by Ash, Lauren
Pain welled up in his chest, real physical pain. He leaned all the way back in the seat, his blue eyes prickled by tears. His mother’s sobbing made it that much worse. “Oh, Mom.”
A long moment of silence passed between them.
“Oh Ron, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For not letting you see her. I’m sorry. I was so mad. When Mom mentioned that she was changing her will ... I just thought ... you and Jenny ... there in the beach house, visiting her. And all my debts.”
“Mom, don’t say that. Don’t think about that. I thought you hated the beach house. And what debts? Plus, I did see her, okay. It’s okay. It’s okay, Mom.”
“It’s the shop.” She sniffled. “It’s in trouble, and the beach house is worth a lot of money now. But you’re right: I do hate that place. And if she left it to you, then it is yours and that’s how she must have wanted it and I should never have stopped you...” She sobbed again and blew her nose. “I didn’t even get to see her. And I’m so sorry you couldn’t have been there, Ron. But at least she wasn’t alone. At least Jenny was there today.”
“She was?”
“Yes.” Rachael choked up and blew her nose again. “She called me earlier—about the house. She’s in danger.”
Everything blurred as Ron fought back tears. Yeah,” he said, confused. Not wanting to be seen like that in public, he gathered his bags and walked towards the men’s room.
“I have a bad feeling,” said Rachael.
“Mom, you’re going through hell; of course you have a bad feeling.”
“No, no. It’s more than that.”
“What do you mean?”
“The note,” she said, and her voice trembled.
“Huh? What note? What are talking about?”
“Him,” she said. “I’m talking about him.”
“Mom, you’re not making any sense.”
“Oh Ron, you need to get home. You need to get to the beach house … now!”
* * *
Jenny rubbed her eyes and strained again. The old man was heavy; it took her an age to manage to roll him off. He snored loudly, oblivious. She felt like kicking him. Scrabbling in the kitchen drawers, she found a roll of duct tape. The rest was easy. She left him, taped there in a heap on kitchen floor, and went to find her daughter. Kip was back in her bedroom, hiding under the bed.
“Kip. Kip, honey. It’s okay. It’s okay, baby. Come to Mamma.” She coaxed the child out. “It’s okay. The bad man has gone.” Climbing on the bed, she rocked with her until the child fell asleep and then tucked her under the covers, back in a soft land of pristine sheets and little boats. Shutting the door, she tiptoed out and made her way up to the hex room. Think. Think. What did he mean? She looked down at the ring. The jewelry?
Why’d I have to get mixed up in this? She gazed around the room. Notebooks were scattered everywhere. Picking them up, she stacked the journals underneath the bed. As she stood again, she realized the black and white photo of the woman standing before the jetty was cracked. Running her finger over it, she exhaled. On the wall nearby was the slightly paler mark where the painting of Barney on the Retty once hung.
You leave me, and you’ll leave in a box, you bitch.
The journals! Oh, my God. It wasn’t Rachael after all!
“Barney, what did you do?” she said aloud.
Just call the police, screamed her commonsense and she realized her cell was still missing. It must still be downstairs on the bench. Her hand over her mouth, clutching the red journal to her chest, she tiptoed back downstairs.
The phone was on the bench, lying next to the odd little key Gerry had given her. She stared over at Barney, sprawled on the kitchen floor. He stirred slightly and a moan issued from his duct-taped mouth.
“Awake huh, psycho?” Jenny leaned over him, shook the journal at him. “This what you were after? Or this?” She showed him the key.
He nodded. Folding the journal lengthwise, she shoved it into his pocket.
“It’s all yours. You killed her, didn’t you? Just like you would have me. You pulled the trigger. Then what would you have done? You’re crazy—under the cloudy sky mad.”
He moaned, as if he wanted to speak.
“No. You have to listen now. What did you do to her? And what did you do to Rachael? Is that why you can’t see? It’s not cataracts, is it? She blinded you with oven spray—jog your memory?”
He lay still.
“I’m right. I know it.”
He turned his head away from her.
“And I’m the one who’s crazy,” Jenny scoffed. Taking his feet, she hauled him, still moaning, into the downstairs bathroom and shut the door after him. “I’m calling the police … I don’t want my daughter to see you.” She looked down at the phone in her hand and dialed a number.
What am I doing?
NINE
“Sir, I’m sorry. Your flight has been cancelled.”
Ron leaned over the melamine ticket counter. “How? I’ve been sitting here for hours now! It was delayed earlier.”
“We don’t have a full crew. Flight delays from other regions affected yours.”
“But it’s the middle of the night.” Ron drew himself up to his full height.
The young flight attendant was immaculately groomed, not a brunette hair out of place, as if she woke up every morning wearing fresh pink lipstick. “We can put you on standby for a six am departure.”
“Standby?”
“The flight is full, sir.”
“You mean I could wait even longer and not even make the next one. Is there nothing open?”
“We can get you to Salt Lake, then to Seattle, arriving at nine pm.”
“I could drive just as easily and get there sooner. I need to get back. I need to get back NOW.” He put a firm fist down.
The flight attendant’s face remained blank, unsympathetic.
* * *
“Kurt.”
“Jenny? How you doin’?”
“I’m okay,” she lied.
“You sound tired.” Kurt swirled coffee around his mug.
“I am. I had a bad night.”
“My gun didn’t help?”
She paused. “No, it was a bad idea to begin with.”
“It generally is.”
“Kurt, I need you to come by the house. There’s something ... someone here that I need you to deal with. Gerry has passed away, and I—”
“Gerry,” Kurt interrupted. “Dad’s secret girlfriend? Does he know?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t exactly ask.”
“What do you mean?”
“Kurt, he’s at the beach house.”
“What? Your house? My dad?” He scratched his head.
Jenny sighed. “Yes. He broke in last night and attacked me. He’s duct taped in my bathroom.”
“Huh? Are you serious?”
“Deadly!”
“How the hell did he get all the way to your house? He can’t even see?”
“Oh, I think he can see a little,” said Jenny, “or enough.”
“What the…?” Kurt put one hand on top of his head, completely dumfounded.
“He’s the one who’s been following me, who left the lantern. That’s why I took your gun. He tried to shoot me last night with it, while I was in the tub.”
“No, he wouldn’t do that. He’s tame. I’m telling you, my old man wouldn’t do that.” Kurt shook his head. You sure it was him?”
“I’m sure. He’s wearing a green sweatshirt, and he looks like you, but older.”
“I believe you. I do. That green sweatshirt—they’re all he wears. He has five of them. I’ll be right there.”
* * *
“I don’t understand why he’d come here.” Kurt shook his head as Jenny opened the door.
“To kill me,” Jenny answered.
“Why? You’re cute. Who’d want to kill you?” He studied her face intently. Despite her composure, he noticed her han
ds shook.
“Really? Your dad tries to kill me and all you can do is flirt with me?” she said. “He tried to shoot me, and he bit me.” She lifted up her elbow, pulled up the sleeve of her white cardigan and showed him the bite mark.
“He tried to shoot you. Jesus Christ,” Kurt said. “Lucky I don’t keep that gun loaded. Let me see your elbow again.” He examined the bite mark. Three teeth were missing. He shook his head. “It’s his all right. You know, sometimes he says odd things, but I never paid much attention. He’d say ‘That bitch’ over and over.”
“Kurt ... I think...” she trailed off, unable to say it. “You have to deal with this,” she said finally, her voice cracking.
“Thank you.” He put a hand on her arm. “For calling me, I mean. How long’s he been in there?” Kurt put an ear up to the bathroom door, listening.
“Um … a while.”
“On three?”
Jenny nodded.
“One. Two. Three!” He opened the door. A bundle of ripped-up duct tape sat on the tiles.
“Well, he ain’t here.” Kurt’s expression was doubtful, apprehensive even.
“He was there. I swear to God, Kurt.” She paused. “Oh, my God. Kip!” Turning, she fled up the stairs. “KIP!”
She rushed to the child’s bedroom with Kurt close behind her. The coverlet was drawn back, but the bed was empty. Kip. Kip. Kip! screamed her thoughts. She checked under the bed, motioning for Kurt to check upstairs. Then she turned and followed him. She poked her head into the master bedroom—empty—and then followed him up to the hex room.
“Dad?”
Barney stood against the window, silhouetted by the moonlight.
“Where is she? Where’s my Kip?” screamed Jenny.
“What?” the old man’s voice wavered.
“My daughter!”
“The little girl? Haven’t seen her.” He put his head in his hands.
“If you’ve hurt her—”
“I’m not a monster,” he snarled.
“Dad,” Kurt rushed toward him.
“No!” The old man put a shaking hand out. “Stop, Son. Stay where you are. Stop.” Something gleamed in his other hand.
The revolver, thought Jenny and looked at Kurt. Are you sure it’s not loaded? her eyes said.
“Don’t move. Put your hands up,” Barney gestured to her. “You too,” he told Kurt.
“What do you want, Barney?” Jenny put her hands up but took a hesitant step forward. “You think that gun will work this time? You want this house? You want us to leave? You got it. I’m leaving.”
“No,” his voice was gravelly and he shook his head furiously. “I never wanted this house. She wanted it.”
“Rachael?” Jenny asked.
“No.” Barney held the gun out in shaking hands.
“Mom?” Kurt whispered, taking in the unusual dimensions of the room. “I’ve been here before, as a child. I remember now.”
“I had it built for her. Damn near sent me broke. Gave her the world. This house. Everything. Didn’t matter. She still left me.”
“Dad,” Kurt said softly, taking a step closer. “Dad, it was years ago. All in the past.”
In the semi-darkness, Barney made a quick movement with his other hand. Jenny ducked and swore, and then heard the soft thwack of the journal hitting the floor.
“No, like yesterday. She left me, Son. Took you. Took the house. Took everything.”
“She didn’t take me, Dad.” Kurt inched closer again. “I’m right here. Look. I always have been.”
“Back!” Barney made a wild swipe with the gun.
Jenny could hear it again, a low keening, a moaning and slapping. The wind? It sounded alive.
“She just took and took and took, Son.” Barney’s voice was breaking now, holding back tears. “So I took back. I took ... I took...”
Jenny heard Kurt’s sharp intake of breath. “No,” he said. “No, Dad. Don’t say it. You didn’t. She left us. She went back to the city.”
“She’s dead. I took her life. Buried her out back. I never meant to, Son. I never meant it. She just ... she just kept saying it: that she’d leave. That she’d leave Rocky Shores for good. Shack up with that damn postman and take you with her.” He paused and blinked suddenly. “And now they’re both dead, the women I’ve loved. Her. Gerry.” He pointed at the journal. “She couldn’t believe she ever loved me—she wrote that.” Barney’s head dropped to his chest. He wept, wiping one tear away with the back of the hand that still clutched the revolver.
Emboldened by his father’s tears, Kurt moved forward again. “Give me the gun, Dad,” he said gently.
“No!” Barney yelled. “I said STOP.”
The noise came again, like a low hiss of breath held too long. Jenny shivered.
“Stop!” Barney put the gun to his own head. “I’m sorry, Son,” he said.
Click.
Salt water can be harsh. Jenny’s thought was cut off by the crash of glass raining down around them as Barney hurled the gun through the window. With a crash, he dove after it, following the gun’s trajectory out through the window, his body plummeting four stories down into the night.
“Kurt!” Jenny ran to him. “God, your dad.” She swung an arm toward the window. “Your dad ... you want me to...”
He held her close, his big hands stroking her hair. “He’s my father,” he said eventually. “I’ll go to him.”
The faint, ruined breathing followed them both down the stairs.
* * *
Red—everything was shifting into shades of bloody red. Jenny could barely see from it. The noise continued. The slapping and moaning, hissing. She was flooded with an awful sense of sinking as she ran down the stairs, searching for her daughter.
“Kip? Kip?” She called. “It’s okay. You can come out now, my darling.”
The toddler did not come.
“Kip.”
Charlie whined a sad hello from the lounge, tucked away in the corner with only a bowl of food and water for company.
“Where is she, Charlie?”
Charlie whimpered.
“My girl, where are you?” she cried.
The family room was empty as well, littered with toys spread across the place.
The closet in the hex room—the one with the phone. Oh, please don’t let him have hurt her, she prayed. She run back up to the highest level of the beach house, but her daughter was not there either.
“Kip?” Then it occurred to her.
“Oh no,” she cried, tripping down the hex steps and into the mess of the master bedroom. “Oh no! Please no. Not that. Please not that.”
The bathroom looked as it had before, pills spread across the floor. Her little girl lay still, deathly still, in the midst of the mess.
Jenny ran to her. “No! No! No!”
Kip was white and cold, her body limp.
“My baby.” Jenny cradled her, lifted her up onto the bed.
She checked the pulse and leaned over to feel for breath—nothing. “Kip!” She screamed. Putting her mouth to the little girl’s, pushing frantically on her chest.
“I can’t do this. Not again!” she screamed, cradling her daughter in her arms and carrying her down the stairs, out of the house, over the dunes, down to the shore.
The wet, shallow breathing followed her.
The dune grass scratched at her bare legs, and her dress caught and tore on a blackberry bush, but Jenny couldn’t stop. The jetty, sticking out into the sea like a familiar crooked finger, still seemed so far off, but a lonely star hung in the night above it.
This way, it whispered.
The salty wind was cold, but she couldn’t feel; her body was numb. Soon she reached it and stubbornly climbed over the jagged rocks, Kip still in her arms. She kept going until she stood at the end, until it was just her, her lost daughter, and the sea.
“You took her from me, too,” she cried in morbid desperation. “First Kim. Now Kip!”
The wind
was fierce now, the waves beckoning to her and splashing here and there. She looked at the end—her end. This was how it was meant to be, she thought. It was your fault Kim drowned. Your fault Kip is dead. Now you.
A shout echoed from behind her, mingling with that terrible sound, that slow flapping and hissing of breath, but she fixed her gaze on the star.
The shout came louder.
“Jenny!”
She turned to see the black figure of a man approaching. Ignoring him, she faced the sea.
He crawled over the rocks, closer and closer.
Jenny knelt in the wind, shielding her daughter, prepared.
“Jenny!” It was a familiar voice. “It’s me—Kurt.” He rushed to her, pulling her back from the edge. “Let me look, Jenny. What is it? Oh God, what did he do?” He pulled her down, made her sit on the cold wooden jetty with Kip laid out in her lap.
“Pills,” Jenny said weakly. “My pills.”
A rivulet of vomit trickled from the corner of Kip’s mouth.
“I ... I left them on the floor.”
“Shit! Shit! Look out.” Kurt pushed her away, put his head on the tiny chest.
“She’s gone,” Jenny said numbly.
“Out of the way!” Kurt commanded. “Go on!” He grasped Kip’s small wrist, feeling for the faint beat of a pulse. “Out of the way.” Putting his big hands on Kip’s tiny chest, he began to pump. “One. Two. Three. Four.”
Jenny stepped back, looking at the waves slapping the jetty pylons. The ocean called her there. She wanted to go; she wanted to feel its power, to let it consume the hate, to end the guilt and the sorrow.
“Don’t you even think of going near that water!” Kurt yelled. “I am not diving in to save your ass this time. I promise you that.” He turned his attention back to the child. “Come on!” he yelled, compressing her chest again.
Ice-cold water splashed her in the face. Jenny looked at the nightmare before her. God, let this work. Let this work. She snapped to. What is that noise? She heard it again. The flapping, moaning. Her head swiveled in the direction of the sound.
A small group had already gathered on the beach, their faces awed by the sight of the enormous black body that studded the sand.
