FROM AWAY ~ BOOK FOUR

by Mackey Jr. , Deke

  “It’s just...” Ren struggles for a better explanation. One that could make the day fun, rather than just something to endure. “I haven’t gotten to see much of you since we got here. We’ve never gone away, just the two of us. Not like you and your mom. This is kind of our first daddy-daughter vacation and--”

  “Pfft!” Dawn fakes a laugh. “Maybe you don’t trust me to spend the day unsupervised, but you should at least trust me to know you’re full of crap when you start talking about wanting to enjoy a Mossley Island vacation together.”

  Ren looks out the window. Over the water which surrounded him for the first half of his life. Now, trapping him once again. Cutting him off from the home he’s made on the mainland.

  “Wanna know why you’re named Dawn?”

  Dawn groans. “Because Mom is Eve, and the Eve is always followed by the Dawn.”

  “That’s why your Mom liked the name when I suggested it. But that’s not where I got it.”

  “Whah?” He has piqued her interest. “Shut up.”

  “Nobody knows this, but... You’re named after my sister.”

  Dawn frowns. “You don’t have a sister named Dawn.”

  “I have a sister named Wanda. Your mom, of course, would never have gone for that. So Dawn’s just Wanda spelled sideways.”

  “That’s...” Dawn rearranges the letters in the sky over the highway. “...pretty much nonsense, but okay. Why would you even want to name me after her? Isn’t she some sort of drug addict or something?”

  “She’s only one of my favorite people, ever.” He smiles. Thinking back. “Sylvie and I, we’re only a couple years apart. So we were always in competition. Or she was anyway. But Wanda came ten years later, so I helped look after her as a baby. She was still just a little kid when I left home. Back then, she was almost always happy and excited. Take this left up here.” He gestures to a barely marked road. Sneaking off through a cornfield. Waits for the turn before continuing.

  “She followed me everywhere. Always wanted to be included in everything, which was hard sometimes because of the age difference. But she was so funny, I didn’t care. I’d tote her around under my arm like a football. Mom used to tell me when I went someplace without her, that Wanda would cry the whole time I was gone, but I never saw any sign of it...” He shrugs. “It all pissed Sylvie off for some reason. I never knew whether she thought I should include her, or wished Dawn would follow her around. Either way, she wasn’t happy. She never was, to be honest, but this made things worse.”

  Dawn nods. That certainly fit with the impression her aunt had made on her. One of deep-seated anger and discontent.

  “So, one day, Sylvie tells me she’s been to Adderpool. She’d put down her rock and it was definitely farther along the road than mine.”

  “Her rock?”

  “That was before the flags. We put our names on rocks. But then, people started throwing them. Farther in than they could possibly go, so you couldn’t trust them as markers anymore.” Outside the car, the cornfields end. Trees spring up on either side. The road becomes distinctly bumpier. “Anyway, Sylvie brags about it and bags on me until it gets under my stupid teenager skin, and the two of us end up biking out and going over the wall together. Sure enough, Sylvie’s rock was farther in. But every time I moved mine, she just moved hers too. For whatever reason, she cared about it a lot more than I did, and there was obviously no way I’d win in the end so finally I just surrendered. Let me tell you: She loved that.”

  “No kidding.” Dawn grips the wheel tightly as the road becomes gravel.

  “She’s floating on air as we head back to the black tree, but when we get there, we find another bike laying next to ours.

  Dawn gasps. “Wanda followed you.”

  “You got it.” Ren nods. “But there was no sign of her. She was seven, I think. No way she should’ve been anywhere near that place, but she always wanted to do whatever her big brother did, so... Sylvie and I went running back to the wall, screaming her name, hoping she hadn’t done what we knew she probably had. But when we looked through, there she was: Flat on the ground. In the middle of all those rocks.”

  Dawn swerves slightly. Wide eyes on her father as much as the road.

  “I sent Sylvie for help. For once, she listened to me without arguing. Then I went in. Carried Dawn out. Sat under the black tree with her in my arms until your Grampy drove up. We took Wanda to the hospital. She didn’t wake up for two days. Had to stay there another week after. She nearly died.”

  He watches the woods flash past.

  “So, when you called Antoinette? Not me, for some reason, but Antoinette. And you told us you’d been in Adderpool?” He shakes his head. “Well, you’d better believe we’re spending the day together.”

  Dawn flinches slightly. But understands. “So... You going to tell me where we’re going, or what?”

  Ren looks over. “Forgot to mention that, did I?” He smiles. “We’re going to see Paula.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “You’re telling me nothing’s broken.”

  Dr. Marquand cringes. “No. As far as I can tell, nothing seems to be. But we’re going to need x-rays before I feel comfortable making--”

  “Good enough.” Holding her left side, Sylvie pushes past the woman. Steps around a pile of luggage. Exits the bedroom she’s so recently moved back into.

  In the hallway, Burl waits. Leaning heavily on one crutch. One leg plastered into a cast to the knee. “S’all well?”

  Sylvie shrugs. “You know doctors.”

  He nods. Swings into step behind her as she heads down the hall.

  “This is not a clean bill of health, Sylvie.” The doctor emerges from the bedroom. Expression more pained than her patient’s. “At minimum, you’ve bruised some ribs. I strongly recommend - if you refuse to visit the hospital - that you rest and try to avoid any stressful--”

  “You know what stresses me out the most, Dr. Marquand? Not getting things done. Falling behind. You want me to rest, but how can I, when there’s so much to be done and so many people counting on me?” She starts down the staircase. Burl follows. Hopping down, one at a time, on his uninjured leg.

  Dr. Marquand shouts after them: “Many workaholics believe that--”

  “Thanks for coming out, Doc. Really. But we’ve all got jobs to get back to.” Sylvie bites the inside of her cheek as she descends. Working hard to keep from moaning out loud at the pain in her ribs. “You get the Electrician?”

  Burl grunts an affirmative. “On his way. Thinks we’ll need to replace the whole pulser. So he’s bringing the spare. You know we’ve only got just the one left? He says the Old Men have been ignoring all of his requisitions.”

  “Of course they have.” Reaching the main floor, they leave the Lesguettes residence. Enter the lighthouse proper. “What about our honored guest? She up yet?”

  “Yeah, uh, we should probably talk about that before--”

  “Sylvia Jane!” Sylvie’s father catches hold of her. Takes her by the elbow. “Ya’re good, are ya, luv?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “That’s just fine. I’ll be needin’ that ride from ya now, if’n ya don’t mind.”

  “Of course I mind!” Sylvie wrests her arm from her father’s grasp. “I’ve got a prisoner down below, in case you haven’t heard. And she’s not about to interrogate herself.”

  “Safe to say, but still it seems to me: Ya’re making some right faulty assumptions there, girl.”

  “Yeah, Sylvie...” Burl crutches forward. “About that--”

  Sylvie’s taken aback. “You don’t think I can get it out of her?”

  “Pssh!” Her father waves her off. “I’m not even sure how like ya’re to get yerself in front of her.”

  Sylvie screws up her face. No time for his riddles. “What’s that supposed to--”

  “Y’oughtta be goin’ where you’ll do most good s’all I’m sayin’. Come ‘long with yer ol’ Da, now. Lend me yer aid fer a short stretch. And when ya get back, I
’ll--”

  “Do you not get it, Dad?” Sylvie braces her father’s shoulders. Looks into his eyes. “She knows where Roscoe is. She can help us get him back... She’s going to. Whether she likes it or not.” Releasing him, she strides away. “Your thing will have to wait.”

  Burl fumbles with his crutch. Trying to catch up as Sylvie heads down another staircase. Into the rock beneath the lighthouse. Her father watches them go. Smiles grimly. “Not for very long, it won’t.”

  ~

  Halfway down the staircase, Sylvie stops.

  The cellar is packed. Wall-to-wall with Old Men. Fifteen of them. As many as she’d ever seen in one place, outside of their boardroom. All heads turn toward Sylvie as she descends. All murmurations break off abruptly. All attention on her.

  She’d expected a gathering of the Watch. Her people. Not the Old Men. While she’d been undergoing Dr. Marquand’s examination, everything had shifted.

  Under their gaze: Her face flushes. Her heartbeat speeds. Every poor, sweaty performance she’s ever given them weighs down on her shoulders. Why are they here? She knows without asking. They’re taking over the interrogation.

  At the far end of the room: A closed door. The makeshift cell where their captive is being held. The red-headed saboteur. Seeing Sylvie, Mr. Rothstein jumps up from his seat next to the door. Sneaks inside. Conspicuous for being the only movement in the room.

  Burl stops one step behind her. Ready to follow Sylvie into the dragon’s den. Fuming with anger. But beneath that: More anxious than she is. Can’t blame him. His previous encounter with the Old Men left him with the broken leg. She pats his arm. “I’m okay here, Burl. Can you go see if you can scare up someone to help my dad? He needs a ride someplace.”

  Burl squints down at her. Then nods. Retreats. Grateful.

  All eyes on Sylvie as she reaches the cellar floor. As she weaves among them. No one speaks. No one moves out of her path. Solidifying into an elderly gauntlet she must maneuver through in order to achieve her ultimate goal. Before she reaches the door, it opens and closes again. Releasing Mr. Rothstein. Smug smile kinking the corners of his narrow lips.

  Sylvie ignores him. Grabs the door knob. Before she can turn it, his hand flashes. Clamps down over hers. “Sure appreciate you capturing this one for us, Sylvie. Sounds like quite an ordeal.”

  “Just what had to be done. I caught her. Now I’m going to ask her some questions.” She tries turning her hand. It’s locked in place.

  “Mm. Actually? Mrs. Rutherford will be conducting the interview herself. Any questions you might like her to ask the prisoner, you can leave with me. She’ll consider them at her earliest convenience. Otherwise... She will not be requiring your further assistance in the matter.”

  Sylvie is outraged. Shaking. “This is m-my prisoner. My interrogation. I don’t remember requesting her assistance.”

  No one is impressed. At best: Bemused.

  “Oh, Sylvie. I’m sorry to have to tell you, but this isn’t one of those things we leave to you to decide. It’s something of real importance.” The other Old Men murmur in agreement. “Unfortunately, we can’t allow anyone else’s involvement at this stage. Until we’ve gotten from the captive what we require, any other voices can only serve to muddy the waters and confuse the situation.”

  No room for argument. No compromise. The decisions have been made without her. “At least tell me this: Has she given anything up about Roscoe?”

  Mr. Rothstein blinks. He clearly has no idea who she’s talking about. “No. To the best of my knowledge. At this point, she’s said nothing... About a Roscoe.”

  Sylvie can’t believe it. The very idea that their missing man wouldn’t be at the forefront of their questioning... That he’s not even on their radar? Abhorrent. She seethes. Barely containing her fury. “Well... If she lets anything slip... I’d like to know. So we can begin to organize a response. As soon as possible.”

  “Of course.” Mr. Rothstein lifts Sylvie’s hand from the knob. Leads her easily away from the door. Releases her into the crowd of white hair and staring eyes. Aimed toward the exit.

  She’s been dismissed.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.

  Mr. Hunter puts his back into it. Pulls for all he’s worth. Plastic oarlocks strain against the pressure as he propels the inflatable kayak over the water. Away from the island.

  In his lap: A small box. Crackling. Squelching. A wire hangs from it. Over the edge of the craft. Trailing behind. In the water. Tasting the ocean for parts-per-billion traces of specified chemicals. Squeaking happily when it picks up on something.

  At the sound, Mr. Hunter lifts his oars. Checks readings. Holds up what looks like a microphone, but is actually a directional sniffer. Aimed out to sea, it gives a low growl. Good enough. Mr. Hunter sets it down. Resumes rowing.

  ~

  “You’re not serious.” It’s too much for Cass. She needs to sit down.

  “You think it’s a practical joke?” Bernie’s voice is equally exhausted. “Because that’s what I’m known for, right?”

  Cass looks to Owen for help. He shrugs. Slows the patrol boat. Their shift has been a long one. Nerve-wracking. Almost over, now. The simplest thing: Do as they’re told. Bernie wants them to check out a new incursion into no-man’s land? That’s what they’ll do. The villains responsible for the flaming vessel used to distract them the night before can’t possibly be trying the same tactic again.

  But Cass continues to argue. “Can’t you send somebody else? Isn’t that why we’ve got all the extra patrol boats out now?”

  “You’re closest. And no, that’s not why.”

  Owen arcs the boat across the blue water. Pushing them away from the familiar shoreline. The same landmass they’ve passed repeatedly on so many identical days. Before the Watch was attacked. When it was still little more than a goof based on old stories nobody believed. Getting paid to circle the island. Build up a tan. Occasionally rescue some dumb-ass boaters who tried crossing Wreck Reef and ended up with dead outboards. Nice work if you can get it.

  Cass is badly rattled. He should’ve insisted on dropping her off earlier. He’d seen how scared she’d been when the derelict had exploded. Mere minutes after they’d been called away from it. Still close enough to worry about getting hit by falling debris.

  All she could talk about: How close they’d been. How they could’ve been killed. If she’d paddled out. If they hadn’t turned back. If they’d been towing it behind them. Too close a call for her comfort.

  “I’m just not sure it’s fair... We were about to come back in. And we already went after that other one, Bernie.”

  “It’s not up to me how many boats go out of bounds in a day. I just watch for them. You just go and get ’em.”

  Cass opens her mouth. More whining on the way. More complaints. Owen grabs hold of her hand. Brings it close, microphone and all. Squeezes. “We’re on it, Tower Three. Not to worry.”

  “Owen, there’s--” Cass tries to pull her hand back. He won’t let her.

  “But we’re going to be proceeding with extreme caution. Given what we’ve been dealing with. And if there’s anything at all hinky? I won’t be taking any chances with my partner’s welfare.”

  Cass sees he means it. Relaxes visibly.

  “Roger that, Patrol One.” Bernie understands. “Safety first.”

  “We’ll update you when we’re there, Tower Three. Patrol One, out.” He lets go of Cass’s hand. After a moment, she drops the microphone into its cradle.

  “I feel better, Owen.”

  “Yeah?” He shrugs. Pushes the boat forward. Praying for a normal rescue mission. Worried for Cass’s sanity, should the operation prove to be anything more unusual than that.

  ~

  An alarm shrieks.

  Mr. Hunter scrambles to stop the kayak. Braking with the flats of both oars. At rest, he pulls his cellphone from his pocket. Not a call. A warning:

  CAUTION: Approac
hing Wreck Reef. Power down all electronics.

  GPS shows his position on a map. On the ocean. Nearing a yellow barrier.

  He shuts the phone down.

  Shuts the sniffer down.

  Reels in the wire. Shuts the black box down.

  Quieting the various digital blips, bleeps, and squawks. Leaving nothing for whatever strange phenomena emanates from beneath Wreck Reef to adversely interact with.

  Just Mr. Hunter and the ocean, now.

  He resumes stroking. Powering further out to sea. Cutting through the waves. Not even noticing as he glides over the tortured remains of a sunken freighter resting far below.

  ~

  “Got him!” Cass has the kayak in her sights. Steadying the binoculars as the patrol boat bucks beneath her. “And, thank Christ! It’s just some guy.”

  “Tower Three to Patrol One.” The radio crackles. “Target is crossing over.”

  Owen replies. “Yeah, we have eyes-on. Hold for description.”

  He aims the microphone at Cass. She shouts over the engine: “Black kayak. One passenger. Bald. Big muscles. Man! He’s rowing like an Olympian.”

  “Hear that, Bernie? He’s under his own steam. Nothing for the pulse to mess with. We still on intercept?”

  “Affirmative. He’s out-of-bounds without our say-so. Go get him, kids. Bring him in.”

  “Cass? You good with that?”

  Still watching the man through the binoculars, she smiles. “No fins, no scales, no bitey teeth. I’m good.”