by Ron Ripley
“Oh Goddamn,” Courtney hissed. “They’ll kill him.”
Shane nodded and led the way out of the lighthouse. With Courtney at his side, he jogged down, keeping an eye out for the dead. Inwardly he groaned as the boat’s engine shifted gears and it peeled away from the pier.
“Shane,” Courtney said.
He turned partially and saw Mike Puller. The man closed in on them, and when he was close enough, Courtney swung.
Mike shrieked as the head of the cudgel connected, the man vanished.
Courtney grinned. “It works.”
They picked up their pace, and soon their feet were pounding on the pier. When they reached the bound man, Shane dropped to a knee, took out his work knife, and flicked it open with one hand. The stranger’s arms and legs were zip-tied, and Shane cut them away quickly.
The man whimpered, rolled onto his side, and looked up at Shane.
“We’re going to die,” the stranger whispered.
“That’s a given,” Shane replied. “But let’s make sure it’s not today.”
He helped the man to his feet, the stranger grimacing. Shane let the man lean on him, and he said, “Ready, Cort?”
She nodded and led the way back to the lighthouse.
Thankfully, they were left alone.
Chapter 36: At the Marina
Dell Fort was tired and in a decidedly bad mood.
Frankie McCrory had called in sick for the first shift, which meant Dell had to cover for him.
I’m so tired, Dell thought, dumping three packets of sugar into his fresh coffee. He added cream, put the container back into the mini-fridge in the gatehouse, and glared out the front window. He had the gates unlocked and open. A few of the natives had been in to check on their boats and there were too many of the summer folk for his liking.
They pay the bills, Dell, he reminded himself. With a sigh, he took a drink, winced at how hot it was, and put his mug down. Movement caught his attention, and he looked down at the end of the marina. George Fallon’s new Boston Whaler, Terminal Fleet, was coasting into its berth.
Dell smirked. George had been out all night with his lady friend. Dell waited, hoping to catch sight of her.
“Dell!”
The sharp, waspish voice of Mr. Webb forced Dell to turn away from Fallon’s boat and look out the front window. Mr. Webb, gangly and unkempt, per usual, held up his monthly bill.
“What is it, Mr. Webb?” Dell asked. Long ago, he had given up trying to be polite to the man. Webb was a colossal pain, no matter how nice Dell was.
“You raised the berthing fees again,” Mr. Webb snapped.
“Mr. Webb,” Dell said patiently, “I didn’t do anything of the sort. The Marina Association did, though. They raised the berthing fees for everyone. Not just you.”
“I didn’t think it was just me,” Mr. Webb said. “And I know it’s you.”
Oh, Jesus, Dell thought, why the hell did Frankie have to call in sick today?
“Mr. Webb,” Dell said, “if you’d like to lodge a complaint you’d be better off writing a letter or sending an email.”
“Don’t you tell me what to do, Dell Fort!” Mr. Webb yelled, his voice rising to nearly a shriek. He shook the bill at Dell, turned around, and stomped off to the beat-up Ford station wagon he drove. Dell watched as black smoke billowed out of the car’s exhaust and Mr. Webb puttered out of the parking lot.
The man has more money than God, and he complains because the Association raised his berthing fee by ten dollars a month, Dell thought.
His inner monologue was interrupted by another person, but this one came from the pier. It was a woman, her blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and a large, tan fisherman’s cap on her head. She wore mirrored sunglasses and a dark blue sweatshirt that was way too big for her. The hem of the shirt hung down to the mid-thigh of her khaki capris. Her hands were tucked into the front pocket of the sweatshirt.
When she passed by the gatehouse, Dell saw “Fallon Construction” in white letters on the back of the pullover.
Dell shook his head as she passed through the parking lot and up Marion Street. He glanced up the marina, but he didn’t see any movement on board the Boston Whaler.
Must have been one hell of a night, Dell thought. He took up his coffee, took a sip, and winced.
Still too damned hot.
Chapter 37: At Squirrel Island
The man’s name was George Fallon, and he was scared to death.
With good reason, too, Shane thought.
Courtney sat beside Shane, and George was across from them. He had deep marks on his wrists from the zip-ties. He had drunk nearly a gallon of water, and he constantly looked out of the open doorway.
“You said there’s wood around here?” George said finally.
Shane nodded. “Round the back of the house, there’s a pile of lumber for the construction work.”
“Yeah,” George said. “Would make sense. Mike wouldn’t have rented a boat to go back and forth each day. Would have cut into his profits.”
“Why are you asking about wood?” Courtney asked.
“I’m in construction,” George answered. “All of Mike’s tools are in here. Lumber’s out back. I can build a door.”
“It won’t do much good,” Courtney said. “Doors and walls don’t stop them.”
George’s shoulders slumped, and he sighed unhappily.
“Who was the woman?” Shane asked. “The one who dumped you here and stole your boat?”
“Don’t know,” George said. “Met her in a bar last night; thought my luck was changing, especially after what happened here. We got drunk, she asked me for a ride on the boat, and I said yes.”
“But why did she bring you here?” Shane asked.
“She said her great-grandmother was upset that I had gotten away,” George said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “They’re supposed to kill me.”
Shane stiffened. “Her great-grandmother?”
George nodded.
“What did the woman look like?” Shane asked.
“You saw her,” George said.
Shane shook his head. “Not really. Tell me.”
George described her. “Attractive, blonde, tanned. Good walk, great laugh.”
“How old?” Shane asked, his voice tightening.
“Forties, maybe?” George said. “Can’t really remember too well, right now.”
Shane stood up, anger pulsing through him. He walked over to the tools, picked up the two-pound sledge, and went to the stairs.
“Shane,” Courtney said, “what are you doing?”
“I’m going to go smash the lantern,” he said, starting up the steps.
“Why?” she said. “I thought we were going to wait and see if they were coming for you today.”
“They’re not,” Shane said.
“How do you know?” Courtney asked.
Shane paused and looked at her.
“I know,” he said angrily, “because the woman that dumped George on the island is the same one who hired me in the first place. No help is coming, Courtney. Not from her.”
Gripping the handle of the sledgehammer tightly, Shane made his way up the top of the lighthouse.
Chapter 38: Reassurances
Marie Lafontaine looked at the ID on her phone when it rang and saw it was Amy.
“Hello?”
“Hey, cousin!” Amy said cheerfully. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer the phone when you called. The damned thing never even rang.”
“Everything alright with it?” Marie asked, leaning back in her chair and closing the file she had been working on.
“Yes,” Amy answered. “It’s Squirrel Island. The reception is terrible.”
“What’s going on out there? How’s Shane?”
“He’s looking devilishly handsome,” Amy said, laughing. “I didn’t think a man could be completely bald and still be attractive, but he is.”
Marie shook her head and rolled her eyes at her
cousin’s antics. “You’ve always been too much, Amy.”
“Says you,” Amy said cheerfully. “Anyway, your fine-looking friend, Mr. Ryan, is not only rooting out the problem of the ghost but doing some fine construction work as well.”
“That’s a relief to hear,” Marie said, and she meant it. She felt a weight slip off of her shoulders. “I was afraid I’d sent him into something he couldn’t handle.”
“Nonsense,” Amy said. “He’s a strapping young man.”
Marie laughed. “Amy, he’s as old as we are.”
“You wouldn’t know it by looking at him.”
Marie sighed. “Cousin, you’re too much. Anyway, so he’s doing okay, then?”
“More than okay,” Amy replied. In a serious tone she said, “Marie, I’ll let you know if anything goes wrong. But he’s doing well. He’s a little upset about not having an internet connection, but other than that, everything is going exactly as planned.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Marie said. “When are you picking him up again?”
“Two more days,” Amy said. “He said everything should be wrapped up by then. Do you want to meet me here and we’ll pick him up together?”
“Yes, I’d like that,” Marie said.
“Then it’s set,” Amy said. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, and we’ll make all the plans.”
“Great.”
They ended the call, and Marie returned to her work. She whistled to herself and felt far better than she had before.
Chapter 39: Calling for Help
Shane was angry.
A deep, chilling anger which he nursed and cared for. He ground his teeth and made his way to the top of the lighthouse. He switched the two-pound sledgehammer from his left hand to his right, the grip awkward with the protection he wore on his hands.
Can’t risk taking it off, he thought, squeezing the wooden shaft of the tool tightly. Too dangerous.
When he had reached the lantern, he examined it closely.
So many people saved by such a simple idea, Shane thought. He raised the sledge and swung it with all of his strength. The lens shattered easily, reflective material exploding outward from the force of the blow. Shane breathed deeply, then struck it twice more.
He brushed fragments of glass off of himself, frowning at tiny nicks and scratches on his arms from the flying debris. Still holding tightly onto the sledgehammer, Shane went down and joined Courtney and George. Shane dropped the tool onto the floor, kicked a few shards away, and sat down next to Courtney.
“What the hell did you do that for?” George asked, confused.
“Coast Guard must monitor the lighthouses, right?” Shane said.
George nodded. “Yeah. They monitor all of them. It’s a federal offense to mess around with them.”
“Good,” Shane said. “It’s the only chance we have for getting off this island alive.”
Comprehension brightened George’s eyes. “They’ll send a boat out to see what happened.”
Shane nodded.
“Still, you’re probably going to end up doing some time for the vandalism,” George said, grinning.
Shane smiled. “More than happy to. That means I’ll be alive.”
“Don’t worry,” Courtney said, reaching out and taking his hand. “I’ll come and visit.”
“Fair enough,” Shane said. “That alone, makes it all worthwhile.”
“Ahoy the lighthouse!” a voice called from outside.
Shane let go of Courtney’s hand and quickly stood up. Two long strides carried him to the open doorway, and he looked for the speaker.
Clark, the lighthouse keeper, stood a short distance down the path. Dane was beside him, a terrified expression on his face. Both men were difficult to see in the bright morning light.
“Mr. Noyes,” Shane called back. “What can I do for you?”
“You can first let me compliment you on your manners, my Marine,” Clark said cheerfully. “Ever polite you are. Well done, sir.”
Shane inclined his head slightly. “Many thanks. Now, back to my question, if you will.”
“Ah, yes,” Clark said, nodding. “Business. My wife, Dorothy, well she has laid a claim on the man who has come to you this morning. A relative of ours brought him here specifically for my wife. You’ve no right to keep him from her.”
“I have every right,” Shane said coldly.
“You’ll not send him out, then?” Clark asked, frowning.
“No,” Shane said, shaking his head.
Behind him, Shane heard George let out a shuddering breath.
“Anything else, Mr. Noyes?” Shane asked.
“Yes,” Clark said, his voice going cold, anger creeping into it. “I see you went ahead and broke my light.”
“I did.”
“Will you be repairing it?” Clark demanded.
“Of course, I will see it is repaired when I reach the mainland,” Shane answered.
“Damn your eyes!” Clark snarled, taking a step forward even as Dane shrank back. “Do you have any idea of the danger you’re putting those ships and crews in?”
“I do,” Shane said.
“You’re a monster,” Clark hissed.
Shane laughed, surprised at the comment. “Ah, Mr. Noyes, at least I didn’t condemn a boy to an eternity of servitude to care for a flashlight.”
“It’s a lighthouse, you twit,” Clark said, his voice low and thick with anger. “And it needs to be cared for.”
“It will be,” Shane said, all humor gone. “You’d best run along to your mistress now, Mr. Clark. Go be about her business since she won’t let you be about yours.”
“My mistress has plans for you, Shane Ryan. She will teach you to have a civil tongue, or she will take it out.” Clark turned and walked to the keeper’s house, Dane following quickly behind him. Once they had disappeared into the small home, Shane left the doorway and returned to his seat.
“They were dead,” George said after a minute.
Shane nodded.
“The lighthouse keeper,” Courtney hissed, her voice filled with both anger and bitterness, “and the others, they’ve murdered everyone.”
“Shane,” George said, his voice thin and fearful. “What’s going to happen?”
“We’re going to fight,” Shane answered. “First, I need some more coffee. Then I need to read the rest of Dorothy’s journals. I need to know more; I need to know her better.”
“Who is she?” George asked. “And why the hell do you need to know her better?”
“She’s the one in charge,” Shane said. Courtney started to help him prepare the coffee. “I need to understand her better so I can figure out how to destroy her. Hey, we’ve got powdered cream and sugar from an MRE, if you want a cup of coffee.”
Dazed, George nodded.
Shane whistled the Marine Corps hymn as he worked beside Courtney, her hand occasionally brushing his.
Chapter 40: Bad News
Amy pulled on an old t-shirt and a battered pair of shorts after she had taken a quick shower. She had washed off the stink of the bar, the sweat of George, and the dirty smell of the Marina. In the bathroom, she ran the hair-dryer and then unplugged it before she wandered tiredly out to her bed.
With an exaggerated sigh, she flopped down, adjusted the pillows and wondered if she would be able to get any sleep. She was excited.
Everything is nearly done, she thought, closing her eyes and smiling.
The locket on her chest suddenly felt like an ice-cube against her skin.
“Oh Christ!” she shouted, jumping up off of the bed pulling the chain up over her head. Pain screamed through her hand as she cast the locket onto the bed, the latch springing open and the bit of broken mirror, within the metal, started gleaming.
Dorothy appeared in the room, her dead face shrouded in a mask of silent rage.
“Great Mother,” Amy whispered, backing up nervously and sitting down in the chair at her vanity.
“Child,” Doro
thy said, no affection or care in her voice. “I am displeased.”
Panic wormed its way into Amy’s heart. “What is it? What’s wrong? What did I do?”
A small smile appeared on Dorothy’s face. “You accept blame. And for that, you are forgiven. So few can do so.”
A minor tremor of relief passed through Amy, and she whispered, “What have I done wrong?”
“You left too quickly,” Dorothy said, the smile vanishing. “Shane and his young woman rescued the man you left for me. They are within the lighthouse. The keeper is in a rage for they have broken the light.
“And you know what shall happen without the light?” Dorothy asked, her voice growing cold.
“Nothing,” Amy whispered. “Nothing will happen.”
Dorothy nodded. “I will continue to be bound to the island, restricted to these brief excursions. I will not have enough souls to thrust me forward, to release me. I need the dead. I do not believe I can stress this enough, Child.”
“I know,” Amy whispered. Then she frowned and said, “The light. Why would they break the light?”
Dorothy looked at her coldly. “What do you think will occur when the lighthouse does not shine this evening?”
“Oh God,” Amy said in a small voice as she straightened up. She felt panic rise up within her throat.
I’m going to fail her! she thought frantically. I can’t fail her! I can’t!
“Someone will come,” Amy moaned. “They’ll be rescued!”
“Stop it, then!” Dorothy commanded. “This may be only a way for me to reach out and speak to you, but I promise, there are many other ways in which I can hurt you. And I will, in my own time.”
Amy swallowed dryly, nodded and said softly, “I will, Great Mother.”
Without a word or a gesture, Dorothy vanished. Amy’s body trembled, and it took her a few minutes to gather up the courage to stand up and walk to her bed. Her hand shook as she picked up the locket and held it tightly in her palm.
