Scared of the Dark: A Crime Novel

by Easton Vaughn

“It sounds so ugly when you say ‘you people.’”

  “I can think of some alternatives, if you’d like.”

  “Such as?”

  Charcoal monsters.

  Black brownies.

  Ni—

  He waved her off. “Just leave me alone.”

  “Fine.”

  Soft footfalls brought her to his bedside. He looked away as she plucked up the wooden bowl of vegetables and started crunching on a cucumber wheel, a carrot, something. He closed his eyes and tried to deny his hunger, tried to at least keep it at bay, but his stomach betrayed him, growling like an animal with its paw snared in a metal trap.

  She released a soft stream of laughter. “The offer is still open. Fresh carrots, cucumbers, squash. There’s plenty left for you.”

  “Go away,” was his angry reply.

  “That stubbornness has served you well in the past?”

  He didn’t answer, lost himself in his thoughts again. What about Persona Non Grata? What were the odds that Aiden’s dad would grow concerned and launch a search for his only son? How long would it even take before his father missed him? It wasn’t unusual for weeks to pass without them speaking a word to one another. On more than one occasion the silence between them had lasted over a month.

  Saina and Aiden’s father were of no use, he decided. He would surely die here.

  “Not if I can help it,” Lemon said.

  Aiden looked over at her, the sunshine a halo around her entire form, her features hazy in the glare. “What are you talking about?”

  “I won’t let you die here.”

  His eyes widened in surprise. “How did you know…?”

  “Don’t go thinking that Ghost Woman nonsense again,” she said. “You were thinking out loud.”

  Had he been? He was going crazy. “You can’t protect me from Merritt,” he said after a moment. “He’s insane.”

  “But not stupid,” Lemon told him. “I have the magic key that’ll keep him at bay. And the Trustees wouldn’t abide anything happening to you beyond what has already occurred anyway.”

  “Magic keys? Trustees? You’re not making any sense.”

  “It’s nothing. I’ve said enough already,” she said.

  “That’s debatable.”

  “Nevertheless, I’m done.”

  “Control,” he said. “It’s all about control with you people.”

  “Please, eat,” she said softly.

  “Tell me about the I hit.”

  “Where did that come from?”

  “I don’t know,” Aiden whispered, and it was true. His mind was jittering all over the place. “It just dawned on me that I know nothing about her. That doesn’t seem right to me.”

  Despite the intense sunlight, he could tell that Lemon was studying him. He pictured the frown creasing her smooth forehead, and then her face relaxing. She might have even grinned. “Let me see,” she said after a moment. “Well, for one, Candace loved books, especially Jodi Picoult. She claimed to have grown up in Virginia, but she sounded like she was from somewhere deeper south. Louisiana, Florida. Her twang was pretty pronounced. I never could figure out if it was genuine or a complete put-on.”

  “Hmm.”

  “As a gag, she would sometimes freestyle rap. She was actually pretty good at it, ironically enough.”

  “Did she have any children?”

  He heard her motioning, assumed she was shaking her head.

  “What about you?” Aiden asked.

  He heard her swallow. She said, “What about me?”

  “You repeated my question with the same question.”

  “I prefer not to talk about myself.”

  “Tell me about your husband then. This Shepherd who seems to only exist in everyone’s imagination.”

  “He’s real,” Lemon said. “I assure you.”

  “He brought you all here? He’s the true leader?”

  “He did, and he is.”

  “I have a feeling his leadership is in jeopardy.”

  “Merritt?”

  “Who else?”

  They both fell silent. It stretched more than a minute. Then Aiden spoke. “I don’t mean anything by it.”

  “What’s that?” Lemon said. Her voice was raspy, phlegmy, and so she cleared her throat.

  “You people,” Aiden explained. “I don’t really know what I’m dealing with here. It’s disconcerting. I don’t mean to be disrespectful.”

  “I suppose the perfunctory thing,” Lemon said, a smile evident in her voice, “would be for me to tell you everything’s going to work out just fine in the end.”

  “I wouldn’t believe you,” he said softly. “But it would still be nice to hear.”

  She matched his tone, spoke just above a whisper. “Everything is going to work out just fine in the end.”

  “Thank you for that.”

  “I told you I was on your side.”

  “I believe you,” Aiden said.

  Lemon stepped closer, out of the blaze of sunlight. Smiling, she said, “I’m here on the island. There’s no disputing that. But I find it bothersome being lumped in with the rest of them.”

  “Christ,” Aiden said, reflexively touching a hand to his mouth. “Who did that to you?”

  Lemon’s right eye was bordered by an angry welt the color of the walls; an accumulation of blood in the fatty tissue, and burst capillaries in the eye itself. Medically known as periorbital hematoma, a blunt trauma or bruising. Two deep scratches crisscrossed her cheek. Her lip was busted.

  “I need to know that you believe I’m with you,” she said. “That’s important to me.”

  “I believe you,” he whispered again.

  “Thank you.”

  “Was it Merritt?”

  “Shepherd will come back,” she said. “He’ll fix this. I know he will. I have to believe he will.”

  A shadow fell across the room before Aiden could respond to that. Someone paused in the doorway a moment before stepping fully inside. A man, Aiden could tell. And then, coming into full sight, the man named Will emerged. He carried a large white bucket with a hammer and a wedge of wood peeking above the lip.

  “You bastards are going to pay for hurting this woman,” Aiden yelled out to him. “I’ll personally see to it.”

  “Come again?” Will said, frowning.

  Lemon moved into the space between the two men. “My door’s not going to be lopsided when you finish, is it?” she asked, smiling brightly.

  “Depends on our man here,” Will replied.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s getting fixed on his labor,” he said, nodding at Aiden.

  Lemon’s mouth opened but no words came.

  Aiden eased himself up on an elbow. “You’re out of your mind. My ankle is probably broken.”

  “Don’t put weight on it,” the man named Will said.

  “I don’t have the strength to fix anything.”

  “Nor a choice,” Will said.

  “Will.” Lemon had her voice back. She reached and touched his arm. “Think about what you’re asking here. Aiden’s hurt.”

  Will smirked. “Merritt wants the door fixed. Then Sheldon’s garden tended to. Maybe some mowing—and Aiden’s got to be the one to do it.”

  “That’s ridiculous, Will.”

  He shrugged. “Sheldon’s out of pocket. Our boy here put him there. The work won’t wait. Why shouldn’t he do it?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Lemon said. “He’s hurt. We hurt him. He’s in no shape to work.”

  “Merritt told me to come back and get him if there were any problems. I got the feeling he wouldn’t be very happy if I bothered him with this. I’m gonna have to, though, if you insist on blocking Aiden from doing the work. That what you want?”

  “I…”

  “Leave her be,” Aiden said. “I’ll do your work. Help me up. And I’ll need something to lean on, if you can find it.”

  Lemon turned to him. “You really don’t have to do
this.”

  “We both know that’s not true.”

  She had no reply for that.

  Will helped Aiden up.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  The tent had a tear in the mesh that Merritt had covered with an X of gray duct tape in an effort to keep out hungry mosquitoes. It was an unusually cool beginning to the day, but despite the mild temperature sweat leaked from his hairline and into his eyes. He wiped the perspiration away with the back of his hand and, almost in the same motion, tapped the large roll of paper spread out on the floor of the tent. Mosley Walters had somehow managed to ease down on his knees to Merritt’s right, grunting loudly with the effort, rolls of fat pooled at his waist. Haywood Daniels sat spry and Indian-style off to Merritt’s left. Both men peered with interest as Merritt pointed at a tight grouping of little squares he’d drawn on the paper.

  “We can build as many as twenty-five,” Merritt explained. “Scatter them over an area of approximately three thousand feet east to west, and just about two thousand north to south.” He looked up, glancing from one man to the other. “The vegetation cover and meandering paths make it so each one gives the occupant a sense of isolation, privacy.”

  “Cabins?” Mosley said. There was a hint of something in his tone which suggested he hadn’t heard correctly, that his eyes weren’t reconciling the precise images Merritt had penciled on the paper.

  “You sound skeptical.”

  “As is the case with most of what you bring to us,” Mosley said. “This is especially difficult to grasp, James. I just can’t wrap my head around it.”

  Merritt took a deep breath. “Their construction will be completely no-frills. Wood frames, gable roofs, either wood or brick piers as foundations.”

  “How about you tell me that again in English?”

  “Just take my word for it,” Merritt said. “It’s a simple build.”

  “You haven’t inspired much confidence of late, James.”

  Haywood Daniels stirred before Merritt could respond to that, leaning over and touching a rectangular shape drawn on the paper. He had his customary Djarum Black lit, settled between his lips, the cigar seasoning the air with vanilla and clove. “And this?” he asked of the rectangle.

  “A warehouse,” Merritt said. “The optimum size is three hundred feet in length.”

  “Whatever do we need a warehouse for?” Mosley asked.

  Merritt worked to keep his eyes from going hard when he looked at Mosley. “We can get a number of uses out of it, Mose. I suspect storage mainly.”

  “We already have the sheds,” Mosley noted.

  “It’s surprising how limited your mind is,” Merritt replied.

  Mosley’s eyes did go hard, as hard as he could manage. “Pardon?”

  Haywood cleared his throat, ever the mediator. “You said something about a tavern and a lighthouse?”

  Merritt nodded. “Not right away. But eventually.”

  “I’ll be allowed to smoke in this tavern?” Haywood asked, a smile on his lips.

  “Dance the jitterbug, too. If you want,” Merritt replied.

  “Right on,” Haywood said, nodding his head thoughtfully.

  Mosley made a noise deep in his throat, then said, “And the seduction begins…”

  “We’ll get our power from generators,” Merritt continued. “I can fix it so each cabin has interior lighting, stoves to cook on, the possibility of hot showers.” He paused to smile. “Even air conditioning.”

  “Sounds fantastical,” Mosley said.

  “Indeed.”

  “As in a fantasy, James.”

  Merritt frowned. “I know construction. Right now the most difficult aspect of this is getting the tools and supplies, but I’m working on that.”

  “You’re working on it?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “How come this is the first we’re hearing of this,” Mosley said. “Since you’re working on it?”

  “I didn’t want to bring this to you until I was sure we could pull it off.”

  “What makes you so sure now?”

  Merritt smiled again. “In my mind, it’s always been a question of labor. Getting together the tools and supplies can be a thorny situation, too. But labor has always been the real sticking point.”

  “I’m confused,” Haywood said, a tight frown wrinkling his forehead into what looked like crop lines. “I assume we would do all of the work; everyone except Miss Amelia and maybe little Noah. How is labor an issue?”

  Merritt glanced at Mosley, then back to Haywood. “I wasn’t confident that just those of us on the island would be able to manage the job.”

  “But now you believe we can?” Haywood asked.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I have something else in mind.”

  “You’re being cryptic. Not that I’m complaining. It’s exciting, actually.”

  After a moment’s silence, Mosley shot up straight. “Oh my, God. Slaves. That’s your plan isn’t it, James?”

  Merritt smirked but didn’t answer.

  Haywood shook his head. “Slaves? I’m truly lost here, gentlemen.”

  Mosley directed his words at Haywood. “The prisoner…and more like him, I imagine. I told you James was veering out of control. All that talk of white devils.”

  “Slaves,” Haywood whispered, clearly poleaxed by the idea.

  “This isn’t part of Shepherd’s plan,” Mosley said, turning back to Merritt.

  “Shepherd’s plan benefits him only,” Merritt said. “And maybe the wifey. He’s got his little one-room house and we’re all in tents, getting eaten alive by mosquitoes the size of our thumbs. I asked him about switching places with me once, just for a few days so he could see what life is like for the rest of us. I won’t even tell you what he said to that.”

  The two men sat silent for a stretch, absorbing Merritt’s words. Mosley cleared his throat and squared his shoulders after some time had passed. “Nonetheless,” he began. “Your idea here deeply troubles me, James. Shepherd envisions the island as a paradise, as a place for all of us to find redemption. Enslaving people runs counter to that. I’m concerned about the bad mojo we’d be bringing upon ourselves.”

  “We’ve had this discussion, Mose. You know how I feel about all of that redemption talk. And bad mojo? You’ve never struck me as the superstitious type.”

  “Slaves, warehouses, taverns…cabins? Come on, James.”

  “You telling me you and Haywood wouldn’t want the privacy of your own cabins?”

  Mosley shot a scowl Merritt’s way. “I’ve stopped counting how many times you’ve insinuated something ugly, James. I’m really quite tired of it.”

  “You’re sensitive, is what you are. I said cabins—plural. You’d both have your own.”

  “Right,” Mosley said.

  “Air conditioning would be nice,” Haywood announced, and Mosley turned the scowl on his friend. Merritt chuckled.

  “Don’t tell me you’re falling for this?” Mosley asked Haywood.

  “You want me to talk down air conditioning? You know how miserable and cranky I get when it’s hot. And the last truly cool day here was a week before never.”

  “That’s nonsense. Seven months ago we had snow.”

  “Maybe, but it feels like reality to me. I’d love air conditioning.”

  Mosley bumbled his way to his feet, shaking his head and muttering under his breath, Merritt silently watching as Mosley moved to the tent opening and considered it. He stood there and looked at it as if he wanted to rip through the mesh. Meanwhile, Haywood stole glances at the detailed drawing of a new and improved island.

  Merritt hopped up and went to meet Mosley. Once he’d made it beside him, he said, “We need to reconsider the faith we’ve placed in Shepherd.”

  Mosley seemed unwilling to look at him. “Careful what you say, James. Shepherd’s been good to me.”

  “I mean it,” Merritt said. “I wonder about his allegiances, which makes me
wonder about him. His wife, for example, has proven to be a scheming bitch. This is the woman he chose to marry. What does that tell us about the great Shepherd’s thinking?”

  “You insult Lemon, too,” Mosley said, mouth falling agape. “I think I’ve heard enough. Are you coming, Haywood?”

  “She’s been working up a plan to leave the island behind,” Merritt said. “She can’t be trusted.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Sheldon can verify it. Lemon gave him a detailed account of her plan. I just happened to walk in on the conversation. You should have seen the look on her face. Busted, and she knew it.”

  Mosley’s voice faltered. “Why would Lemon look to leave here? Where would she go?”

  “Questions I don’t have answers to,” Merritt said. “I suppose you could ask her, though she wouldn’t likely tell you the truth.”

  “You better believe I’ll talk with her.”

  “And Sheldon, too,” Merritt said. “Unless you believe he would lie to you.”

  “Sheldon’s pure. He couldn’t lie if we gave him a script to memorize.”

  “Pure?” Merritt scoffed at the notion. “You’re still on that kick? None of us are pure, Mose. And that includes Sheldon.”

  “When is Shepherd returning?” Mosley asked.

  Merritt smiled, shrugged.

  “You’re doing it again,” Mosley said. “Leaving us with the impression that something has happened to Shepherd and he won’t be returning. You make me uneasy, James.”

  Merritt’s smile didn’t falter. “I’m not in the habit of disappearing people. But…”

  Mosley wheeled around, nostrils flaring, eyes ablaze. “But? But? What are you insinuating, James? Tell me outright what you’ve done. I demand to know now.”

  Haywood came over and positioned himself between the two men.

  “What did you mean by ‘but?’” Mosley yelled.

  “Lower your voice,” Merritt said calmly.

  “Tell me, James. You smile…and you hint. Come right out and tell me.”

  Merritt kept smiling. “You’re hysterical, Mosley. Try to calm yourself.”

  “You said ‘but.’ But what, James?”

  “Did you know the term hysterectomy comes from the Greek word hystera, which means womb or ovary? During the Victorian era they believed women stricken with nervous conditions were so inflicted because of their lady parts.”