by Ron Ripley
A shiver rippled through him, the air growing painfully cold around him as he came to a stop in the spot where he had destroyed Dorothy. The earth beneath his feet felt wrong, the grass a corrupted yellow stain amongst the vibrant green of the rest of the yard.
“Hello,” Shane said.
The air around him twisted, folded in on itself and opened and closed, and Ewan had stepped forward. Jillian was with him, the strangulation marks on her neck a vivid red in spite of her translucent nature. The boy had his pipe in his mouth, a wry smile on his lips.
“So,” Ewan said, “you’ve gone and done in Dorothy.”
“With your help,” Shane said. “I couldn’t have done anything without it. Without all of you.”
“Right and true,” the boy said, “but you were the one who faced her down in the end.”
“Thank you,” Jillian said softly, looking at him shyly.
“You’re welcome,” Shane said. He looked from Jillian and Ewan then said, “Will you all be well now?”
“As well as the dead can be,” Ewan said seriously.
“I can help you move on, if you wish it,” Shane said.
Jillian’s eyes widened hopefully, but Ewan’s didn’t.
“I, myself,” Ewan said, “am quite pleased to be here. To look out at the Atlantic, to drift through whatever life this is. There will be others though who might wish it.”
Jillian nodded. “I know I do, as well as my siblings.”
Shane looked at the tarp where the remains of the Noyes children were tucked away near the house.
He looked from Ewan to Jillian and said, “Thank you, Jillian, for your help.”
The girl blushed and for a moment her form lost some of its opaqueness. “I, thank you, Shane Ryan, my siblings and I would like to see what is beyond this island.”
“I hope you shall,” Shane said. “Goodbye.”
The two children said farewell and vanished.
Shane walked over to the tarp, picked it up and carefully carried it away from the house. He set the package down, pulled back the canvas and looked at the remains and swallowed dryly. From the pockets of his cargo pants he took a small bag of salt, a bottle of lighter fluid, and a book of matches. He scattered the salt over all of the bones, then doused them with the flammable liquid. When he finished, Shane stood up, lit a match, and dropped it onto the remains.
The result was instantaneous. A curious, light blue flame arced up to the sky. The fire was smokeless and burned quickly. Soon, nothing remained except ashes.
For a few minutes, Shane stood still, then he pinched the bridge of his nose, wiped his eyes and left the backyard. Long strides returned him to the pier, and then to the boat.
The pilot looked up disinterestedly from his phone and raised an eyebrow. At Shane’s nod, the young man put the phone away and started up the boat.
Courtney reached out and took Shane’s hand, gently pulling him down to sit beside her. She asked softly, “How did it go?”
“Well enough,” Shane replied. “They make me sad.”
She nodded, then said, “What now?”
“Now, we go home,” Shane said. “Which reminds me, where do you live?”
Courtney grinned. “I live in Manchester, over on the west side. A few minutes from St. Anselm College.”
Her grin slipped away and a nervous smile replaced it. “Do you think you might want to get together, maybe have dinner with me?”
“I’d love to,” Shane said, squeezing her hand.
The pilot backed the boat away from the pier and headed to port, the lighthouse a silent sentinel. Shane looked at it for a moment, until he saw Clark Noyes standing and watching.
Shane turned his head away from Squirrel Island and looked to the mainland.
Chapter 67: Coffee with Uncle Gerry
“How are you holding up?” Uncle Gerry asked, looking over the top of his coffee mug at her.
“Alright,” Marie said. She picked at a thread on the old sweater she wore.
Her uncle looked at her doubtfully.
Marie sighed. “I’m upset.”
“About your cousin?” he asked.
She nodded. “The fact that she was responsible for so many deaths, and she nearly killed Shane.”
“And how is the young Marine?” Uncle Gerry asked, dropping a hand down to pet the top of Turk’s head.
“One,” Marie said, grinning tiredly, “he’s not young. He’s in his forties.”
“Still young to me.”
Marie shook her head and chuckled. “Two, he’s okay. Healing.”
“Will you be seeing him later on?” Uncle Gerry said. “Perhaps for dinner?”
“No,” Marie replied. “I won’t.”
Her uncle frowned.
“There’s nothing between us, my dear uncle,” Marie said. “And, to be perfectly honest, I’m more than happy on my own. I’ve got a good routine. A good life.”
“He’s a good man,” Uncle Gerry said.
“Without a doubt,” Marie responded. “But I don’t want a relationship with him, and he doesn’t want one with me. Sure, we’re friends and I value his friendship, but it won’t move beyond that. He’s, well, he’s got too much baggage, Uncle Gerry. He’s too damaged for me. If I’m going to have a relationship, the person has to be okay with who they are. They need to have made peace with their past. Shane is almost happy with who he is, but he certainly hasn’t been able to put the past behind him.
“I’m not saying he has to, or that he even should,” she continued. “I’m just saying he isn’t what I’m looking for in a partner.”
Uncle Gerry put his coffee mug down and looked at her silently for a moment. Finally, he said, “What you’re saying makes sense. And it’s a mature view. I do have one question.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Can I still be friends with him?”
Marie let out a surprised laugh, Turk’s ears perking up at the sound.
“Yes,” she said, smiling at her uncle, “of course you can!”
“Excellent,” Uncle Gerry said, grinning. “Now, tell me about the case you’re working on, the one about the body found behind the Holocaust Memorial downtown.”
Marie picked up her own coffee, took a sip, and started to give him the gruesome details.
*
Bonus Scene Chapter 1: Aboard The Thin Man, 4th October 1893
Ewan McGuire was thirteen years old, though he looked younger, and he had been at sea for nearly two years. As the ship’s boy, aboard The Thin Man out of Norwich, Connecticut, he had plied the waters along the east coast of the United States. He was a fair hand at many tasks and knew all of the ship’s workings by heart.
On the morning of October fourth, he woke when Cookie called him to start the fire for the stove. The men would want their breakfast, and soon. Cookie was the new cook, a green hand from Hartford, a man who clung to the tiny shelves of his kitchen in the meekest of swells.
But he’s a fair cook, Ewan thought, yawning. And he feeds you day and night. He’ll get his sea legs soon enough.
Ewan left the comfort of his small hammock, tugged on his boots and dragged his feet into the galley.
“Good morning, Ewan,” Cookie said, his words pronounced with the tight crispness of a New Englander.
“It is,” Ewan said, yawning again.
“What’s in the skillet?” Ewan asked as he prepped the stove. He laid in some coals, got the fire started and glanced over at Cookie.
“Potatoes and onions, a bit of bacon, and a couple of the smaller apples,” Cookie said.
Ewan’s stomach rumbled at the idea, and Cookie chuckled. The man pushed his gold-rimmed spectacles back up the bridge of his long nose and set the coffee to boil on the stove top.
Once Ewan had the fire lit, he sat back, took out his pipe and tobacco pouch, and started to fill the bowl. Cookie frowned at him.
“You shouldn’t smoke,” Cookie said shortly. “It’s a bad habit.”
Ewan looked over the bowl at Cookie as he lit the tobacco. He drew in several times, stopping once a healthy cloud of smoke curled up from both the briar and his mouth.
“Cookie,” Ewan said, “I enjoy your company, my friend, truly I do, but let’s not try and squelch the relief I gain from my tobacco.”
“It’s not relief,” the cook said sharply. “It’s an addiction. Best to cure yourself of it before you cannot.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Ewan said.
Cookie sucked his teeth at him and shook his head. Several minutes of silence passed as the man went about the galley. He gathered the different items he needed, leaning against the counter as he diced first the potatoes and then the apples.
The ship rolled suddenly, too far to starboard than she had been and Cookie cast a nervous glance at Ewan.
Ewan nodded. “The ocean’s a bit heavier than she was. Do you need any more here, Cookie?”
“No,” Cookie replied, his voice tight. “Um, what should I do, Ewan?”
“See the bar runs round the top of the galley?” Ewan asked, gesturing with his pipe.
“Yes,” Cookie answered.
“There’s a length of rope in the locker there. Loop her round your waist, then the other end round the bar,” Ewan said. “It’ll help to keep you steady. Do you have your knife?”
Cookie shook his head.
“Put it on,” Ewan advised.
Cookie frowned. “Why?”
“You may need to cut yourself free right quick,” Ewan said. “Best not to be tied to the ship should she go down.”
Cookie’s face paled noticeably, and with fumbling hands, he reached up to the shelf above the stove. The man took down the leather-sheathed knife Ewan had given him.
“I’ll be back as soon as is allowed, Cookie,” Ewan said, drawing long on his pipe and exhaling slowly. “I have to see to the Captain.”
Without waiting for a response from the cook, Ewan left the galley, scrambling up the stairs and onto the deck. The clouds were a dark gray, the waves growing taller as he made his way to the helm. A few of the hands in the cross-trees, reefing the sails.
Captain Steiner had the helm to himself, the tall, thin man an imposing figure. He had one good eye, the other a milky globe in a field of pale scar tissue. Rumor said the captain had lost it while he was whaling as a young harpooner out of Nantucket. Ewan knew the truth, though. The captain was a killer, having lost the eye in a brutal fight in Prussia at the end of their war with France.
“Ewan,” Captain Steiner said, his voice carrying with it only the slightest hint of an accent. “We’ve a rough sea and worse weather is coming, yes?”
“Aye, sir,” Ewan said.
“Scour the deck, boy,” the man said, grimacing as he strained against the wheel. “Make sure all is battened down as it should be. Once you’re certain, slip away below decks and help Cookie square away the galley.”
“Aye, sir,” Ewan said.
The waves increased in size as Ewan hurried back to the main deck. He quickly checked lines and belaying pins, stayed out of the way of the men who sailed before the mast and the ship’s officers. It was all hands, and each was busy about a task which could mean death for the crew if not done properly. Ewan’s eyes were merely another set, one more pair to make certain no little item was missed.
When he was satisfied that he could inspect nothing more, and positive he would be more hindrance than help on the main deck, Ewan went back to the galley.
Cookie was struggling valiantly to get breakfast ready. And he had forgotten to secure his area. Pots and pans were rattling around. Tin cups and plates jangled against one another, spilling out onto the deck as a cabinet door swung open and struck Cookie in the back.
“Oh Hell!” the man said in exasperation, and Ewan felt his own eyes widen.
“Cookie,” Ewan said playfully, “my tender ears.”
Cookie jerked around, his face flushed with embarrassment.
“I’m sorry, Ewan,” Cookie said, stuttering.
“No worries, you know,” Ewan said, laughing as he bent down. Quickly, he picked up the spilled dishes and put them away, locking the cabinet tightly. He adjusted the pots and pans and then locked their door as well. With long practiced motions, he fixed the coffee pot to the stove, and the frying pan Cookie was using as well. Ewan went over to the water barrel and saw it was nearly full. He put a bucket beside it and latched the handle of it to a beam.
Cookie looked confused.
“For the fire,” Ewan said. “Should we need to douse the coals. Better to drink cold coffee than abandon a burning ship, don’t you agree, Cookie?”
Cookie nodded and grabbed hold of the bar over his head as the ship rolled heavily to port. He looked at Ewan and asked, “When will it end?”
“End?” Ewan said. “Good Lord, Cookie. She hasn’t even started yet.”
Bonus Scene Chapter 2: The Storm
Unfortunately for Cookie, the storm grew worse.
The captain and Hawkins, the first mate, stayed topside through the worst of it, as did Thomason, the second mate. The other crewmen hunkered down below deck to wait out the storm.
Ewan stayed with Cookie, who was violently ill more than once.
After the cook had thrown up for a third time, he smiled weakly at Ewan. As Cookie wiped his mouth with a pocket-square, Ewan asked, “Have you any more left in you?”
Cookie shook his head. “Doesn’t mean a thing, though, Ewan. My body will continue to expel whether there is anything left to expel or not.”
“I’m truly sorry, I am, Cookie,” Ewan said. He relaxed as best he could as the ship continued to roll. His stomach dropped as The Thin Man reached the crest of a wave and plummeted down.
Cookie closed his eyes tightly, gasping.
The ship leveled out with a sharp crack and slowly began her ascent once more.
“Ewan,” Cookie whispered, “I’d have you know my Christian name in case I drown in this Godforsaken ocean.”
Ewan resisted the urge to joke at the man’s expense. “Aye, go ahead.”
Cookie opened his eyes and said, “My name’s Devon Williams. I was chased out of Hartford for, well, things a man shouldn’t do.”
“Well and good,” Ewan said, patting the man on the leg. “You’ve made a clean breast of it, as far as I can see, so you’ve no fear now, have you?”
Cookie shook his head. He winced as the ship shifted again and said, “How did you get here, Ewan?”
“Me?” Ewan asked, surprised.
The man nodded.
“Easily enough,” Ewan said. “My father and I left Galway three years ago and settled in Nashua. There was work at the mills, then my father, he was killed when they broke up a strike. I was sent to a home, for a bit, run by the Protestants. They tried to break me of the faith, so I left. Made it down to Boston, and Captain Steiner took me as the ship’s boy.”
“That’s a sad story, Ewan,” Cookie said.
Ewan shrugged. “Happier than some. The Captain ensures I suffer no abuse. I see the priest whenever we make port, and I am fed and well-clothed. My life is fair, Cookie.”
“Do you not miss your parents?” Cookie asked.
“Sure enough, I do,” Ewan said. “I smoke my father’s pipe, and he always said I had my mother’s eyes. They’re with God, so I cannot be too sad.”
“Don’t you wish you had a home, though?” Cookie said. “A place to call your own?”
Ewan laughed. “You know, some of the women at Saint Catherine’s have asked the same of me. The Thin Man is my home, Cookie. And there, that hammock is a place I call my own.”
The ship pitched forward, someone yelled, and Cookie leaned forward dry heaving.
Ewan shook his head at the man’s suffering and readied a fresh pipe for himself.
Bonus Scene Chapter 3: The Afternoon
The storm was violent but short. By two in the afternoon, the rough weather was gone, and the seas were as calm as they had b
een before. Captain Steiner and the first mate’s deft handling of The Thin Man had brought them through unharmed and the ship wet from stem to stern. But nothing worse.
The same could not be said for the ship they saw on the windward side of Squirrel Island. She was a barque, like The Thin Man, and her masts were gone. The tattered remains of one of her jibs still hung from her lines, but the rest of the sails were in tatters. The ship listed heavily to port, and there wasn’t any sign of a crew about her.
Captain Steiner called for his glass and when Ewan brought it to him, the man took it out of its leather case and searched for the name.
“Hells bells,” the captain muttered, closing the glass and handing it back to Ewan to put away.
“What is it, Captain?” Hawkins asked.
“It’s The Queen’s Fist, out of Bar Harbor,” Steiner replied.
“Hamilton’s ship,” Hawkins said, looking out at the vessel worriedly.
“He’s a right smart sailor,” Steiner said to Hawkins. “I’m sure he’s fine, yes?”
Hawkins nodded and walked away.
“Captain?” Thomason asked.
“They served together,” Steiner explained, “in the Federal Navy during the War of the Rebellion. They are good friends. He is worried for him.”
“None of the jolly boats are at their davits, Captain,” Ewan said, looking hard at the ship.
“Aye, Ewan,” the captain said. “Perhaps they went ’round to the pier. Helm, bring us to the pier, let’s see if we can’t lend a hand to the crew of The Queen’s Fist.”
As the men went about the process of tacking the sails and the helm adjusted course, Ewan stared at the stricken ship. She looked forlorn and sick, a great water beast waiting for death. The sight of it chilled him and reminded him of the closeness of death on the ocean.
The Thin Man curved around the island, the lighthouse standing tall against the fall sky. No smoke came from the chimney on the keeper’s house, and as they came in sight of the pier, they saw a single jolly boat tied up.
“Where are the other two, Captain?” Hawkins asked in a low voice when he returned to stand beside Captain Steiner.
