Lazarus Island

by Lee Moan

  BANG! BANG! BANG!

  Rachel let out an involuntary scream. The door shook in its frame. Lightning flashed outside, sending cruel shadows through the tiny glass portals.

  BANG! BANG! BANG!

  The door shook violently but miraculously held against the attack. Garrett's curses filled the night, the voice of an angry beast.

  After a few seconds, his shadow moved away from the door.

  Rachel allowed herself a moment of relief. She looked at her phone again. Two bars on the signal!

  Would that be enough? Enough to make one phone call?

  59

  “Why didn't you try to save me, Daddy? Why did you let me die?”

  It was almost too much to bear. Sam’s mind seemed to waver, teetering on the edge of a knife blade, one tiny push being all it needed to send it crashing down one side or the other – or be sliced straight down the middle.

  “Becky, no,” he started to say, but she buried her face in the crook of her arm, nuzzling close to the moose doll. “Becky, that’s not true at all. I tried to help you, sweetheart, I really did. But I can’t swim. I –”

  “Was it because of her?” Becky’s eyes flicked over to Kelly standing out in the hallway. “Did you want me gone so you could be with her, Daddy?”

  Sam’s mouth fell open. He shook his head, trying to find the right words. “Becky, no. Never. Why would you think that?”

  “I – I thought you didn’t want me,” she said.

  “Why would I not want you, baby?”

  “You stopped loving Mummy. I thought you’d stopped loving me.”

  “Sweetheart, that’s not true,” he said, and inside his heart was breaking.

  “But you didn’t save me when I fell into the water. You were angry with me. I thought you didn’t love me anymore.”

  He shook his head, tears filling his eyes. “No, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I wasn’t angry with you at all. I told you I couldn’t sw—”

  The phone downstairs screamed into life, filling the house with its power. Sam didn’t move. He was still lost in the moment, a prisoner of his daughter’s shocking resentment. Resentment she had carried beyond death into this abomination of new life.

  The phone rang twice, three times, four. McNamara placed his hand on his shoulder and then ran down the hall, snatching up the extension in Sam’s bedroom.

  “Yes?” Sam heard him say. “Jesus, Rachel, where—”

  The sound of his wife’s name shook Sam from his reverie. The girl on the bed refused to look at him, refused to acknowledge his presence. His heart felt like a tattered ball of flesh in his chest.

  “Sam?”

  McNamara calling him from far away.

  “Sam, it’s Rachel.”

  Rising slowly on unsteady feet, Sam stood over the sad figure for a moment then reluctantly left the room. He was barely aware of McNamara’s presence as he snatched the receiver from him.

  “Rachel?” he said.

  “Oh, Sam, something . . . Something's happening, something I can’t explain.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Ashworth's place. I don’t know how long I'm going to have signal, so listen. I need you to get over here. Remember the parties Ashworth always invited us to? Everyone's here, Sam and . . .” She trailed off, rearranging her words in her head for a moment. “I think they’re in danger.”

  “Danger? What danger?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me, Sam.”

  “Really,” he said, looking down the hall into his daughter’s bedroom. “Try me.”

  “I . . .this is going to sound crazy, Sam, but . . . it’s Ben Garrett.” She paused. “He’s walking around, talking just like you and me. Don’t ask me to explain it. Just . . . I need your help, Sam. You have to get here. I don’t care how, just get here.”

  “I will,” he said. “I'll be there, I promise. But, Rachel, there's someone here, too.”

  “What, Sam? I can't hear you. What did you—”

  The line went dead. Her mobile had used up the last of its battery power. Sam slowly hung the receiver back in its cradle.

  That was when he heard the sound of a car engine turning over outside.

  60

  “All right everyone,” Ashworth said. “Drink up. Let’s not let this miserable storm ruin the evening!”

  “Now we wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

  The chatter of the guests dwindled into silence. Everyone turned towards the owner of the voice. Lawkins stood in the doorway, dripping wet, with an overnight bag over one shoulder and a stony expression on his face. The flesh around his missing eye looked red and swollen.

  Ashworth stepped forward. “What are you doing here?” he said in angry whisper. “You should be a long way from here by now.”

  He grabbed Lawkins by the elbow and led him out of the room onto the landing, pulling the door closed behind him.

  Lawkins shrugged off Ashworth’s grip, straightened his rain-soaked coat. “Actually, Ashworth, I was a long way from here,” he said. “Got as far as Aberdeen before I realised you’d screwed me.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “The money, Ashworth. You said it would be in my account. But it’s empty. Can’t get very far on empty, Ashworth.”

  Ashworth turned away and paced several steps before coming back at Lawkins with an angry finger wagging. “You messed it up, Lawkins. You messed it up big time!”

  “I said I’d kill Garrett. Garrett’s dead.”

  “And so is a little girl!”

  Lawkins stiffened. His good eye darted back and forth for a few moments. “I regret that. Of course, I regret that. The bomb wasn’t supposed to go off until the prison van hit the island.”

  “You’re blaming the bomb?” Ashworth said. “Seriously?”

  “All right. So I made a mistake. I still did what you all wanted. I still carried out the task you and the others couldn’t. I deserve my money.”

  “Deserve?” Ashworth said. He flexed his hands several times, wanting to punch his groundkeeper in his one good eye, punch him hard. He sighed heavily, smoothing the hair at each side of his head. “After what you did, I don’t think you deserve a penny.”

  Lawkins surged forward, nostrils flaring. “I want my damn money, Ashworth. I need it! Now you better give it to me or I won’t be the one taking the wrap for this. I’ll tell everyone who was behind it.”

  Ashworth raised his hand, patting Lawkins on the chest. “All right. Calm down. Just calm yourself.” He took a deep breath, making a quick mental assessment. “I have about ten grand in cash in the safe. I can give you that now.”

  “Good. And the rest?”

  “I’ll have to wire it to your bank, but not now. It’s too soon. It won’t be long before the police start asking questions. When the heat dies down, you’ll get your money.”

  “How do I know you’ll honour that?”

  “All I can give you is my word.”

  “Your word, huh?” Lawkins sniffed. “Well, your word better be good, because if it ain’t, I’ll be coming back. Do you hear?”

  Ashworth nodded. “Wait here. I’ll get your money.”

  They stepped past each other. Before Ashworth opened the door, Lawkins said, “Who was she?”

  Ashworth looked back.

  “Who was the girl?”

  “Sam Thorne’s daughter.”

  “The writer?”

  “Yes, the writer.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  Ashworth sniffed and slipped back into the room.

  61

  By the time he reached the ground floor, Lawkins had finished counting the money. Ten grand exactly. He knew in his heart that it was very likely all the money he would ever see – and part of him felt that was more than he was due. He’d shown a hard face to Ashworth over it, but it pained him that an innocent child got caught up in the blast. After all, the entire reason behind the plot had been to avenge the girls who had suffered at Garrett’s
hand, not to create another young victim.

  He opened the side door and a sudden flash of lightning made him jump and curse out loud.

  Lawkins had experienced bad storms before, but nothing like this. As a young fisherman he’d been exposed to some of the worst weather conditions known to man, but this . . . this was another level entirely. It was almost unnatural. For such a sudden build-up of pressure to appear without showing up on any weather forecast was unheard of, and the lightning bursts at the beginning had seemed to be coming down with unrelenting fury. He’d been in a number of tight spots in his life and survived, but right now he was as scared as he’d ever been. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

  He glanced round the Martello grounds, grounds he had kept in good order for almost a decade, and sighed. He’d enjoyed his time working here, and the Ashworths had been pretty good to him. A shame it had to end this way. He knew the investigation into the ferry disaster was bound to eventually point in his direction, but he planned to be very far away from Scalasay when it did. He just hoped this delay wouldn’t be his undoing.

  He pulled up the hood on his oilskin coat. It was a short run across the lawn to the place where he’d parked his car. He made sure he had the key ready and then charged out into the night, pulling the door closed behind him. Thunder rumbled overhead as he trotted across the grass. Large puddles dotted the lawn so that his boots sent up splashes of rain as he went.

  The car was only metres away when something huge and powerful stepped into his path, a figure so large that for a moment he thought he was being attacked by a bear.

  Huge hands grabbed him by the neck and knocked him to ground. Muddy water splashed over his face, blinding him for a moment and filling his open mouth. He spluttered and coughed, trying desperately to see who had attacked him. Then the same rough hands grabbed the hood of his coat and began dragging him back across the rain-drenched lawn, back towards the house.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he shouted. “Let go of me!”

  The man-mountain said nothing, continuing to drag him through the rain and the mud. Finally, they were at the basement door. The giant kicked it open and threw Lawkins through the opening. He tumbled down the steps, jarring his lower back and twisting his arm almost to breaking point. He landed on the basement floor and let out a cry of pain.

  Lawkins looked up at his attacker. The strip light above his head made it difficult to see the man’s features. All he could see was that the man was huge.

  “Please, I don’t know what you want, but—”

  The giant reached down, his huge hand closing around his right arm, his other arm gripping him around the neck. Lawkins screamed, expecting those monstrous hands to pull in two different directions, snapping his neck like a chicken bone, but instead his attacker spun him around in the air. The lantern cast dense shadows over the giant figure, obscuring his features. He knew that the man was bigger than the average, and there was a power in the limbs that filled Lawkins with acute fear.

  Before he could even form a question, the giant slammed him against the open diesel tank, sending the cool liquid spilling over the rim and down the back of his neck.

  “P-Please,” Lawkins tried to say through the fear. “Don’t hurt me.”

  The attacker pushed his face close, so close that Lawkins could smell his breath, and it was the worst smell he had ever experienced. He started to retch. He wanted to block it out, but the attacker had complete control of his hands. He knew the smell all too well. The smell of death.

  “Do you know who I am?” the man said.

  Lawkins froze, mouth hanging open. He studied the dark face in front of him and shook his head. “No, no, it can’t be you.”

  “Yes, that’s right, Lawkins. I’m the man you tried to kill.”

  Lawkins stopped trying to breathe. The words stopped him from struggling. “I – I don’t know what you mean –”

  “Don’t waste my time,” the big man shouted. “I saw you on the ferry just before the explosion. I know it was you who placed the bomb under the prison van. Tell me the truth!”

  The hands shook him violently and Lawkins screamed again, a strangled cry for mercy.

  “Yes, yes,” he said. “I did it. And I’m glad I did it.”

  “What?” Garrett said, cocking his head to one side. “I don’t even know you . . .”

  “Oh, really?” Lawkins said, with a snarl. “You don’t remember taking out my eye with your knife? I suppose you don’t remember slitting Freya’s throat, either, and throwing her off Pierre point?” Lawkins managed to gather enough saliva in his mouth and spat into Garrett’s face.

  The big man didn’t flinch, but his eyes drifted away for a few moments. “You,” he said eventually. “You were with the girl that night. You tried to stop me.”

  “Oh, all coming back to you now, is it?”

  Garrett’s reverie ended abruptly, and the malevolence returned to his eyes. He tightened his grip on Lawkins throat.

  “You planted the bomb on the ferry. Were you working alone? Was it just you?”

  “What does it matter?” Lawkins said.

  “That all depends on how you want to die, Lawkins. Was it just you?”

  Lawkins paused. Where was the sense in remaining loyal to people who, let’s face it, hadn’t paid him that much? Not for the damage he had caused, for the chaos he had wreaked.

  “If I tell you,” Lawkins said in a trembling monotone, “will you let me go?”

  The man holding him was silent for a moment, then, in a blur, he lifted Lawkins high in the air and brought him down with great force, slamming his head into the diesel. The liquid streamed up his nose and down his throat before he had a chance to catch his breath. The powerful hands held him under for what seemed like an eternity, until he thought he was going to pass out and drown in a four foot tank of diesel.

  Just when he thought it was over, the big man pulled him free, allowing a few precious seconds in which to gulp air. Garrett waited patiently until his coughs and cries had slowed to a stop.

  “Was it just you?” he demanded.

  “No,” Lawkins said, spitting diesel. “No, I did it for everyone.”

  “Everyone? What does that mean . . . everyone?”

  62

  “Did you hear that? I’m sure I heard someone screaming.”

  It was Ted Sheldon who spoke, standing alone at the window, nervously tapping out a rhythm on the window frame with his unlit pipe. The rest of the party sat in a huddle around a cluster of candles on the coffee table: Richard and Marine, Ted’s wife, Carol Sheldon, and Denise and Reggie Jones. No one said anything in reply. They continued to sip their drinks in quiet anxiety.

  “Nonsense,” Ashworth said. “It must be the storm.”

  Ted turned and faced the group. “Did anyone else hear that scream?”

  Carol put a trembling hand in the air. “I think I did, dear.”

  “Me, too,” Reggie said.

  “Something’s seriously wrong, Richard,” Ted said.

  The two men stared at each other.

  “Ted,” Ashworth said in a low, commanding tone. “You’re making everyone nervous. This is supposed to be a pleasant get-together.”

  “I’m going down there,” Ted announced, sticking out his considerable jaw.

  Immediately, his wife began to protest, quickly followed by everyone else.

  Ashworth shot to his feet, palms facing out in a gesture of placation.

  “Please, everyone. Calm down. Ted, no one needs to go downstairs. Please, it’s just a wild, stormy night and everyone’s nerves are frayed.”

  In the silence which followed, everyone heard the distinct cries of a man drifting up from somewhere far below.

  “That settles it!” Ted said. “Something is going on down there. Someone needs to go and check it out. And if you won’t, I will.”

  “No!” Ashworth barked.

  The room fell into silence, and everyone turned to the new arrival stan
ding in the doorway.

  “Mummy,” Heidi said, clutching the sides of her nightshirt. “I can’t get to sleep. I’m scared.”

  Marine rushed over and crouched down, putting a comforting arm around her daughter’s shoulder.

  “What are you scared of, honey?”

  “The storm. The thunder sounds like someone banging on the front door, someone trying to get in.”

  “Don’t be silly, love. You’re perfectly safe here.” She stood up and took her daughter’s hand. “Come on, I’ll take you back to bed.”

  “I want Daddy to come, too.”

  Marine looked at Ashworth. He took a breath, masking his frustration for his daughter’s sake.

  “All right, all right,” he said, marching to the door which led onto the east wing. “I’m coming.” He pulled the door open and paused, his gaze fixed on Ted. “Do not go anywhere until I get back.”

  Then he was gone.

  63

  “It was the island council,” Lawkins stammered. “All of them. When you were on your way to the island, they had a meeting with the islanders to decide how to deal with your return. Nothing was decided. Then, afterwards, Ashworth got together with the others on the council and I overheard them plotting, planning to . . .” Lawkins gulped. “You know . . .”

  “Kill me.” He slammed Lawkins hard against the diesel tank again, knocking the wind from his lungs. “Go on.”

  Lawkins regained his breath. “Yeah, well, as it turned out, none of them had the guts to carry it through. They were all too afraid to risk their own necks. Even Ted Sheldon was too chicken-shit and he lost his daughter.”

  “Freya,” Garrett said. “The girl I killed.”

  “Yeah,” Lawkins said bitterly. “The girl you murdered. My girl.”

  “Your girl?” Garrett said. “You were old enough to be her father, Lawkins.”

  “So? I loved that girl, and she was the only girl who ever loved me, but I guess you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Garrett?”