by Ron Ripley
Turk, her uncle’s dog, stood up and looked patiently at Gerald.
“Really?” Uncle Gerry said. “I just poured my coffee.”
“Why do you talk to your dog?” Marie asked. “You know you sound crazy, don’t you?”
“What do you want me to do?” he replied, putting his mug down on the coffee table. “He asked to go out, you want me to ignore him?”
Marie shook her head as her uncle stood up, wincing slightly.
“Come on, Turk,” Uncle Gerry said, motioning to the dog. “Let’s go.”
Turk walked slowly behind her uncle, and soon she heard the back door open. She took her cell out, pulled up Amy’s number, and dialed it.
After two rings, her cousin answered.
“Hey, Marie!” Amy said cheerfully.
“Hey Amy,” Marie said, grinning. “Any word from Shane?”
“Hold on,” Amy replied. “I’m just getting to this morning’s emails. Had a late start to the day.”
Marie listened to the clack of fingers on a keyboard, then Amy said, “Okay, here we go. Hm, looks like there’s nothing going on. He says he’s checked the house, and the shed. No ghosts yet. Shane also said he’ll be checking the lighthouse itself. He’ll shoot me an email as soon as he finishes up with it.
“And,” Amy said happily, “I’ll send you a text as soon as the email comes in. You worried about him?”
“Of course,” Marie replied, surprised.
“You two a couple or something?” Amy asked slyly.
Marie found herself blushing. “No, Amy. Christ, you and my uncle Gerry are absolutely terrible about Shane.”
“Even without his hair, he’s a pretty good-looking guy,” Amy said, snickering.
“Lay off,” Marie said. “Anyway, you’ll shoot me a text?”
“Guaranteed,” Amy replied.
“Great,” Marie said. “Thanks, Amy.”
“No,” Amy said, “thanks for sharing him. I really appreciate what you’re both doing to help me out.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll talk to you soon,” Marie said. She ended the call and put the phone away. From the back of the house, the rear door opened and the click of the dog’s claws on linoleum could be heard.
Uncle Gerry and Turk came into the room, resumed sitting at their previous seats, and her uncle said, “Were you talking to someone, or was I hearing things?”
She grinned. “No, you weren’t hearing things. I gave Amy a quick call. Shane’s fine.”
“Good,” Uncle Gerry said. He leaned back into his chair, saying, “Tell me, what’s new and exciting in this fair city of ours?”
“Nothing,” she said. With a sigh, she began to tell him about the rise in gang violence and drug-related crimes.
Chapter 22: Feeling Isolated
Scott had never felt so alone before. Not even when he had been forced to sleep in the musty old sub-basement of the Upsilon-Upsilon House when he was a pledge.
Courtney was asleep on the kitchen floor. Scott sat on the countertop, and Shane stood in the doorway of the living room. The older man lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and then let out a long, steady stream of smoke.
Didn’t even ask to see if I minded, Scott thought angrily.
Shane looked at him, and Scott turned his head quickly.
“Come on,” Shane said. “Let’s go out front.”
The tone of the man’s voice told Scott it wasn’t a request, but an order. A command from a man who seemed to have been used to commanding.
Angrily, Scott got up and followed Shane outside. Once in the cool, night air, Shane gestured for Scott to sit down. Scott sat on the front step and glared at Shane.
Shane’s face was a perfect mask of calm. His eyes shined in the starlight. The anger in the man’s gaze forced Scott to swallow nervously, his own emotion subsiding. He lowered his eyes, cleared his throat, and asked, “Why’d you want me out here?”
“Because we need to talk,” Shane answered.
“About what? ‘Cort?’” Scott said, spitting out the last word.
“It would be best if you calmed down,” Shane said softly. The deadly seriousness in the man’s voice made Scott swallow uncomfortably. “Do you understand me?”
Scott nodded.
“Good. This is not about Courtney. Whatever is going on between you two, is just that; something going on between the two of you,” Shane paused a moment as if allowing Scott to comprehend what he had said. “This is about the three of us, this island, and the ghosts who are here. I want to move us out of the house and into the lighthouse soon. I don’t trust the house anymore, not with Dorothy living upstairs. I’m not certain as to who’s in the lighthouse, but we’ll move in and find out.”
“Dane was killed in the lighthouse,” Scott said in a low voice.
“Yes,” Shane agreed. “And Eileen was killed in the house. Got five other ghosts in the basement, one on the second floor, and possibly one in the lighthouse. Let’s not forget there are at least three dead from the pier. There are ghosts and bodies all over this damned island. I would feel better about going into the lighthouse. If you want to stay in the keeper’s house, then I’ll give you some supplies, and you can wait it out there.”
“I will. I’m not leaving the house for anything. I don’t want to be in the lighthouse. It’s where my best friend died. What about Courtney?” Scott asked, finally looking up at Shane again.
Shane shrugged. “I think she’s a smart woman. She’ll make up her mind and go where she thinks is best.”
A spark of hope ignited within Scott. He straightened up. “When are you moving into the lighthouse?”
“In a bit,” Shane said. “I’m going to try and get a hold of the owner again, see if the internet connection is back up.”
“I don’t even know why it would be out,” Scott said angrily. “Even without any phone service we should be able to go online.”
“Regardless,” Shane said, finishing his cigarette and rubbing the butt out on the ground. “I’m moving in. First, I’ll divvy up the supplies.”
Without another word, Shane slipped past Scott and returned to the house. Scott sat on the front step, looked out at the haze in the sky, and smiled.
She’ll stay with me in the house, Scott told himself, nodding. I know she will.
Chapter 23: Getting Worried
Shane still couldn’t access the internet. The laptop wouldn’t power up. And neither would his phone. He stood in the kitchen, both of the devices on the counter, and he tapped his fingers lightly. The urge to light up another cigarette was strong, but he resisted.
God forbid I run out of the damned things, he thought.
Courtney snored suddenly and opened her eyes tiredly. She blinked several times, then rolled over and went back to sleep.
Shane smiled at her.
Her presence alone made him happy, which was strange.
And she’s way too young, Shane thought, shaking his head. It felt odd to be attracted to someone her age. He let the thought slide away and focused on the task before him. He needed to get his supplies into the lighthouse. Above him, he heard noises, and he wondered if Dorothy or the naked Mike Puller might wander down the stairs again.
Why will the lighthouse be safer? he asked himself.
Because Dorothy’s not here, and she’s the worst one around.
He looked at the stack of MREs on the counter. Adding them to the food he had brought, between the three of them, they had enough to last four days.
If we stretch it, he added silently.
Bottled water had been found in the basement of the lighthouse. All they needed to do was either wait for Amy, or whoever she sent, to rescue them from the island.
“Shane?” Courtney asked tiredly.
He turned and smiled at her. There were sleep lines on her right cheek, from where she had rested her head against his rolled up sweatshirt.
“Hey,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been throw
n down a flight of stairs,” she answered, yawning. Then, in a darker tone, she asked, “Where’s Scott?”
“Living room,” Shane answered. He took a bottle of water out of his bag and handed it to her. She nodded her thanks, opened it, and took a long drink.
When she had finished, she asked, “What’s going on?”
“I’m getting ready to move my stuff into the lighthouse,” he replied.
“Why?”
He explained his reasons quickly and at the end she nodded. “I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t feel safe here?” Shane asked.
She shook her head. “Not to sound corny or anything, but I feel safer with you.”
He felt his face go red, and she smiled at him.
Scott walked into the kitchen. He looked coldly at Shane, then he turned his big, love-struck eyes to Courtney.
The affection was not returned.
Whatever feelings she had for him before this are gone, Shane realized.
“Shane’s moving into the lighthouse,” Scott said. “You and I are staying here.”
“I think you’re a little confused,” Courtney said. “You’re staying here, and Shane and I are going to the lighthouse.”
“I figure we can set up a–” Scott paused, furrowed his brow and said, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
Courtney repeated herself.
Scott’s face went nearly purple with anger. His eyes, rage-filled, moved rapidly from Courtney to Shane and back to the woman.
“You can’t go with him,” Scott sputtered, nearly choking on his words.
“I can,” Courtney replied, getting to her feet. “And I will. If Shane says it’s not safe here, then it isn’t safe here, Scott. Not only does he know a lot more about this stuff than we do, but he's also the only one who’s been able to do something about it.”
“So that makes him more of a man than me?” Scott snarled.
Shane kept a careful eye on the young man.
“No,” Courtney answered. “It means we should stick with him because he knows what he’s doing.”
“I’m not going in there with some twisted, bald psycho,” Scott spat, “and definitely not with any whore!”
Shane stepped forward. Scott raised a fist, swung clumsily at him, and Shane blocked it easily. A casual movement of his left arm and Scott’s punch bounced haphazardly away.
Shane’s punch was not clumsy, and Scott didn’t block it.
The blow was delivered precisely, and with the barest amount of power to let Scott know he had been hit. The younger man’s head snapped back, his teeth clicking together loudly. Scott stumbled into the living room, but Shane didn’t follow.
He stood in the doorway, his hands held loosely at his side.
“Are you done?” he asked as Scott straightened up. A small trickle of blood leaked out of Scott’s right nostril.
“You hit me,” Scott said with surprise.
“You tried to hit him!” Courtney yelled.
“Shut up!” Scott said, stepping forward and pointing at her.
Shane reached up and took hold of Scott’s index finger.
“Stop it,” he said softly to the young man.
“You and your whore–”
Scott didn’t finish.
Shane bent the finger back sharply, causing the young man to screech and collapse to his knees, arm above his head. Shane was close to breaking the digit, but he held back.
“Scott,” Shane said, relaxing the tension.
Scott looked up, tears of rage and pain mingling freely in his eyes.
“Are you listening to me, Scott?” Shane said.
Grimacing, Scott nodded.
“Good,” Shane said. “Now I want you to understand something, in case you haven’t figured it out on your own. I do not appreciate you calling Courtney names. Is that understood?”
“Yes,” Scott replied through clenched teeth.
“Excellent,” Shane said. “Here’s a little information for you. I served in the Marines for twenty years. I did some exceptionally bad things. And I liked them. I liked them a lot. I can hurt you in ways which will never show, and I can cause you pain you can’t even imagine.”
Shane bent the finger back a hair’s breadth and Scott whimpered.
“Do you believe me, Scott?”
“Yes,” the young man whispered.
“I’m glad.” Shane let go of Scott and the young man instantly cradled his injured finger. “I’m going to leave you enough food and water for several days. If I hear anything about someone coming to take us off of this island, then I will tell you. If you’re in trouble, come on over to the lighthouse, or yell for me. If you get afraid, come on over to the lighthouse. I won’t hold a grudge.”
Scott got to his feet, glared at both Shane and Courtney, then he turned and left the house by way of the front door.
Shane went back into the kitchen, where Courtney was already dividing the food.
“I’m sorry,” Shane said.
“Don’t be,” Courtney said, giving him a grim smile. “He’s a jerk.”
“Fair enough,” Shane said.
In silence, they prepared to go over to the lighthouse.
Chapter 24: In the Waterman
George Fallon sat alone at the bar of the Waterman. He had finished three bottles of Budweiser, and three double shots of whiskey. Behind him, the lights of the wharf glowed brightly against the night sky. A few regulars were in the bar, but there was a new bartender, some young guy that George had never seen before.
George didn’t look at him too much.
He’ll cut me off soon, George thought dully. And then what’ll I do?
He couldn’t drive the image of the kid on the pier out of his head.
George couldn’t forget about how he had abandoned his friends.
Are they even alive? he wondered. What did I do?
The bell over the entrance rang, and George glanced into the mirror behind the bar. Around the bottles of top-shelf liquor, he saw an attractive blonde woman walk in.
George couldn’t be bothered with her, though. He needed another drink.
He looked up to the bartender, but the caution in the kid’s eyes told George he’d be lucky to get a seltzer water.
“You look like a drinking man,” the blonde said as she sat down next to George.
He nodded and straightened up a little. She smelled of sweetness and roses.
“What are you drinking?” she asked him.
“Whiskey with a beer chaser,” George answered.
She smiled and let out a light, beautiful laugh. “I like the sound of that.”
She raised a perfectly toned and tanned arm, gesturing for the bartender. The young guy hurried over.
“Hello,” the bartender said, smiling. “What are you drinking tonight?”
“Give me a pair of whiskeys and two beers. Whatever you have on tap,” she answered, putting a small purse on the bar.
The young guy frowned and said, as politely as he could, “Miss, I was about to shut him off. He’s too drunk to drive anywhere.”
“Don’t worry about that,” she said, almost purring. With a delicate hand, she opened her purse, took out several twenties and handed them over. “I’ll be taking him home tonight. And I don’t need the change.”
The bartender, George saw, was no fool. He nodded, got the drinks, gave George and the woman a pleasant smile, and went down to the other end of the bar.
She raised her whiskey and George did the same.
“To new friends,” she said, and they clinked their glasses together.
He knocked the drink back and was impressed to see she did the same.
“So,” George said, taking a drink of beer, “what’s your name?”
“Let’s have a little mystery, right now,” she said with a wink. “My only question for you is, do you have a boat, and is it big?”
George let out a laugh, finished half of his beer and said proudly, “Sweetheart, ain�
�t nothing small about George Fallon.”
“I was hoping you’d say something along those lines,” she said, grinning. “Drink up, George, then maybe you can take me out on your big boat.”
George finished his beer, and she signaled to the bartender for another round.
Things are looking up, George thought drunkenly.
The bartender set another whiskey in front of him, and George smiled as he picked it up. All thoughts of Vic, Eric, and even the little ghost were gone from his mind as he looked at the woman beside him.
Yes, George thought, knocking it back. Things are looking up.
Chapter 25: In the Lighthouse
Shane didn’t like the lighthouse. Granted, he disliked the keeper’s house more, but the lighthouse was a close second.
Courtney felt the same way.
“You okay?” he asked her.
She nodded, her gaze traveling up the stairs. “Do we need to go up there?”
“Maybe tomorrow night,” Shane answered. He sat down beside her, draped his arms over his raised knees, and looked up to where the young man, Dane, had been killed.
“Why tomorrow?” Courtney asked. “Why not today?”
“I’m hoping someone will come and check on me in the morning,” Shane said. “I haven’t checked in since I arrived.”
“And if they don’t come?” Courtney said.
“Then I break the lantern,” Shane said. He fished out his cigarettes, lit one, and blew the smoke away from her.
“Why not now?” Courtney asked.
“It’s too risky,” Shane said.
She was silent for a short time before she said, “Because if you shatter the light and there’s already a rescue crew on its way, they might not be able to get to us.”
He nodded. “Exactly. If we break it tomorrow during the day though, whoever monitors the light on the mainland will send a boat out immediately. It has to be standard procedure because the lights are always on, they have to be for safety. Which means there has to be a boat on standby at all times. More than likely, a Coast Guard patrol boat. Maybe even a cutter. But there’ll be one ready.”
