Edgar shakes his head and tries to leave the story. He looks at Lucy and Tiger, thinks of the danger they are all in, drawn way up here to this barren place with this creature. But the story keeps chasing him and he fades back into the novel, rushing into the marital bedroom on a stormy night to find his beloved Elizabeth strangled, bloodied and beaten in their bed. Her face looks like Lucy’s! He howls in anger and, blind with his own vengeance, chases the monster farther north into the arctic.
Down below them, Godwin is gazing toward a northern shore and dives in.
“We have to pursue him,” says Tiger, “like in the book.”
“This may be a trap,” says Lucy softly. “There are no authorities here, no police, almost no one at all where he is going. He will have us alone in a near wilderness.”
“Yes he will,” says Edgar. Then he turns to the others. “Are you ready?”
—
It takes less time to cross this stretch since the surface of the sheltered channel isn’t as rough. But when they reach shore, it is immediately evident that this island is more desolate than the others and just a few hills rise gently. They put on their wet clothes again, shivering more this time as the temperature has begun to drop sharply, and stand on the rocks and look out over the terrain at a rough road hewn into the ground leading into the center of the island. There are wagon tracks on it.
“There are people here,” says Lucy.
“Of course,” says Tiger, “he needs a new face.”
Edgar climbs up onto a big rock. Though it is getting darker, he can see almost all the way across the island, a brown-and-white, almost sepia-toned setting. It looks to be just a few miles long and less than that across. He spots the dim outlines of rock fences and a few sod barns and houses. Gulls swoop about and crows caw in the distance; the water hits the rocks around them in sprays. Godwin is on the road, already far away. But he is walking slower.
“I think this is his destination.”
“If that’s true,” says Lucy, “then he’ll search for somewhere to set up, maybe an abandoned building.”
“We kill him here,” says Tiger.
“An excellent idea,” says Jonathan, “but first, what about our accommodations for the evening? Shall we book an elegant room in the Orkney Ritz…or do we get to experience the great outdoors on this glorious night in these southern climes?”
Their cold mutton and loaves of bread are soaked and inedible, so they throw them into the sea and let their stomachs go without that evening. They will have to somehow get food in the morning. Before they lie down they run around to dry out. It turns into a game of tag and they are all surprised by their laughter. But Tiger stops before the others and snaps off dry branches from nearby low-lying bushes and uses another of her seemingly unending skills to start a fire. They take off their partially dried outer clothes and hang them on little stakes, made from other branches driven into the hard ground. Then they huddle close to the flames, both to stay warm and to hide the light.
“He could come at us out of this darkness,” says Lucy, looking around at what is now utter blackness.
“No worries,” says Jonathan, “if our esteemed surgeon does happen to pop by, I will be waiting for him with this.” He pats the rifle he holds in his lap. “I shall delay until I can see the yellow of his lovely eyes, and then I’ll offer him an exploding bullet, up close and personal, and blow his bulb to smithereens.”
But he doesn’t say it with much conviction. And none of the others bother to respond. When it’s time to sleep, they know they need to lie close to each other but there is an argument about the arrangements. Jonathan makes a tactical error.
“Ladies in the middle,” he says. “Brim and I will protect you two from the outside. I’ll need to face toward the interior of the island, rifle at the ready.”
“I don’t need protection,” says Tiger before he is even finished speaking. “I would say that you, Mr. Lear, have the least acute senses, so your arrangement makes little sense. I should be on the outside, Edgar and I.”
“Fine,” says Lucy, “then I’ll go between Edgar and you.”
Tiger hesitates. “I’m not sure—”
“Makes perfect sense,” says Edgar.
“I thought the order,” says Jonathan, “could be me, then Tiger, then Lucy, and then Edgar.”
Tiger obviously doesn’t like either choice. “All right,” she finally says, “I’ll sleep on my own and I’ll keep the pistol.” She lies down quickly, stiff on the hard ground.
“But…” says Jonathan.
Edgar whispers into Jon’s ear. “I would cut my losses, if I were you.”
—
But they don’t sleep well—not helped by the fact that the sun comes up early on the Orkneys in mid-summer—and they all rise feeling tired and sore, Tiger surprised to find herself almost right beside Jon, who hasn’t moved at all.
They walk along the rough road in the direction Godwin went, spotting a few bedraggled sheep and wishing they could shoot them for food. But they think better of it—they need their few remaining bullets anyway. Finally, they spot someone, out in a yard near a sod farmhouse and barn. He is a young man, a big fellow, carrying two pails, which he drops in a crash when he sees them. Strangers on foot must be a nearly miraculous sight.
They approach cautiously.
“Good morning,” says Edgar.
The man’s response is likely a similar greeting, but his voice is so low and the accent so thick that they aren’t certain. It sounds a bit like a grunt. But they hear the words he adds.
“Where did you come from?”
“We are from England,” says Tiger.
He eyes her suspiciously and they aren’t sure if it is because of her unusual attire or simply the fact that they are all foreigners.
“We are here for some sight-seeing and walking,” says Lucy, stepping in front of the others and giving him a pleasing smile. “A gentleman was kind enough to convey us over on a boat.”
The man looks doubtfully at their unkempt clothing. “When is you going back?” he asks.
“Well, we thought we might stay a night or two. Is there any place where we can put up?”
“No.”
“Nowhere at all?”
The man hesitates. Edgar notices that he is strikingly handsome, that his features actually bear some resemblance to the good looks that Godwin manufactured on his prosthetic face. He is almost as big as the surgeon too, and well proportioned. Edgar realizes with a chill that this man’s countenance and body parts would be perfect materials for the surgeon’s grisly task.
“Well,” says the young fellow, “there is a few abandoned huts on this island. If you keeps walking along this road and then bears left when you gets near the water, you will see one in particular. Matter of fact, you can almost see it from here, land’s so flat about these parts.”
“Thank you,” says Lucy. “You are very kind to offer information to travelers.”
“Have you seen anyone else?” asks Jonathan suddenly, moving up close to his sister. The young man takes a step back and plants his feet.
“I sees me neighbors regular-like.”
“No, I mean another stranger, a big one, unusual looking, in a black cloak.”
“There been no other foreigners about. I have me chores to do.”
—
They walk farther along the road, which is nothing more than a horse path in places, and the wet soil and pebbles stick to their boots. The shack the young man referred to appears within minutes in the distance. They don’t see Godwin, but they move more cautiously. They come to a slight inclination in the land and can see the shoreline and the air smells saltier. The shack is below them and still at least a cricket field away.
Then a figure comes out of the little building and looks about. All four friends instantly drop to the ground.
It’s Godwin.
He is bareheaded: no Elephant Man’s hood and with the collar of his cloak down; they can see
his pale yellow face, the watery eyes and black lips. He turns toward them and pauses, his hideous countenance looking their way for a long while. It doesn’t seem that he sees them. Then he turns toward the water and gazes out over it. The four young people remain glued to the ground watching him through the low, brown grass. He takes a few steps toward the shack, then turns toward them again and begins to walk in their direction. They squirm backward. But he stops after a few hundred yards and returns to the shack. When he reaches it, he has to wrench the door open. It closes with a bang behind him. Then they hear another thud like some sort of lock or board being snapped into place.
“That was close,” says Edgar.
“Perhaps he needed to pee?” says Jonathan.
“Not sure there is indoor plumbing in there.”
“We must finish him while he’s inside that hut and can’t see us approach,” says Tiger.
“Let’s do it now,” adds Jonathan, gripping the rifle in both hands. The others nod.
They move along the ground like snakes and it takes them a long time to get near the shack. All along the way, they hear a pounding sound coming from the little wooden building. They slow as they near it and when they are right next to it, Tiger reaches for the rifle. But Jonathan snatches it back from her. He wants to be the one who kills the creature. He tries to smile at her, but she won’t look at him.
Now they realize what the pounding is—Godwin has been boarding up the windows. Their only chance had been to look through a window and take direct aim, drilling a shot or several shots into the back of the wretch’s skull before he can react to the sound of the gun. But now, with the entrance locked as well, whoever takes the shot will have to do so blind.
Jonathan gets to his feet, but Edgar pulls him down. They struggle for a moment in silence, but Tiger puts both hands on Jon’s shoulders and grips him hard, pinching the thick trapezius muscle there and making him grimace. Then she takes him by the arm and leads him away. He goes with her and the others follow, slithering along on the ground back toward their little hill.
“I could have destroyed him in a second!” says Jon in a loud whisper.
“You’d have had no idea where to aim!” says Tiger.
“And if you’d missed,” adds Edgar, “and the odds are anyone would have, even if all four of our remaining bullets were used, Godwin would have then come after us while we were defenseless and killed us all.”
“He’s right,” says Lucy.
Jonathan grumbles but keeps moving.
When they reach the little elevation, they get to their feet but almost instantly hear the shack door open a couple hundred yards behind them and then close with a smack. They drop to the ground as if they were all shot and then squirm around and look toward their enemy. He is coming in their direction again, this time at a fast pace. They get to their feet and run down the far side of their little hill, keeping low, not sure when they will come into his view.
“We can’t outrun him!” says Lucy, her face white.
There is a group of bushes not far away, like a little island on the island. They make for it and get behind it.
“We don’t stand a chance,” says Lucy. “We have to reason with him.”
“That isn’t possible,” says Jonathan. “I’ll kill him, no matter what.”
Tiger wrenches the gun from him. “He’ll see you the moment you stand up, but I’ll have an extra second because I’m smaller and he’ll take more chances with me too, may even go easy on me.” She grins. “I can wait until the last moment, until he is right upon me. I’m the one who can blast him from up close. I’ll fix him.”
“You’ll never get close enough,” says Lucy.
“You’re right, but I would,” says Jon.
“Be quiet,” says Edgar, “just be quiet.” He is terrified but can’t bring himself to say it.
“I’m terrified,” says Lucy, “take my hand.” Edgar reaches out for her. His own hand is shaking. He is surprised to feel that hers is warm and steady. The hag should be here now, sitting on his chest, but Lucy’s grip makes him feel stronger.
They all turn over onto their stomachs and look through the branches of the bushes toward Godwin. He has stopped suddenly and is gazing about. From where he is now, he can see for miles. The few farms and the metallic blue sea are the only other things in sight. But Godwin can’t spot his four observers, not clearly. He stands for a while surveying everything thoroughly. Finally, he slaps himself in the head, as if to try to knock some sense into his brain. They hear one of his bursts of attempted laughter as he turns and walks away.
Lucy lets out a sigh.
They all twist onto their backs and stare up at the sky for a while, which is a slightly lighter hue than the water, sparsely decorated with wisps of white.
“If we can’t come up close to him to kill him and we can’t do it from far away, then what can we do?” says Jonathan.
“We need different terrain, different circumstances,” says Edgar. “We simply can’t kill him here.”
“Well, then,” says Jonathan, “perhaps I should pay a friendly call on him and ask him to step out with me to some more convenient place so that I might blow his head off?” He turns back onto his stomach.
“We have to flush him out, make him go somewhere else,” says Tiger. “I have an idea.”
23
Tiger’s idea will put her in mortal danger.
“When it gets dark I will steal down to the shack and push a note through a crack in the door telling him that we were here in the Orkneys, that we tracked him and know where he is, and that we have left the islands to tell the authorities who he is and what he has been doing. We’ll simply follow him when he flees. He’ll have his guard down too.”
“Good idea, but I’ll do it,” says Jonathan. “It should be me, in case the note bearer is discovered. I’ll have the rifle. Let’s have your pen and some of that paper you bought at the train station, Edgar.” He gets to his feet. But Tiger doesn’t.
“It’s best it’s a female,” she says. “You would be too loud, too obvious.”
“Then I should do it,” says Lucy. “I’m the smallest.”
Edgar doesn’t like anything about these ideas.
“Your plans are too dangerous. He will hear you, any of you, and kill you. And if whoever takes the note survives, he won’t flee. He’ll come after us! He’ll wonder why we’ve warned him. Why would we do that? He will know we are either still here or have just left and he will be on us almost immediately. There are no authorities of any real consequence until you get to the mainland.”
“But—” say Jonathan and Tiger at the same time. They don’t continue, however, because they know he is right.
“Thank you for destroying our last hope, old chap,” says Jon. “Now we have zero options. You have always been such a charming fellow.”
“There is another way,” says Edgar.
Lucy doesn’t like the look on his face. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ll go down to the shack.”
“No,” says Tiger, “why would that be any better?”
“Because I won’t try to sneak; I’ll speak to him.”
“No, you won’t,” says Tiger. “That is not going to happen. And besides, it would be worse. He’d—”
But Edgar interrupts her. “I’m the only one who can do this, and I’ll tell you why and exactly what I will do.”
—
He lays out his plan. The others sit stone-faced as he speaks. They know almost immediately that he is presenting them with the only chance they have. Still, they argue about it. Edgar can barely believe he is volunteering for this. But a strange feeling had come over him when Tiger and the others offered to go. It was terrible fear, yes, but it concerned his friends, their well-being, not just himself. A half hour later, after a long argument, they agree to let him go.
Jonathan turns his back on Edgar and sits on the far side of the hill, staring out over the water. Tiger crouches neare
r the crest, watching her dear friend walk away, memories of their lives together flooding her mind, making her want to break down in tears. But she holds firm. Edgar Brim has always been the one for her and now he may be going to his death. She wants to move closer to Jonathan, but she doesn’t. Lucy positions herself nearer the shack, closer to Edgar, tears welling in her eyes.
Edgar strides toward the building in broad daylight, the gun loaded and at the ready, already pointing it at the door. When he gets there he turns the butt toward it and pounds hard. There is silence for a moment and then the door opens slowly.
“Ah, Edgar! Lovely to see you! I had the feeling that you might be about. That was an awful thing that your uncle tried to do to me back in London, simply awful. Why would one try to burn another human being alive? There is no need to point that gun at me.”
The yellow pallor of the creature’s skin is almost translucent and patches are burned to the bone, the eyes are watery and the lips black. There are remnants of rips on his face and big scars like zipper marks around his neck and crisscrossing his skull, now apparent through the wisps of black hair that weren’t burned off in the fire. One thumb and the tip of a second finger are severed and the stumps are gray. There is a look in this wretch’s eyes that Edgar has never seen before in a human being…a sort of wildness.
Edgar has stepped back from the door a bit, somewhere between five and ten feet, to a place where he thinks he might be able to get off a shot, right into a spot directly above the creature’s nose.
Monster Page 18
