FROM AWAY ~ BOOK FOUR

by Mackey Jr. , Deke

  “If you think this is wasteful, you should see the big one.”

  “There’s a bigger one than this?” Trevor’s shocked. “Where do they keep it?”

  “Where...” His mother blushes. “No, no. I was only...” She shuts down. Anxious and ashamed.

  “Mom?” Trevor treads lightly. Seeing the opportunity to broach a difficult subject. Because if there’s any place that might have a larger aquarium installed than this one... It would be the West Corridor. “Is there something you need to say to me?”

  She shakes her head. Unwilling to say more.

  “It’s okay. You can tell me anything.”

  Nope. Her lips are sealed.

  “Jumpin’ Jesus, why don’tcha just answer the boy, Wilma?” One of the television watchers has turned his chair to address her. “Tell ‘im wherever it could be, where you mighta seen such a wonder.” The deep furrows on the old man’s face make clear: His scowl is a permanent feature. Bushy white eyebrows animate independently. Bobbing over bright, clear eyes as he play-acts sympathy: “Could it be you were all afog? Mightcha have wandered yourself out of bounds?”

  “Leave her be, Gardner.” A blue-haired old woman shouts. “What’d Wilma ever do to you?”

  Gardner? The name rings a bell for Trevor. Just not a clear one.

  “Cost me my sleep, is what. Got the whole place in an uproar. Lookin’ for her at two in the godforsaken AM. Gettin’ into places she ought not be, and not never ownin’ up to losin’ it.” With a final derisive snort, he swivels back to the television. Still muttering to himself.

  Trevor leans in closer to his mother. “It’s all right, Ma. Whatever happened... You don’t have to feel bad about it. But I do need to know.”

  Without making eye-contact, she speaks: “I was looking for your father.”

  “But... You know Dad’s--”

  “In the daytime, I know. But sometimes at night...” She shrugs. “I wake up. And I think I remember him saying he’s going for a midnight snack and he’ll be back in a tick. That happened so often, you know... And then, I think: My gosh, it’s been a long time since he said that. And I worry, with him gone so long, he might be in trouble. So I go looking for him.”

  Trevor nods. The news isn’t good, but at least it’s out on the table. “Nothing to be ashamed of, Ma. It happens. We’ve been lucky so far, but it’s just the way of things. And now, we can try to do something about it, right? We’ll set up something in your room to remind you what’s what. A note by the door, maybe. So if you’re confused, it’ll help set you straight.”

  “You can’t know how frightening it is, Trevor. Waking up alone... When you’re accustomed to having someone there.”

  Trevor sighs. Pats her arm. “Actually, that’s... There’s something I need to tell you... Sylvie and I... We’ve decided to separate for a while.”

  “Oh, Trevor.” She grabs at the chance to switch back into their proper parent-child roles. “I’m so sorry. Are you managing okay?”

  He slumps slightly. “To be honest? It’s been on its way for a while. So, I’m already kinda used to the idea.”

  “And what about Aaron? How’s he dealing with it?”

  “Aaron? He’s...” Confused, Trevor looks into his mother’s eyes. Sees it’s a genuine question. She's actually forgotten that her grandson is gone. Her condition is worse than anyone realized.

  “What’s wrong, Trevor?” A shaky hand covers her lips. “Has something happened to Aaron?” As her volume rises, white-haired heads turn in their direction.

  Trevor stands. Takes her hand. “Maybe we should go back to your--”

  “You’ll tell me right now, Trevor Coates. Straightaway.”

  “Fock’s sake, Wilma!” The belligerent old man is on his feet. “He’s dead! Yer Aaron’s dead and a week planted.”

  “Now hold on a second...” Trevor steps between the man and his mother.

  “S’all anybody’s talked on since it happened: How young Lesguettes passed. If the rest of these chuckleheaded biddies can all remember he’s gone, why’s it provin’ such a trial fer you?

  Trevor’s mother’s eyes bulge. Her jaw works up and down. Then, she explodes: “You’re a filthy liar, Gardner Hendricks!” All of her energy used up, she breaks down in tears. “Aaron’s not dead. He’s not.”

  Trevor crouches by his mother’s chair. Holds onto her. Uncertain how best to help. She’s already suffered through the news of Aaron’s death once. How many times will she need to mourn him? Would it be kinder just to lie?”

  A pair of orderlies enter. Drawn by the commotion. The small one surveys things from the door. The big one moves toward the old man. “Causing another ruckus, Mr. Hendricks? I thought we’d come to an understanding.”

  The old man backs away. “Oh, of course! Where were you when she was sauntering off into no-man’s land?”

  “I think you’ve had enough socializing for now, Young Man.”

  Gardner’s eyes flash. “Don’t you call me that.”

  “Why not? You’re not an Old Man, are you?” The big orderly turns to his partner, fluttering his eyelids innocently. “Help me out here, Griggs. Is Mr. Hendricks an Old Man?”

  “He is not. Not anymore.”

  “Then must be he’s a Young Man.” He beckons to Gardner with one finger. “So come along, Young Man. Out you go.”

  “Oh, ye got me drove!” With a frustrated huff, Gardner Hendricks grabs his cane. Storms past the orderlies. Out of the tv lounge. The big one follows him. His partner moves into the room. Through the chairs. “Mrs. Coates?” He touches Trevor’s mom’s arm. Her face still buried in his shoulder. “Let’s get you back to your room, now, ma’am. If you want, I’ll help you clean up some.”

  Trevor’s surprised when she nods. Rises. Accepts the orderly’s proffered arm. Goes with him, with neither a glance back or a word of goodbye.

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Coates. We’ll take good care of your mom.”

  Trevor wants to stop him. Tell the man he’s more than capable of dealing with his mother’s sorrows. Instead, he just allows her to be taken away. Leaves it to the professionals to deal with problems he somehow didn’t even know existed.

  Overcome by the weight of his own ignorance, Trevor reels. One more thing he should’ve been aware of, but wasn’t. Or willfully disregarded, without even realizing he was doing it. What could he have done? To help his mother hold onto her mind? To repair his marriage? To save his son? Just how negligent had he been?

  “Don’t let ‘im do ya dirty, luv.” The blue-haired woman who stood up for his mother calls out to Trevor. “That harse’s arse just lives n’ breathes to cause folks torment, so mind you don’t give ‘im what he wants. Y’ask me, Gardner Hendricks is fulla shit and up a quart.”

  Trevor blinks. Gardner Hendricks. He pulls out his phone. Opens a document. Built from the pages of the Circle History book Aaron managed to photograph on his last day on Earth. Trevor does a search for the name. Finds it.

  Gardner Hendricks. One of the people apparently interviewed regarding the island’s secret history. His story laid down on the page by Aaron’s grandmother for perpetuity.

  “My wife’s littlest sister married into Adderpool,” it begins.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “But we’re not even sure she’ll be there?” Dawn kicks a leg. Tangled in weeds. Gets her ankle free.

  “Antoinette seemed pretty certain about it. Just not a hundred percent.” Ren bulls his way through the waist-high grass. Blazing a trail that nature quickly closes behind him.

  Together, father and daughter trudge up a lush green incline. Beyond the crest of the hill: A cloudless blue sky. Still in sight behind them: Their car. Parked on the shoulder of a poorly maintained rural road. The closest a vehicle can get to St. Neot’s Coptic Convent. No direct access, except on foot.

  “But... She says it’s happened before? To these... Broken Girls?”

  “Right.”

  Dawn adjusts her giant sunhat. Doing h
er best to make sense of all her father’s told her. “This is the sheriff, who--”

  “Deputy, now.”

  “I’m saying: At the time... Netty was the sheriff. And she was aware that horribly injured women - like Paula - had been disappearing from the hospital, then ending up in a nunnery at the edge of the island.”

  “That’s what she told me.”

  “And now that Paula’s disappeared...” Dawn’s quiet. Then: “But if Netty knew it was going to happen, why didn’t she--”

  “She did. She tried. It made things worse.” Seeing Dawn preparing her next unanswerable question, Ren cuts her off: “Dawn. It’s the island. If I understood the island... Well, you should start looking for the pod my replacement came out of, if that ever happens.”

  “Da-ad.”

  “Look, Antoinette says - whatever they went through on the way - once the women turn up in St. Neot’s, they’re in full control of their faculties and completely content.”

  “So, if Paula is there, she’s just going to want to stay?”

  Ren watches his feet bend the grass over. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  “Assuming Islanders let us build a bridge in the first place.”

  He gives her a look.

  “What? You can make island jokes, but I can’t?”

  Ren smiles thinly. “You need to prepare yourself, Dawn. I’m hoping we get in, and that they let us see Paula, but the sisters of St. Neot’s don’t open the doors to just anyone. They’re not big on outsiders.”

  “Being from away strikes again.”

  “It’s not that. They’re an island all their own inside the island. Most of them won’t even acknowledge a non-nun’s existence. For all I know? They may just ignore us entirely.”

  Dawn stops. Grabs her father’s arm. “So, why are we even doing this, then?”

  Ren can’t quite believe his daughter’s reaction. “It’s Paula, Dawnie.”

  Dawn blinks. Chagrined. “You’re right. Of course it is. I’m... I’m sorry, Dad.”

  “No, I know: It’s frustrating. And it all feels so pointless. But we have to deal with what’s in front of us, even if it doesn’t seem to make any sense. If she’s here, and she’s decided to stay... That’s going to suck. But if she’s not here... Then we’re back to her just being gone. Disappeared. And I don’t have the first clue what we do after that.”

  He wipes one eye with the back of a thumb. Blinks away something. Dawn pretends not to see. “She’ll be there. You said Netty was pretty much sure, so... She will. She’ll be there.” She grabs his hand. Starts back up the hill.

  The road is barely visible behind them when father and daughter reach the hilltop. With their view finally unobscured, they look ahead. Discovering - to their horror - they have at least as much ground left to cross as they’ve already covered. In the distance, the convent sits on the edge of a cliff, facing out to sea: A slowly eroding castle build from crumbling chunks of red sandstone.

  Dawn deflates. “Sure don’t make it easy, do they?”

  Ren shakes his head. “They’ve isolated themselves out here for a reason. A convenient access road would probably defeat the purpose.”

  “Yeah, well... If their purpose is to be dicks? Bravo, nuns. Mission accomplished.”

  ~

  The entrance to St. Neot’s Coptic Convent is wide open. Its two massive front doors held to either side by a pair of porous red rocks.

  “They don’t open the doors to just anyone, huh?” Dawn peers inside. Greeted with a dark, empty corridor. No one in sight.

  “I’ve never claimed to be the foremost authority on nuns, Dawn.” Ren grabs her elbow. Pulls her along. “Come on.”

  She hesitates. Holds back. “Should we really just walk in, though?”

  “You want to wait for an invitation?”

  “I just want to be respectful. Of their ways.”

  “Their ways?” Ren frowns. “Which ones? The all-but-fatal beatings, or the abductions of defenseless young women from the hospital?”

  “It just doesn’t seem... Right, somehow.”

  “Dawn.” He leads her across the threshold. Inside the convent. “We’re not here to sight-see. We won’t find Paula from a respectful distance. Invading their space... Prying into their business... That was always going to be part of it.”

  “It just seems so calm and peaceful here. I don’t want to ruin it.”

  Ren looks around. Dawn’s idea of calm-and-peaceful is awfully similar to his concept of creepy-and-foreboding. “Hello!” He breaks the silence. “Anybody home?!”

  “Dad!” Dawn’s mortified. “You don’t just... In a place like this, you can’t...” She trails off. Attention on something behind him. Ren turns to look.

  At the end of the hallway: A trio of nuns in brown cloaks. Had they always been there? Still. Expressionless. Large hoods throwing their eyes into shadows. They say nothing. Observing the strange invaders in their home.

  “Hey!” Ren starts in their direction, “Sorry to interrupt your... Prayers or what-have-you, but we were hoping to speak to--”

  The nuns rush down the corridor. Father and daughter brace themselves as the nuns swoop around and in-between them. Locking elbows. Leading them quickly away.

  “Dad?”

  “Where are you--”

  Up close, the nuns’ blank faces offer no additional clues to their goals as they drag the Lesguettes down the corridor. Through an archway. Into an open courtyard.

  Here, the earth is pierced from below by jutting rock formations. Between the teeth of this jagged underbite, verdant gardens have been planted. Still flowering and lush. Heavy with vegetables. Gardening nuns glance up as they enter. Quickly set their tools aside and exit.

  Without a word of explanation, the nuns deposit their visitors on a bench formed from two trees, woven together into a sturdy lattice as they grew. Once Ren and Dawn are seated, the trio slip back into the building.

  Dawn whispers: “Pretty much what you were expecting?”

  “Not really.” Ren looks around. “But they didn’t kick us out. So that’s--”

  “What a pleasant surprise!” Standing in the archway: Mother Agatha. Willowy and statuesque, she glides over. Addresses each in turn: “Ren. Dawn. Welcome to St. Neot’s.”

  Ren’s surprised. He’d all but forgotten meeting the prioress on the ferry over. That she’d looked after Dawn when she’d been ill. Returned her to him afterward. “Thank you, Sis--”

  “Mother Agatha.” Dawn breaks in. Remembering the encounter, vividly.

  Ren cringes. “Of course. Mother Agatha. My apologies.”

  The aging nun lowers onto the bench next to them. Lightly pats Dawn’s knee. “I trust you’ve been enjoying your time on the island?”

  Ren stifles a scoffing sound. Hoping the nun isn’t offended, Dawn pretends not to have heard it. “Very much, thank you.”

  “I have to tell you...” Ren sits forward on the bench. “I’m surprised you remembered our names so easily. Two strangers you met only briefly. No reason to expect to run into them again...”

  Mother Agatha’s eyes crinkle as she smiles. “I must confess, I’ve had a little help. Since joining us here, Paula’s spoken of you quite fondly.”

  Ren’s taken aback. Speechless. Dawn steps in: “So she’s here? Paula is?”

  “Of course.” Mother Agatha looks confused. “I’m sorry, I assumed that was why you’d come.”

  “It is! We--”

  “How is she? Is she okay?” Ren blurts. “In her condition, she needs very careful treatment. Do you even have proper facilities to look after her, here?”

  Mother Agatha laughs. Rises. “It’s certainly clear how much you all care for one another.” She holds one hand out to each of the Lesguettes. “So why don’t we just let you ask Paula yourselves?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “We know anything yet?” Burl meets a red-faced Sylvie at the top of the stairs.

  “Only that the Old M
en are a collection of dry-puckered assholes.”

  “So, nothing new.” He hobble-hops out of her path. Points into the packed lighthouse cafeteria with one crutch. “The Electrician’s here. Says he’s brung the replacement pulser, but he’s going to need an assistant or something to do the job.”

  Another old man making demands on her. There he sits, across a picnic table from her father. Bullshitting about old times, no doubt. How much better things had been. How much more capable the people were. How much stronger leadership was then.

  “Couldn’t you find my dad a ride?”

  “Tried.” Burl frowns. “He said he already had one.”

  “Praise the Lord.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t go joining the choir yet. He said it was you takin’ him.”

  Sylvie closes her eyes. “You’re probably going to want to remove yourself for the time being.

  Entering the cafeteria, Sylvie notices Max: Standing by the exit. Looking lost. Her son’s best friend. She feels a momentary pang of loss. Tamps it down. Allowing irritation to take over for grief. “You’re supposed to be recuperating, Max. Go home.”

  The boy limps forward. Legs unsteady from repeated trips up and down to the boathouse. Not making a great case for his recovery. “No, I--”

  Sylvie isn’t having any. “Until your mom says otherwise, you’re not welcome here.”

  “She’s who dropped me off. She thinks being here will keep me out of trouble.” He fumbles, pulling out the ancient cellphone he’s just inherited. “You can call her if you--”

  Sylvie groans. How can she be boss, if no one lets her boss them around? “Just... Try to stay out of the way, wouldja?”

  Max nods as she passes. Backs up against the wall. What mischief had he gotten up to, severe enough to convince Netty he’d be better off here than resting in his own bed? Not her business. Sylvie shrugs it off. Continues across the cafeteria. To the table shared by her father and the Electrician.

  “Thanks for coming out so quick, Norman. Burl says you need help?”

  “No, I--” The fat man smacks the table. “Goddammit, I told him: I don’t want help. It’s a fockin’ apprentice I’m needin’.”