. “But the island is small, so how hard can it be?”

  Oz laughed, followed by a weary sigh. “We’re screwed.”

  He was tired and cold, and consumed with worry. On top of that was guilt, and no small measure of fear about what might have befallen Ana. Nicolas was free to label what they were doing an adventure, but by all sane measures, this was very high-risk behavior. Nicolas’ whole life had been one “adventure” after another. Oz had hoped this time he might have a different approach, given what was at stake.

  Nicolas gave Oz a peculiar look. “I’ll ask Captain Jack up there. Maybe he can help. I know that she has a dock outside the property, so maybe he can just drop us off.”

  Oz laughed again. “Oh right, ferry valet. Make sure you have an appropriate tip ready.”

  “Ah, fuck off, we paid him well enough. Why wouldn’t he help?”

  “Because he doesn’t have to? Because your cousin’s ‘dock’ is likely only big enough for small, personal use? Because you can’t put a square peg in a round hole? Because this is already dangerous enough without adding more levels of difficulty? Because he’s a jerk? Because the sky is blue? Because-“

  “I get it. I get it.” Nicolas put the phone away and Oz felt immediately better. At least he was paying attention and not blowing off what Oz saw as a very critical point in the success, or failure, of their mission.

  Hah, mission. Now I sound like Nic.

  “What do you suggest then, Ozzy?” He sat on the bunk, leaning forward attentively, with his elbows on his knees.

  “Well, I would have come prepared. I would have known what side of the island we were going to dock on, and I would have had a map of the island with Ana’s house on it so we could at least make our way there if we have to walk through a bunch of snow.”

  “Thank you, Captain Hindsight. That’s really helpful for the next time we are in this situation. But since I didn’t do any of that, what do you suggest now?”

  Oz didn’t have a clue. People always looked to him for ideas, but he hated making decisions. He wanted Nicolas to be better prepared, not to have to figure it out himself. Adrienne always looked at him like he should know the answer, too. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I think you better start sweet talking our friend up top.”

  Nicolas sighed. “Fine.” He stood up and motioned Oz toward the stairs. “Ladies first.”

  The captain was on deck, having a cigarette. Oz got his first good look at “Peacock.” He was in his fifties, rotund, and had terrible, weatherworn skin. His pockmarked face blurred his features, except for a scar that ran from his middle forehead to the tip of his nose. His skin sagged around his mouth in a way that would disguise a smile, had he bothered to try one on.

  “Almost there,” he said gruffly, without turning around. He was pretending they had walked away.

  “Awesome. So where are we going to be putting down anchor?” Nicolas asked him. He positioned himself in front of Peacock, against the railing, so the man was effectively cornered.

  “Where the ferries dock,” he said, still looking out to sea.

  “And where would that be?” Nicolas prodded.

  “Where they dock,” he repeated in the same even tone.

  Oz stepped up, sensing Nicolas’ growing agitation. “Sir. We need to get to the Deschanel property.” No response. “The property that’s normally overseen by Alex Whitman. It’s on the southeastern corner of the island. Can you at least give us some general direction?”

  Peacock took a long, deep puff on his smoke, then flicked the butt out to sea. It disappeared quickly into the fog. Oz had no idea which way was north, let alone where the nearest land was.

  “I can’t drop you off there, if that’s what you be askin’,” he answered finally. He coughed and spat off the side of the railing

  “That’s fine,” Oz said, trying to sound amenable. “We just need to know which way to go in relation to where we are being dropped off.”

  Peacock grunted and walked off.

  “What…the…fuck!” Nicolas kicked the railing. Oz ignored him and followed the man, into the tiny, glassed-in, captain’s room. The equipment was rusted and showing signs of disrepair. Oz tried not to think about what that might mean for their safety.

  Peacock was bent, leaning over a small table, drawing on a map. He drew a circle, a crazy line, and another circle. He stood up and handed the map to Oz. “Here,” he pointed at the first circle, “is where I am droppin’ ya off. Here,” he pointed at the next circle, “is where ya wanna go.”

  It didn’t look far on the map, but Oz couldn’t see a marker for distance. “About how far is that?” He asked.

  “A mile, er so, by roads, but ya know they’re closed. Less as the crow flies, but you won’t be moving so fast with two feet of snow under ya.”

  Oz folded the map and thanked him. “We appreciate this.”

  “My family appreciates the extra year’s salary,” he said with a nod, then sat down and said no more.

  “What a cock,” Nicolas said, when Oz returned. Nicolas was shivering and jogging in place to keep warm. “You’d think with the scratch I threw at him, he could at least say a few fucking words.”

  “He did. Say a few fucking words.” Oz pulled the map out of his pocket and unfolded it, smashing it into Nicolas’ face. “Who’s the cock now?”

  Nicolas’ face erupted in a big, contagious smile that Oz couldn’t help but return. “Ozzy, you are such a little bitch, but goddamnit, I love you!”

  Chapter Forty-Six: Finnegan

  Finn unlocked the door to Jon’s office, doing his utmost to ignore the cold steel pressed against the back of his neck. Alex had stopped shaking, at least. Finn suspected the man had no idea how to use the gun, and that worried him more than almost anything else. There were few things more dangerous than putting a loaded shotgun in the hands of an inexperienced man.

  “No funny business,” Alex said from behind him. The tiny bell jingled as the door swung inward. The air that greeted them was only slightly warmer than what they had faced outside. “And we’re only staying ’til the snow dies down. I mean it!”

  “Trust me, I don’t want to be here with you any longer than I have to,” Finn insisted. He walked ahead of Alex with his hands showing, lest the man accidentally mistake his actions for rebelli
ousness and shoot him. I don’t have a clue what crawled up his ass, but he is in over his head.

  Finn’s eyes scanned the room, taking measure.

  “Hmph,” Alex replied. “You’re awful cocky fer a man who ain’t got the upper hand.”

  Finn faced away from Alex, smiling into the darkness. “You’re right, Alex. I’ll remind myself to be sufficiently respectful of your position going forward.”

  Alex missed the sarcasm, and instead chuckled appreciatively. “That’s a good boy. It ain’t gonna save ya, but it may cause me to have some mercy on ya, when the time fer reckonin’ is upon ya.”

  “Alright, Alex,” Finn muttered low, under his breath. He couldn’t begin to fathom what bizarre illusions were fueling this behavior from the old overseer, but he had no patience for it. If Alex didn’t want to explain himself, fine. Finn didn’t require an explanation. He had come to Jon’s office not for shelter, but to end this ridiculous game.

  Finn found the wall thermostat on the wall and switched on the heater. The relief would be slow in coming, but perhaps it would at least take the edge off the deep chill in his bones.

  Alex followed him into the back room, past the examination tables and into Jon’s office. Finn had charged ahead, leaving Alex struggling to keep up. “Stop!” Alex exclaimed, as Finn reached for the office door. “Stop now!”

  Finn raised his hands again. His tone was even, but annoyed. “Alex, do you want food and blankets, or not?”

  The gun still resting on his shoulder, Alex looked down at his soaked gear, and then back up at Finn. He hates that I’m right. “Slowly.”

  Finn did not need to be told to go slowly. He was pretty certain that any surprise would be excuse enough for Alex to send a spray of pellets straight through him, and he was not ready to die. Especially not at the hands of this ridiculous old man who had decided that the middle of a storm was a great time to play cowboy.

  Finn didn’t care what Alex’s motivations were. He only needed to buy time. Food and blankets were the furthest things from Finn’s mind, despite the fact that he was indeed cold. He needed Alex to be thinking about the incoming warmth, and to stay focused on it.

  “I don’t see no blankets,” Alex accused, as they entered Jon’s tiny office. Damn you for being so neat, Finn thought, as he glanced around at the bare room. There was only Jon’s organized desk, a cupboard, a small fridge, and a bookshelf.

  “They’re in the cupboard,” Finn lied. He fingered through Jon’s keychain, searching for something to unlock it. Please have blankets in here. And something else.

  “Check the fridge for food,” Finn ordered, as he fumbled with the cupboard lock. Alex gasped in indignation from behind him. Good, let him be annoyed with me. He can’t possibly be half as pissed off with me as I am with him.

  “You can check it yer own dang self,” Alex said. Finn imagined that if Alex did not have a gun in his hands, he would have his arms crossed, pouting. I’m just ticking him off more, by funning with him. He knows I’m not taking him seriously, and it’s possible this is going to backfire.

  Eyeing the fridge, Finn suddenly recalled that this was where Jon kept most of his animal medicine. Including pre-filled syringes. I know for sure he keeps tranquilizers here.

  Finn abandoned the cupboard, kneeling down in front of the fridge. Alex was rambling on behind him about something, but Finn was single-mindedly focused on trying to locate the medicine before Alex caught on to the diversion.

  “Well, is there food in there or not?” Alex demanded. Finn was intentionally blocking Alex’s view to the fridge’s content, his heart racing as he read through the labels in a rush. Atenolol. Enalapril. Ketamine. Ketoprofen. None of these names meant a damn thing to Finn, and he wished, for once, that he had occasionally paid attention when Jon talked about his job. One of these has to be a tranquilizer. Jon uses those a lot, and I swear it started with a K…

  When Finn felt Alex kneeling down for a better view, Finn quickly grabbed the syringe marked Ketoprofen. Sliding it under his sleeve, Finn stood, revealing the lack of food. “Guess I was wrong,” Finn said, as Alex leaned in for a closer look.

  And then Finn found his moment. Alex’s focus was entirely on the fridge’s contents. Finn sprung to life, pulling the syringe out and stabbing it into the side of Alex’s neck in one fluid motion. In Alex’s shock, the gun fell to a startling clank on the linoleum, and Alex went flying into the cupboard. The vase on top wobbled, then shattered to the floor in a dozen pieces.

  Alex stared at him in shock, his hands pressed against in neck. His look quickly switched to rage, as he realized Finn had injected something him. “You little son of a whore! I was gonna go easy on ya, but now I’m gonna wring your neck!”

  Finn did not wait for Alex’s retaliation. He flew into Alex, shoving him hard against the cupboard again, the cabinet trembling at the connection. Alex cursed at him, winded, and Finn threw a punch at his face, wincing as his hand connected and blood flew from Alex’s nose in a long, arcing spray. Finn punched him again, and when Alex sprung back, Finn grabbed Alex by the shoulders and threw him across the room, sending him sailing into the wall with a thud. Alex gripped the bookshelf, wobbling.

  “We’re done with this bullshit, Alex,” Finn panted. Why is he still awake? “Are you ready to stop now?”

  “Yer gonna rot in hell,” Alex seethed through bloody teeth, and charged Finn. The move was so unexpected that Finn did not react in time. The push into the cupboard knocked the wind out of him. Oh, crap. Ketamine is the tranquilizer, not Ketoprofen. Dammit!

  “I am not fucking around with you anymore!” Finn raged, and tackled Alex. They both fell to the floor in a mess of jumbled arms and legs, with Finn quickly gaining the upper hand. He had his forearm pressed against Alex’s neck, choking him. “Alex, calm the fuck down!”

  To his surprise, Alex went still beneath him. The man’s eyes were wide and wild, studying Finn. As they considered each other, their suddenly heated, panting breaths the only sounds between them, Alex’s eyes filled with tears. Unexpectedly, Finn no longer saw a crazed gunman, but simply the sad, old man that Alex was; with age spots, thinning hair, and a lifetime of loneliness. This got way out of hand, and he doesn’t know what to do. He’s just a lonely old man who got a bug up his ass, and now he’s in over his head.

  Finn relaxed his hold, and some of the color returned to Alex’s face. “If I let go, are you going to stay calm?”

  Alex nodded ever so slightly. His eyes were large, and remorseful. I almost feel sorry for him. “Okay. I’m letting go…”

  Finn’s head filled with stars, and his stomach turned inside out as Alex threw a powerful knee to his groin. He rolled over in pain, struggling to breathe and right himself, but he once again felt the cold steel of the shotgun against the back of his head.

  Finn slowly looked up at Alex. The man no longer looked nervous. He no longer seemed the sad, old man with age spots and thinning hair. A wide, blood-filled, clownish smile, spread slowly across his face, and he was every bit the crazed gunman. He played me like a fiddle. Jon was right about him. Holy shit, he was right all along. Oh, god.

  “Now, do you take me seriously?” Alex demanded. Finn nodded, realizing, finally, that to do otherwise might be an authorization of his own death warrant.

  “Good,” Alex continued. “Because you are going to die tonight, Finnegan St. Andrews.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven: Nicolas

  Nicolas wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this. All he could see clearly was snow, forest, and a mass of land. Houses were scattered sparsely along the tiny coastline, with few lights on at this time of night. He could barely make out the dark outlines of the town itself. Above town, a lighthouse beacon seemed to float and twinkle as it turned slowly. The red and white stripes along the tower’s exterior contrasted against the whitewash of the snow, reminding him of a Christmas candy cane.

  “How many people live here?” He asked the captain.

&nb
sp; “A couple hundred,” the captain responded as he squared them up to the port. “Most o’ the folks live near the center of the island. That’s where the town’s at.”

  “But that’s not where we are going,” Nicolas mumbled. Oz had studied the map and tried to roughly sketch their plan of attack as well as two boys from south of the Mason-Dixon line could. The Deschanel home was on the eastern shore, and they were docking on the far west. Between the two points was a large wildlife preserve that they would need to cross, but it would be no easy trek. There was over two feet of snow on the ground, and the snowshoes they had bought only seemed like one more hurdle to overcome.

  The captain lowered the clunky ladder onto the old dock. It was unsteady, but he insisted on avoiding the main dock. Finding a relatively empty area, he maneuvered in the cruiser.

  Their descent was done under the captain’s impatient direction. “Go, go, I need to get back,” the captain urged, his hands gesturing for them to hurry.

  “Could be a little nicer, for the money I paid you,” Nicolas chided him, but started to climb down. His feet met the icy dock with a quick slide, but he was able to right himself as he backed away.

  “Won’t mean nothin’ to me if I die out here,” he said, pulling the ladder back as soon as Oz’s second foot hit the deck. Oz suddenly stumbled into Nicolas, who shoved him straight into the snow.

  “Ass,” Oz complained, as Nicolas helped him to his feet, chuckling. The boat was already departing for the mainland. Oz scrambled to his feet, shouting and waving, slipping across the deck trying to get the captain’s attention.

  “What the fuck?” Nicolas asked. “Change of heart?”

  Oz stopped yelling long enough to say, “No, dumbass! We need a way to get back to the mainland once we find Ana. A smaller detail that, you know, we might want to work out!”

  Nicolas exhaled and stared blankly ahead. It was true, he was never much of a planner. He took vacations on a whim, partied whenever the mood hit, and never remembered important dates. “Oz, stop,” he said finally, when the boat continued on its’ course. “He won’t help us even if we double the pay.”