by Jack Castle
Even before the doors parted, brackish water began seeping in through the cracks and began pooling at her feet. No, no, no… The four walls seemed closer than before and the seeping water soon closed around her knees.
Emma heard herself gasping for breath. With one hand she reached toward the 1 button. She sobbed and pressed it again.
Please… Oh please.
Heedless of her desire, the elevator dinged and the doors began to open on the basement floor.
As soon as the doors parted, water flooded in and slammed her backwards. As she smacked her head against the back wall she fell beneath the waves. After a moment of panic, she found her footing and came up gasping. The water was now waist high in the elevator and equal to the water level in the flooded basement.
What the hell is this?
She pawed her wet hair out of her eyes. The underground basement seemingly went on forever in an endless chasm of muddy water. Thick wooden posts held up a timbered roof adorned with dingy fluorescent lights.
Using the doorframe on either side as leverage, Emma sloshed her way through the water and stepped out of the elevator. She was about to take another step forward when she saw something swishing back and forth through the water in the distance.
Whatever it was, the majority of it was hidden beneath the surface. She could tell it was fast because of the water displacement as it zigzagged back and forth, moving as though searching for something. Her eyes sought another means of escape, a stairwell, a door, anything. There was nothing, only endless flooded basement.
A fin cut the water.
She had seen the dark color of its skin before. Behind the fin a tail swished the water.
And now the ripples turned and aimed toward her position, unhurried but focused. Salmon sharks.
Horror widened Emma’s eyes. This is … this can’t be… She covered her mouth with the back of her hand. She sloshed back into the elevator. The shark was nearly upon her. She pressed the number 1 and sparks flew from the water-soaked panel. A second later the elevator lights winked out.
Sobbing, she found a small railing on the elevator walls just above the surface. She scrambled up onto it at the back corner of the elevator car. Emma shrieked when the water erupted with the surge of massive jaws lined by jagged white teeth. The shark’s nose slammed into the wall just under her feet.
Again and again, the sea monster lunged out of the water at her legs with gaping jaws. Each time she barely moved from one railing to another just in time. Each time she barely maintained her footing on the slick metal. Emma knew she was going to die here. She had to do something.
With a jump, her hand smacked the ceiling and dislodged a panel. Hope. An access hatch that led to the roof of the elevator. As she reached up and turned the hatch’s handle, the shark chomped down on the railing barely a foot away. The creature thrashed, jaws working. There was a rending squeal as the shark managed to tear the metal bar right off its brackets.
Emma would have fallen in had she not jumped for the hatch opening and now struggled to pull herself upwards. She put her feet on the elevator walls to help her shimmy up through the hatch. She was going to make it.
She was wrong.
Her feet had been low enough for the shark to lunge out of the water and clamp down on her legs. Emma’s fingers were immediately ripped from the hatch and she fell onto her back, into the water.
Knives cut into her calves as the shark’s mouth snapped over both legs. Below the surface she could feel the shark tugging her out of the elevator.
Dragging beneath the water, Emma fought to hang on to either side of the elevator doors. Her mind blanking on white-hot pain. Even submerged she managed to hold on for a few seconds before she was ripped from the elevator completely.
Chapter 12
Check Out
Emma opened her eyes.
She bolted upright in bed once again and inhaled with the deep gasp of a rescued drowning person. After a time her rapid breathing quieted somewhat, but her heart still pounded in her chest like a ticked off jackhammer.
I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
Emma had never experienced a nightmare of such vividness and intensity.
She felt the echoes of pain in her legs. Emma reached down and felt them to make sure both were still there. She even wiggled her toes just to be sure everything still worked.
In addition to her fully functional legs Emma saw that she was no longer wearing the Victorian dress but the same clothes she had worn on the ferry.
Emma scanned her surroundings. Unlike before, bright sunlight emanated from the windows and saturated a modest hotel bedroom. Immediately apparent she was no longer in an old Victorian hotel. Modern day light fixtures had replaced the gas lamps and a television set the size of a horse trough sat on a dresser against the wall.
Spying the window, she slid from the bed and noted the wood floors were now cheap, but clean carpet.
This time when she gazed out the window she saw small town USA about four floors below. The town was back dropped by a happy harbor with snow-capped mountains across the bay in the distance. Were it not for recent events the landscape was serene.
She tugged at the window.
Of course, locked.
When she saw the latches engaged she told herself not to be so quick to panic this time. She undid them and a brisk breeze washed over her. Emma took a deep breath of thankfulness. The air was a combination of the mountains and nearby sea. Listening to the sounds of the beeping cars, boats in the harbor, and normal hustle and bustle of the port town gave her some sense of reality. Either the experience in the flooded basement had been another nightmarish hallucination or some benevolent force had plucked her from the dark place.
This time the hotel room was somehow familiar. She wasn’t sure why since she had no recollection of checking in.
She was about to give in to the panic again when she couldn’t find her purse but then saw it on a cozy chair by the window. She didn’t remember putting it there but it was certainly in a place she would have thrown it.
Suspicious of everything, she checked inside it. The purse appeared to be hers, and not a fake.
I wonder if the key is in the drawer again. This time the night table was drastically different, not old timey. She pulled open the drawer. There was a heavily used Bible inside but no key. She opened the Bible thinking the key might be cleverly hidden inside the pages. Nope. It was a standard, run-of-the-mill hotel Bible.
She felt even more foolish when she noticed a matching pair of hotel card keys on the dresser.
Somebody placed those keys there. Somebody dragged my butt out of my car and brought me here. I am not insane. I am not a drug addict, not anymore. Somebody’s playing a sick game.
She glanced out the window again and smelled the salty air. That’s real.
Leaving her bedroom, she found a modest living room and kitchen area that comprised one space. A bar with two stools separated the kitchen from the living room.
Like her bedroom, the rest of the apartment was sparsely furnished with used but current furnishings. A glass-topped coffee table sat in front of a brownish sofa flanked by end tables.
On one end table was a beige telephone. It too was old and used looking, but far more modern than the antique phone in her nightmare.
Next to the phone was a colorful brochure that read, “Welcome to The Land’s End Bed and Breakfast Hotel”. Inside were listings of local activities and nearby restaurants.
Emma thought about using the phone for a moment. Whatever this is, even if it’s my insane brain, I’m still going through it.
She opted not to try the phone and headed for the door. She noticed this time the door was fitted with a modern day fisheye lens. She peeked through it expecting to see a black soulless shark eye, but nope, only an empty hotel hallway.
&
nbsp; Emma grabbed the handle, fearful it wouldn’t open. She took a breath, turned the latch and found the door unlocked. Heart thumping, she yanked open the door.
One long hall, as before, but this time the doors were more mainstream. Her hotel door number was 407.
Before venturing into the hall, she went back inside to grab her keys and purse. Picking up her purse and tucking it under her arm like nothing happened seemed irrational to her. Like she was playing into ‘their’ hands, but she still didn’t know who ‘they’ were. But maybe ‘they’ were spying on her right now.
Staring at her purse, she remembered all those movies where spies would plant tiny microphones and tracking chips in women’s purses.
Foiling any attempt to bug or track her, she dumped the contents out onto the dresser and grabbed only the barest essentials: wallet, gum, chapstick, and a pen. Where is it? Yes, her Gerber knife that her Mee-Maw had given her when she had first left for New York was still there. She stuffed all but the knife into her jeans pockets. The knife she held opened, at the ready.
Now I’m ready.
Leaving the possibly bugged purse behind and armed with the pocketknife that she kept lowered by her side, Emma now felt a little more in control. She took a breath and opened the door.
There was no spiraling staircase or large oil paintings, only a little arrow sign that pointed to the elevator three doors down.
Emma went over to it, pushed the button, and when it arrived, the doors opened. She was about to enter when she saw a sign that read, “Stairs” near the end of the hall and opted for them instead. An image of the doors parting to reveal an endless flooded basement flashed through her mind.
Leaving the elevator behind, she pushed the crash bar and found a well-lit stairwell.
The stairs led down to the hotel’s lobby that was a tad touristy. Several stuffed animals were mounted on pedestals and there was a wall stacked with leafed-through brochures. The only redeeming thing about the lobby was its cozy stone fireplace on the back wall. Several comfy chairs surrounded the hearth, each nestled next to an end table adorned with various magazines.
The bell on the main entrance door rang and announced three fishermen. The three men entered the lobby through the wide, glass-paned front doors. They talked loudly amongst themselves and passed her without so much as a glance. She watched them as they moved over to the elevator and went up to their rooms.
A plump, cheerful-looking woman sat behind the reception desk. She was engrossed in a crossword and gnawed thoughtfully on her pencil.
Emma thought about walking over to her but then wondered what she’d say. Would she make up a story on how she wasn’t feeling well and wondered how she got here? If she said anything about her horrific nightmare, people would think she’d gone plumb loco. In the end though, she just didn’t care anymore. The more information she had the more empowered she felt.
Okay, I’ll tell her I wasn’t feeling well and I don’t remember anything.
As she approached the very narrow reception desk, the plump woman gazed up from her crossword and said, “Hey there, hon, I thought you were going to sleep the day away.”
Emma glanced at the clock on the wall behind the woman. It was past noon. She also saw her name on the cubby mailboxes behind her. She hadn’t remembered checking in but her name was printed on a stick-on label beneath one of the mailboxes. She laughed nervously, and managed, “Uh, yeah, I was pretty tired when I came in. Speaking of which, do you remember what time I came in last night.”
“I can tell you exactly what time you came in yesterday,” she answered as she opened the logbook. Her nametag said Ophelia. “It was exactly ten o’clock. You must’ve come here straight from the ferry.”
“Ten, at night?” Emma asked.
A flash of concern appeared on the woman’s cherubic face, “No, hon, ten in the morning. Boy, you must’ve really been out of it there sweetie.”
The woman was certainly pleasant enough. “Uhmm, yeah, thanks … Ophelia.”
“Oh, hon, it ain’t nothing. And call me Ophy. I know it ain’t exactly the most flattering name but most folks in HavenPort don’t know me by anything else.”
“Thanks, Ophy,” Emma answered, and smiled, if only a little.
“You’ve had a long journey. Why don’t you go back upstairs and rest a bit more? If you’re still sleeping I’ll wake you around supper time. If you like, we can go over to the diner together for a bite to eat.”
Emma did feel exhausted. As likable as Ophy was, she wasn’t about to go back upstairs to her room. That’s what ‘they’ would want, keep her contained.
“Thanks just the same but I think I’ll stretch my legs a bit and get some fresh air.”
“Sounds good, hon. Let me know if you need anything. Now I’ve got to get back to my crossword. If I don’t finish this darn thing by dinner ole’ Doc Clemens won’t let me hear the end of it.”
Clemens… Emma frowned. The name was familiar somehow. She’d heard it, or seen it, before. But then, maybe that was because Uncle John had liked his baseball and she vaguely remembered there being a Clemens who was a famous pitcher.
Exiting the lobby Emma went out the hotel’s main entrance and down the steps. The town was bustling with afternoon activity. As much as she didn’t want to go back inside, she felt as though she could lie down on the icy sidewalk and go back to sleep.
Before venturing towards Main Street she reran Ophelia’s words in her head. Ophy had said she came in on the ferry yesterday morning. After talking to the guy she met, and by the time she got here, it would’ve been about ten, which meant this is reality, and that hellish acid trip was all just a freaking nightmare.
Maybe I’ll go find that cute guy. What was his name? Oh yeah, Horatio.
Emma stepped down off the sidewalk and nearly fell over from exhaustion. She wondered why she was so exhausted if she had been sleeping all night. She realized she couldn’t go anywhere in her present condition so opted to go back inside.
Back in the lobby, Ophy was checking in a young couple with an infant in a stroller. Emma decided to rest in one of the recliners by the fireplace rather than go back upstairs to her room.
Avoiding Ophy’s gaze, she grabbed a magazine and curled up in one of the chairs facing away from the reception area. Better Homes and Gardens. She checked the date on the magazine. It was last month’s issue.
No one seemed to notice her, and the fireplace area was safe and warm.
Real or not, after everything that had happened since she stepped off the ferry, she was asleep in seconds.
She didn’t even feel the small blanket Ophy draped over her sleeping body.
Chapter 13
Welcome to the Last Frontier!
The Last Frontier Diner was a dive, and that’s the way Hank liked it.
The diner wasn’t a far cry from any other small town diner: Bright red plastic cushioned seats on metal framed chairs, shelves stacked with maps, postcards, and other touristy souvenirs in a rack by the door that were for sale, but almost never sold. One wall was covered with dusty photographs of various fishing boats and clearly the smoking ordinance wasn’t strictly enforced because even now four fishermen were smoking like chimneys at the counter. The only thing separating the décor from when it was first built in the late 1950’s was the flat screen television on the wall. Currently there was a baseball game on that no one was watching.
One unique quality of The Last Frontier Diner however was the back wall that featured huge windows with panoramic views of the bay and harbor far below.
Yep. Hank liked everything about the diner except for one thing. On the counter an oversized stuffed otter held up a homemade sign that read: “You Otter behave in HavenPort!” He swore that grinning gremlin was always watching him with that creepy bucktoothed smile of his.
Hank had been living in HavenPort for thre
e weeks now without another serious incident. A couple traffic tickets, a bench warrant, and a few drunk and disorderly fisherman, sure, but certainly nothing like his first day on the job. They never did find any sign of the naked man with the jack-o-Lantern smile that still haunted his dreams.
These days, things were good. The mornings were easily the best part of his workday. Not only was breakfast his favorite meal, but the petty criminals still hadn’t woken up yet.
Most mornings he enjoyed the company of town favorite, Doc Clemens. The old boy was quick with a joke and had a story for every occasion. This morning he was running late, so Hank passed the time watching the locals in the diner.
Each morning, around ten, the townies all strolled in for their mid-morning breakfast and exchange of conversation before going about their day.
The usual mid-morning regulars were present. Happy-go-lucky Ophelia, part-time dispatcher, volunteer EMT, hotel operator, and eternal optimist worked the crowd as usual, collecting and giving gossip like a busy little humming bird, picking up little tidbits here and delivering it there in equal portions, but always bringing a warm smile to whomever she happened upon.
Then there were the two white-haired retired fishermen who always sat in one of the back booths against the wall. They avoided him like the plague and when he did have to talk with them, they were always overly nice. Hank suspected this had everything to do with their sizable pot grow hidden in the woods behind the Rakewell building. As long as they limited their pot to personal use and didn’t sell to kids, quite frankly, he could care less. Being sheriff was part-time politics, after all.
“Morning Sheriff, your usual?”
Sliding his empty cup closer to his waitress, he answered, “That’d be fine, thanks.”
The waitress smiled sweetly, poured his coffee and then darted away at the beckoning of one of the other more beastly servers.
His waitress couldn’t have been more than 25. She was pretty enough, milky skin and strawberry-blond hair. The kind of girl you might see working as a barista paying off college debt. But this girl didn’t have that warm smile that went along with, “room for cream?” At first glance she had that walking victim look, but if one took the time to look closer, her eyes revealed a steady determination towards life. This twenty-something girl had her whole life ahead of her and was on a mission. By all accounts, she had arrived at HavenPort almost the same time he did. Ophy had told him she used to be a dancer with the New York City Ballet. Hank wondered how someone with that kind of talent ended up here. Alaska wasn’t exactly built for timid ballerinas. The answer wasn’t hard to figure out. He was a cop after all. Most people who ended up in a small town like this were usually running from something, or someone.
