The Keeper of Dawn

by Hickman, J. B.

“Jake, I had no idea you had a gem like this,” Chris said, examining a picture wedged into the mirror. “I dig black and whites. I don’t care what they say—there’s no nostalgia in color. So who is it? Is he dead? That’d be wild. If he’s dead, I’ll pay money for it.”

  “It’s my father.”

  “You serious?” Chris plucked the picture from the mirror and set it on my desk. “So this is your old man.” He started to say something more, but was interrupted by the ten o’clock bell that signaled lights-out.

  While they made their final preparations, I examined the picture. If not for the granular blacks and whites, the image of my father standing beside the courtyard fountain could have been taken yesterday. Other than the ring of stone frogs spitting streams of water from the perimeter, the fountain looked the same. Even the vines shrouding the base of the lighthouse had been dead all those years ago. Nothing had changed—nothing, that is, except my father.

  The stranger in the picture and the man who had sent me to Wellington had become two different people. I couldn’t connect how one had matured into the other. The thirty-year-old image in the palm of my hand seemed more alive than my most recent memory of him. When I thought of Father, I pictured his hands—smooth and delicate like a magician’s. He didn’t smoke and he seldom cursed. The only time he drank was to consume a single glass of red wine in the evening, which he did primarily for the reputed health benefits. Above all, he carried with him a sense of purpose; even his laugh—as seldom heard as the midnight strike of the grandfather clock—had a dignified intent.

  I put the picture facedown on the desk. Then I went to the closet and changed into the Wellington shirt I reserved for work in the clock tower. Max’s greasy handprint was still visible on the shoulder. Out of habit, I rolled up the sleeves.

  “Hold on. I’m coming with you.”

  CHAPTER 5: THE BLOOD OF KINGS

  “Operation Raker” was executed like some ridiculous military exercise. Volunteering to be on “recon,” Roland proceeded in front of us, signaling when it was safe to proceed.

  As it turned out, Trevor was the only person we came across. “Hey, Van Belle,” he said, emerging from the lavatory with a towel around his waist.

  Roland, who had been in a defensive crouch, tried to look as casual as possible. “Hey there, Trevor. Late night shower, huh?”

  “What are you guys up to?”

  “We’re going to climb the lighthouse,” Benjamin blurted out. “To see Pirate Raker’s—” This was all he got out before Roland shoved an elbow in his ribs.

  “Looks like a nicotine run if I’ve ever seen one,” Trevor said. “Don’t worry, I’m cool. Us smokers have to stick together.”

  “That’s right,” Chris said. “Gotta feed the addiction.”

  When Trevor turned down the hall, Benjamin felt the weight of our collective stare.

  “I’m sorry, all right? I’ve always been lousy at keeping secrets.”

  We passed through the Senior’s Door and into the Kirkland Hall alcove. Oak Yard lay before us. The gazebo stood out as a pale, ghostly structure. The only sound was the fountain’s soft gurgle. High above, towering over the dark windows, stood the lighthouse. With his eyes fixed on its peak, Benjamin’s face was pale even in the shadows of the alcove.

  “We have to cross Oak Yard?” Derek asked.

  “How else we going to get there?” Chris asked.

  “Never really thought about it, I guess.” He glanced back at the Senior’s Door. “They’d probably boot me off the wrestling team. At least put me on probation.”

  “Look, I know you’re a lifer, Mayhew,” Chris said. “But seriously, who cares about Oak Yard? I can understand it at the old campus. That place had some serious history. But this is a few scrawny trees and a stupid looking gazebo.”

  “I don’t know,” Derek said.

  “It’s just a lighthouse. What’s the big deal?”

  “It’s a big deal if we get caught,” I said. Though Iron Lungs hadn’t provoked a letter from Father, a second infraction surely would.

  “You can’t be serious? Oh my God, you’re serious. I don’t believe this. I’ve never seen such pussies in my—”

  Suddenly, without saying a word, Benjamin stepped from the sidewalk. There was no hesitation; he simply walked into Oak Yard as if on his way to class.

  We stared after him. To be outdone by Benjamin Bailey was unthinkable. We exchanged a look before stepping forward in unison. Was that whistling? It sounded like Benjamin was whistling through his teeth, and it was this sound that led us through Oak Yard. I kept looking over my shoulder, expecting someone to come running after us; as if somewhere, perhaps in Mr. Lawson’s office, a silent alarm was alerting him to our presence. But the courtyard was empty, and we reached the lighthouse without incident.

  Shielded from the moonlight, the vines transformed the tower into an enormous tree, not alive but dead, as lifeless as the weathered bricks concealed beneath its grip. I was actually relieved when Chris turned the key (which he had lifted from Max’s key ring) and the lock didn’t give way. But when he turned it in the other direction, a metallic click sounded and the door opened on rusty hinges. Then everyone was rushing inside and the door swung shut behind us, sending a deep boom up the neck of the tower.

  The time it took Chris to fumble for the flashlight felt like an eternity. A heavy silence filled the confined space, broken only by the whisper of a distant wind. Moonlight streamed through the windows above. The darkness was so complete, all I could see of the others was a dim light reflecting from Benjamin’s glasses.

  When Chris turned on the flashlight, I’m not sure who yelled the loudest. Extensions of dead vine were everywhere. Caught in the beam of the flashlight, the vines cast writhing shadows that made the walls crawl with sinister life.

  “Far out,” one of us said.

  “How could they grow in here?” Roland asked.

  “I wonder how high they go?” Benjamin asked.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Chris said.

  The conical beam of Chris’ flashlight stabbed upward to illuminate coil after coil of the staircase that had fallen into the final stages of disrepair. Entire sections had separated from the wall, rusting to the point of collapse.

  My eyes settled into a fixed stare. I tried to look away, but my vision was pulled farther into the distance. As I continued to watch, the staircase started to unwind. Though I knew it wasn’t possible, the tower began to rotate, slowly at first, but picking up speed until the stairs and vines twirled around me like some absurd carnival ride. I closed my eyes, but the spinning continued in my head.

  “Been drinking there, partner?” Derek asked when I put a hand on the railing and sank to my knees.

  “Just dizzy.”

  “Is it vertigo?” Benjamin asked. “My cousin Jerry gets that. One time we were in this huge cave up in Vermont, and he got it so bad he puked all over himself.”

  When the spinning subsided, I walked toward Benjamin with a pained look on my face.

  “Oh man. He’s gonna spew!” Roland said.

  Benjamin backed away, but I cornered him beneath the stairs and, opening my mouth, began to make retching noises.

  “Ah! Disgusting! That macaroni looks worse the second time,” Benjamin joked.

  “You gonna be okay?” Chris asked, tossing me his spare flashlight.

  “Yeah,” I said. “And don’t worry. I won’t point it down.”

  After testing his weight on the stairs, Chris started up, and we fell in behind him. Hindered by the vines, our pace was slow. We hadn’t gone far when Benjamin’s breathing became audible.

  “Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-se-ven …” he counted between breaths.

  Stuck behind Benjamin, it didn’t take long for us to fall behind.

  “Take your time,” I told him, fighting the urge to rush forward. I almost added, “Don’t look down,” but held my tongue.

  “Fif-ty-eight … fif-ty-nine …… s
ix-ty …”

  By this time Chris and Derek were out of sight, and Roland was just visible at the edge of the light.

  “Seven-ty … six …… seven-ty … sev-en …”

  I could no longer see Roland. The reverberation of footsteps kicked dust down from overhead.

  “Hey, hold up,” I called out. “We need a break.”

  Our steps came slower, the pauses between Benjamin’s words longer, but we eventually caught up to the others. Chris looked annoyed at the delay.

  “You okay?” Roland asked.

  “Fine,” Benjamin replied, doubled-over, hands gripping his knees. “I’m fine … just … out of shape is all.”

  We had finally cleared the vines. Cobwebs clung to the walls, waving in the breeze from a nearby window. Though the clock tower had accustomed me to heights, the absence of light exaggerated distance, leaving my imagination to fill in what couldn’t be seen.

  “We getting close?” Chris asked, aiming his flashlight up the neck of the tower.

  The stairwell extended into darkness. There was no end to it. I was about to tell Chris we could climb all night and not be there, but then a wave of dizziness went through me. Instinct told me to close my eyes, but I wanted to fight this. I wanted to overcome this weakness. With the tower soaring overhead, I searched desperately for an end to the repetition. When the stairs began to tilt, I shifted my weight. Too late did I realize my imbalance and lurched forward, hands shooting out, palms open, just in time to catch myself. The flashlight landed to my right and started to roll toward the edge. I reached out just in time, but the vertigo wasn’t through with me, and I only served to speed it along its course.

  “Shit!”

  The cone of light shook sporadically over the walls before righting itself, speeding straight down like an arrow with a golden tip, exposing all the stairs we had just climbed, dropping through the many feet of darkness, its life winking out at the very point we had started, impossibly far below.

  “Good go—”

  Derek was cut off by an agonized gasp.

  I looked up to find Benjamin standing with his back pressed to the wall. His eyes were squeezed shut, his body frozen in place.

  “You okay, Ben?” Chris asked as we crowded around.

  “Jake just dropped his flashlight,” Roland said, putting a hand on Benjamin’s shoulder. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

  At Roland’s touch, Benjamin’s lips stopped trembling. He was completely motionless except for a dark stain spreading from the crotch of his pants.

  “He’s not breathing,” Roland said.

  “Come on, Ben,” Chris said. “Take a deep breath for us.”

  I stood behind everyone, feeling guilty as hell for dropping the flashlight. Benjamin still hadn’t moved. His face was turning a dark shade of red.

  “He’s got to breathe,” Roland said.

  “Goddammit Ben, breathe!” Chris yelled.

  Finally Benjamin took a gulp of air.

  “That’s it,” Roland said. “There you go. See, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  Benjamin continued to take erratic intakes of air. His eyes remained shut as he spoke through teeth that, once unclenched, wouldn’t stop chattering.

  “I sh-sh-shouldn’t have l-l-looked d-d-down. I sh-shouldn’t have d-d-done that. I … I even t-told m-myself not t-to d-do it … b-b-but when that flashlight went …”

  “Just relax,” Roland said. “We’ll get you through this.”

  “We can’t go back now,” Chris said. “We’re nearly at the top.”

  “Chris, he’s terrified. We’re getting him down. Now.”

  The roommates faced each other; neither said a word. Their confrontation, or whatever it was, ended when Chris took a step back.

  “Try opening your eyes,” Roland suggested to Benjamin.

  With an effort, Benjamin’s eyes fluttered open.

  “Is that any better?”

  “A … a little. Yes, a l-little. It’s just that I … I can’t move.”

  “Not at all? Not even a single step?”

  Benjamin made a noise that was probably meant to be a laugh, but it came out like a squeal. “This happened once b-before. I looked over the side of a cl-cliff and my whole b-body … l-locked up.”

  “Okay, so that other time, how did you get down?”

  “They had to … carry me.”

  “Oh man,” Derek muttered.

  “Can you try taking a step forward?” Roland asked.

  “I’ll try,” Benjamin said, his face hardening. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. His shoe slid forward maybe an inch at most, but then he shook his head, sending built-up tears down his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I … I t-tell you what. I’ll just wait here while you guys go t-to the top.”

  “Alone?” Chris asked. “In the dark?”

  Benjamin whimpered.

  “We’re not going to leave you,” Roland assured him. “Just hold on a second. Can you do that for me?”

  “Okay.”

  “Well isn’t this a fun little adventure,” Chris said after Roland had led us up the stairs out of earshot.

  “It’s pathetic is what it is,” Derek whispered.

  “He’s scared of heights,” Roland said. “What did you expect?”

  “It’s my fault,” I said miserably. “If I hadn’t dropped that stupid flashlight—”

  “If you hadn’t dropped it, this would be happening at the top,” Roland said. “He should’ve never come. But we brought him, so we have to figure out how to get him down.”

  “You mean we’re actually going to carry him?” Derek asked.

  “You got a better suggestion?” Roland asked.

  In the end, of course, we carried him down. What else could we do? We had to nearly pry him from the wall. Whether it was because I had dropped the flashlight or if it was just bad luck, I got stuck holding his urine-soaked leg. Derek held his other leg, and Chris and Roland each had a shoulder. His weight was more awkward than heavy, as it was difficult backing down the stairs while trying to keep clear of the wet spot on his jeans. Benjamin held the flashlight, shaking it so violently it caused our distorted shadows to dance across the walls. The rest of his body remained rigid; there was no give in his arms or legs. The fear never entirely went out of him; he clung to it as a scared child clings to their parent’s leg. This overwhelming instinctive fear that we carried down the stairs eliminated anything in its path: the shame and humiliation that might have otherwise been part of such an absurd situation; the guilt we collectively shared in bringing him up there. We might laugh about it later, or beat ourselves up for allowing it to happen, but at the time we were too concentrated on the task at hand. And if our minds wandered, it only took one look at those unblinking, fear-ridden eyes to bring us right back.

  “Sorry I spoiled your fun,” Benjamin said once we had finished the descent.

  “You didn’t spoil anything,” I said, relieved he had lost his stutter. “We’re still going up. This never would’ve happened if I hadn’t dropped that flashlight.”

  “It’s all right. I had no business going up there. Guess I got caught up in my own stories.”

  I watched as he crossed Oak Yard, his shirt drifting through the darkness. The courtyard was empty and all the windows dark. Benjamin proceeded slowly through the deserted yards, his head down, hands in his pockets. I continued to watch until he reached Patterson Hall, wishing it had somehow turned out differently.

  I shut the door and joined the others at the stairs. Roland and Derek were studying the remains of the flashlight. Chris had his light pointed at the ground, leaving his face in shadow. We were watching him, waiting to see what he would do. When he grinned, it felt like a burden had lifted from my shoulders. I needed that grin. I think we all did. Without saying a word, he had taken back the reins of command. The time for a compassionate leader was over.

  We climbed quickly, anxious to leave the ground behind. We had already paved the w
ay, already pulled back the shadows to expose what was nothing more than a dilapidated staircase. The only mystery was what awaited us at the top. The staircase wound tighter the higher we climbed. The burn in my legs felt good, the fire in my lungs satisfying. Soon my thoughts circled through my head in the same repetitive round-and-round motion that left me dizzy throughout. Images of Benjamin, rigid with terror, left me; in its place appeared a vicious, one-eyed sea pirate.

  The stairs ended abruptly. It felt like we had just started. But when Chris opened the door at the end of a short landing, I knew we had made it.

  We emerged on a narrow walkway. Only the lantern room was higher, moonlight reflecting from its tall windows. The panoramic view sprawled out below me like some phantom vision—a rock face tumbling toward the coast, the old golf course and forested hills, even the spindly road curving along its meandering course. A sea of darkened glass surrounded it all, bulging and swaying to the rhythm of the tide, its sound lost beneath the wind. The moonlight instilled a timeless quality to the landscape. This view would never change. It was the island my parents had seen a generation before.

  The school, however, looked insignificant, its walls a ghostly white, like it might vanish at any moment. Even the clock tower looked smaller, crouching in its corner across the courtyard.

  “Hey, guys!” Roland called out. He was bent over the floor. “This is it! Quick, pass me the light.”

  “It’s … something,” I said, examining the dark smudge on the floor.

  “It’s got to be,” said Roland.

  “Think what you want,” Derek said. “But I’m not buying that this is some pirate’s bloodstain.”

  Roland suddenly swung the flashlight in front of him. “Prepare to meet your maker at the hands of Pirate Raker. Hiyah!”

  “En garde,” Derek called out, pulling out another flashlight.

  “Where’d you get that?” Chris asked.

  “I always come armed for a fight.”

  He and Roland swung their lights at one another as if wielding light sabers. Derek looked moderately amused, but Roland really got into it, making exaggerated sound effects as their imaginary weapons clashed.