The Trilogy of the Void: The Complete Boxed Set

by Peter Meredith

  He knew his mind was just playing tricks on him, but the strange, fearful image carved into his mind held him in place for a moment nonetheless. Then he stepped back, reached out with his left hand and found the light switch to the laundry room, and snapped it upright.

  Light blazed from behind him, showing...nothing...there was nothing in the boiler room. William stood there, not at all afraid or freaked out; instead he was angry. He was mostly angry with himself for being every kind of fool to think, even for those two seconds that there was something haunting his boiler room. Yet there was also a reserve of anger for the Greek painter, who had instilled this nonsense to begin with.

  Turning on the spot, he headed back to the stairs, needing another light bulb. He started to go up but stopped with his foot on the first step. The door to the basement stood closed. It had been half-open a moment before when he went down, he was sure of it, yet now it was closed.

  The house was one of the draftiest places William had ever been in and the wind must have blown the door shut, he assured himself.

  The stairs creaked loudly as he started back up.

  You didn't feel any draft, did you?

  The question popped into his head and William ignored it.

  You didn't hear it shut, either.

  He ignored this statement as well, but his jaw clenched all the same.

  At the top of the stairs a new thought, actually more of a vision came into his mind: he was just reaching for the doorknob when he pictured the shiny new hasp that been put on the other side of the door, and through the catch of the hasp was a shiny new lock. William's hand seemed to stop on its own,

  "Don't be a fool. There's no lock in the hasp," he berated himself. He knew the painter took the lock, he remembered seeing Katie hand it to him. However, in his mind he pictured the hasp and its shiny new lock—in this vision it wasn't a combination lock, but one that needed a key.

  William stood poised at the door with his hand out and he recalled thinking how much he loved the craftsmanship of the house. How everything seemed so well made, sturdy, built to last. Even the doors had come under his scrutiny and he'd found these were not veneer over plywood. No, these were thick and heavy. You wouldn't want to be trapped behind one of these doors, because there'd be no getting through it. He felt a slight tingle of fear.

  The figure in the boiler room was a brief shock, but this was a creeping fear that William felt growing in him. Where's the key, William? The question, as the others before, came to him as if from someone else, and the tone was insidious and sly and the feeling of being trapped in the basement grew in him rapidly.

  "There's no damn lock," William said and turned the knob. The door opened. Walking into the kitchen, he leaned over the sink with both hands on the counter. He shook his head again, and couldn't believe how he was acting. The strobe light image of the figure flashed into his mind once more.

  "Jesus!" He came to a quick decision, and turning away from the sink he went back to the basement door. Passing through it, he purposefully shut it behind him so that he heard the door catch. There'd be no breeze moving the door about now. He then went down the stairs and turned off the light at the bottom and then he moved to the laundry to do the same.

  His world was pitch black now and he confidently walked into the boiler room, sat down on the dusty floor and waited. He knew what he was so calmly waiting for...absolutely nothing. There was no boiler monster, or black ghost, these were only silly childish fears. William's mindset was one of determination and if there was any fear in him, it was so deeply suppressed that it didn't register.

  Purposefully, he tried to bring back the feelings of fear, so that he could confront them.

  William imagined the dark figure he thought he'd seen and the strobe light effect flashed in his mind. However, it was weaker and when he tried to analyze it, he found he wasn't afraid at all and chalked it up to a trick of the light.

  After a while he became bored. His mind drifted to the day Katie and he visited the house and scared the painter. When Katie had left them, the painter had blurted out some foolishness about the house being haunted. At that point, William had been very happy that he'd sent his daughter away, since all it would have caused were nightmares and a phobia of the basement.

  "What did the painter say?" he asked the empty room. William could only vaguely remember: scary sounds and peeling paint. He couldn't recall much more since he had barely listened. "Whatever. It was all crap."

  After yawning a couple times, he decided the experiment with the "ghost" was over. He left the basement and a few minutes later began his morning run.

  Now, as he walked confidently along, finishing his cool-down from his run he tried to forget how foolish he'd felt. But he wasn't forgetting his anger over the boiler and Lieutenant Andre would be getting an earful from him.

  William came up to far end of Clayton road and with a last look at the East River, he turned inland. He saw the small Catholic Church to his left and decided this was probably the best way to go to get home. Colonels Row started about a hundred yards from it.

  "Who would want to go to this church?" he wondered.

  It was dinky and not very attractive, especially compared to the Protestant one down the street. William and Gayle had been to the other church on the island, St Cornelius for two different weddings. To him that one seemed more like a proper church, with its great high ceilings and polished hardwood floors it was almost a cathedral. Even its heavy wrought iron bound doors were beautiful.

  The plainer glass ones of the tiny Catholic Church simply couldn't match up. None of it could. The church was a dull white rectangle with a small steeple in front. Just outside its double glass doors was a bulletin board, which read, "Our Lady Star of The Sea Chapel, Father Alba." To William, that seemed quite a mouthful for such a little affair.

  "Star of The Sea," he murmured quietly to himself. He liked the sound of that; it went well with his calling and the theme of the island in general. On impulse, he turned up the walk and peered through the glass of the double doors wondering if the church would have a naval motif.

  It seemed dark and empty and he was about to turn away when a shadow blacker than the surrounding darkness moved toward the doors. For the second time that morning, he jumped back startled. One of the glass doors opened silently and a short, chubby priest walked out. The priest had very thin brown hair, so much so, that William who towered over him, could make out the beginnings of a bald spot. He was also extremely jovial and seemed almost delighted to have startled William.

  "Oh, I'm so sorry! I'm sorry!" the priest apologized, although his huge grin seemed to indicate that he was far from being actually sorry. He reached out both hands and for a second William thought the priest was going to hug him about his waist. Instead, he took William's right hand in both of his, and shook it. William was extremely embarrassed that he hadn't proffered his hand to the man in the first place.

  "Commander Jern!" the priest announced. "I'm so glad to meet you, finally. I'm afraid you're late for the sunrise Mass. Tsk, tsk."

  William was almost speechless. Neither Gayle nor he were religious in any way, he was an atheist while Gayle was a non-practicing Baptist. He wondered how the man even knew his name and why he would think that he'd be going to church dressed as he was in sweaty running clothes.

  "Uh," was all that he could manage to say, before the priest burst into laughter over some unknown joke.

  "I'm joking! Joking, Commander Jern," he enjoyed his laughter and his cheeks turned a quick pink. He wiped his eyes, chortled once more and smiled expectantly at William.

  "I'm sorry, but...you must be Father Alba?" William didn't know a priest from a monk, and could only hope he wasn't being offensive.

  "Yes, that's me, Father Father." At this the priest chuckled some more. Upon seeing William's blank look he added, "Alba means Father, in an African tribal language. So you see, to them I'm Father Father." There was an embarrassed pause, and then Father Alba
continued, "Why do I always do that? I make jokes that no one possibly could understand. Ah well, come in, come in please. I want to show you my church."

  "I'm not Catholic...Father White," William said.

  "Ha ha! A scholar. Yes, the name means white as well and in more languages too. But I know you're not a Catholic, I know. That's why I said my church and not our church."

  Father Alba was unstoppable. With the greatest familiarity, he hooked his arm through William's arm and led him up to the church. William felt like one of the little old men he'd seen while in Italy who went about holding each other this way. It felt distinctly un-American to him, but he couldn't be rude to such a jolly person who was so obviously well-meaning.

  "You just moved in, up the Row? Isn't that correct?" the priest asked. The church seemed dim compared to the brightness of the morning and William's eyes took a moment to adjust. He was about to answer the priest, but Father Alba beat him to it. "I saw the trucks yesterday. I was walking back home. I live at the far end of the Row, in the B.O.Q you know."

  William didn't know.

  The Bachelor's Officers Quarters or B.O.Q in military jargon was an interesting building with wrap around porches on two floors. William had a few friends and subordinates who lived there, but he didn't remember seeing Father Alba when he had visited. The priest began jabbering on about the B.O.Q and William decided that he would remain silent and just let Father Alba talk. The man seemed so chatty he wondered what it would be like to put him and Katie in a small room together.

  A minute later, after the briefest of pauses from his last statement, Father Alba said, "So I was thinking it would be a good idea," he paused for a quick breath. "A good idea to schedule a time to bless your new home." Father Alba anticipated William's objection, and simply spoke right over it, "I have you down for the day after tomorrow at six. Now you know...you know I'll be hungry at that time, so if Gayle wants to cook something I'm partial to Italian, but I won't say no to Mexican."

  Did the priest just invite himself to dinner? William was almost speechless again. "Uhh," was all he could manage before Father Alba continued.

  "Great! Great, it's a date. I'll bring pie and some wine...red wine should go well with the spaghetti. I can't wait to meet Gayle and the children."

  Father Alba was more unstoppable than he'd first thought. William couldn't fathom how he knew any of their names but then he remembered that Will had gone to the church a few times with Lisa. He was about to comment on this, but before he could, Father Alba went on, "I forgot! I forgot in all the excitement why we're here." At this, he waved his hand grandly at the small church. In truth, William didn't know why he was there. The only thing he did know for certain about all of this was that he was going to change his cool-down route starting tomorrow.

  "What do you think of my church?" Father Alba asked and this time he paused in such a significant manner that William felt compelled to answer.

  The church was...nothing special. The vestibule they stood in was small and held little more than a large brass font filled with holy water. Not wanting to lie about a church while in one, he stepped into the main room.

  A large center aisle between rows of pews led to the altar. The altar was square and white, above it towered a wooden crucifix on which Jesus hung in seeming agony. To William this was pretty standard stuff and was relatively unremarkable.

  He turned to the priest and was about to tell him it was nice, which was the best he could do, when he noticed something on the wall behind Father Alba. It was the Stations of the Cross, which were also standard, but underneath each was a brass plaque. That was different.

  He strode by the priest and went to the nearest. The station was a woodcarving of Jesus carrying his cross, and near him a girl held out a cloth. Underneath it, on the plaque was a list of names and dates.

  LTJG Harry W. Woodley April 26, 1972 Training Accident

  LTJG John Hudan November 8, 1974 Lost At Sea During Rescue

  William had known John Hudan. They worked together for a year in South Carolina; it had been Hudan's first assignment out of the Academy.

  With sad morbid interest, William then went to the first station. This showed Jesus with his hands shackled, standing in front of Pontius Pilate. He read the names under it, LTCOL Tomas Fortini and CAPT Harold Menning. They were unknown to him. After this, he went to each station in turn reading the list of names and found that he'd been friends with two other people named.

  "It's the list of all the Coast Guard service men who've died on active duty while stationed here," Father Alba said with sadness. The priest then looked at William and he felt that in some way he was being tested. "Quite a long list, isn't it?"

  William knew the list in Kodiak, Alaska, would've been twice as long and that would only have been counting air crews lost. Nevertheless, the list here was too long and the names that he'd known hit home painfully.

  "There are at least three names here that don't fit your description," he stated. The priest nodded and his eyes told William, that he had passed his test.

  Father Alba spoke, "There are four; two of which were actually the first up on the wall. As you undoubtedly figured out by the dates given, they were Army and not Coast Guard. The one that is Coast Guard, but that didn't die while on active duty here was Commander Samuels. He was our choir director for four years and was so much a part of this church." The priest paused and William wondered briefly if this final death was why he was really there. "The last was Lieutenant Olson. He was Air Force, but stationed here and died while keeping his flight time up out in Colorado."

  The priest stopped talking and waited.

  So it was the first two then. It was obvious what Father Alba was getting at and William sighed heavily. The priest hadn't wanted him to 'See his church,' there was absolutely nothing special about it. And judging by the position the priest had taken, as William dutifully looked about, it had been the plaques he was supposed to have seen.

  There had been no caption under either of the first two names and the dates were identical, June 15, 1959. It seemed likely that the men had been murdered and logic suggested that it had probably occurred in the home where the Jerns were currently living. Why else had he been singled out for this?

  William suddenly felt very tired and he checked his watch. He had work to do and didn't want to have to deal with this just then and he wondered if the priest was really going to use the word 'Ghost.'

  The silence drew out between the two men and William knew something about Father Alba already—he hated to be quiet.

  After a pause that must have felt very long to the man, the priest said, "Those first two men on the wall were killed in your home..." He again paused a long while, hoping that William would speak, but when nothing was forthcoming, Alba continued, "And under some peculiar circumstances, too. So that's why I wanted to do the blessing of the house. I also wanted to tell you here, privately so that you and your family wouldn't hear it as gossip. Do you understand?" This last he spoke in a rush.

  "Thank you, that's very kind," William answered. "I do have to be going however...but if you feel the need to do the blessing, we'll see you at six tomorrow." With that, he smiled at the priest and walked out of the church into the beautiful morning.

  3

  As William went up the Row, he worried Father Alba would come bursting out of the church and talk his ear off, all the way home. When that didn't happen, he wondered if he'd made a mistake. The priest couldn't have known about his silly fears from that morning or even of his conversation with the Greek painter. Maybe this sort of thing was normal with a house where murders had occurred. Perhaps this was a way to set the new owner's fears to rest. Suddenly William felt moronic; he was now sure the priest wasn't even going to mention ghosts or any of that nonsense.

  He was so lost in thought that he didn't see Greg Harris, until it was too late.

  "Howdy neighbor, have a good run?"

  Greg Harris' overly jovial voice startled Willi
am and he gave a little jump as he saw Greg walking from his driveway. William plastered a big fake smile on his face and shook Greg's hand. "You look like you worked up quite a sweat," Greg continued.

  William found small talk, painful under most circumstances, but Greg made it pure torture. They had worked together during William's tour of duty in Charleston and those had been some of the longest months of his life. Greg never had anything of interest to say, ever. Literally, everyday it had been long talks about the weather and then the traffic. Once, during an Officer's luncheon, Greg had talked about his pants for forty-five straight minutes. William would have rather gone back down in the basement and talked to his Boiler Monster than to hear Greg that morning.

  However, and this had been a painful lesson to learn, in the Coast Guard you had to be careful not to make enemies. This branch of the service was very small and you never knew who was related to some admiral or who went golfing with the base captain. Greg was guilty on both accounts and in addition, he was three years senior to him, so William smiled his smile and agreed that the weather was indeed very nice.

  "Yes, it was a nice run...perfect weather for it," William looked up at the sky for added emphasis.

  Greg smiled agreeably and patted his bulging blue uniform coat. "Yes. You know, I should really start hitting the track. Maybe we could go running together."

  He knew Greg better than that. There was no way he was ever going to go running voluntarily. From his house on the Row, Greg could walk to work in eight minutes, but he drove, every day, rain or shine. Moreover, what he drove was just as annoying as the very fact that he drove in the first place.

  Somewhere along the line, Greg must have made a deal with the Devil, because he would tool around the island in a cherry red 1972 Corvette Stingray convertible. Every time William saw Greg in that car he'd have to contort his face into a forced smile and pick up his arm as if it weighed a hundred pounds and wave.