“There’s earth here,” Caroline said, showing him a bare patch of ground with dead brown weeds. “And some kind of short wall in front of us.”
“Good. I was hoping for that.” Helter untied the rope from his waist, then tied it to the sled before dismounting. “Come on, I could use your help.”
“With what?” Caroline said still digging.
“Pitching the tent,” he said cheerily, grabbing a large pack off the sled. “Unless you want to freeze to death.”
An hour later, Caroline sat with Helter inside a two-person sub-zero temperature tent on small flat chemical warming heat packs, with wool blankets across their laps. Foam and a tarp protected them from the hard ground and snow beneath them. Helter was warming up some food with a small propane camp stove just outside the tent. The wind was still blowing fiercely, and the snow and ice was piling up just outside the door.
“Here,” he said, handing her a steaming mug. “I hope you aren’t a vegetarian.”
“Thanks,” Caroline said, sipping the hot liquid gratefully. They finished their first cup of stew in silence, then Helter handed her another, and turned off the stove, disconnecting the propane and bringing it inside the tent.
“Isn’t that dangerous?” Caroline asked.
“More dangerous to leave it out of sight,” Helter said darkly. “It might not be there in the morning.” He zipped up the tent flap. “The wind at least has stopped, but the snow is falling pretty thick. There’s six inches of fresh powder and I still can’t see more than five feet out. We should be able to move at first light. I want to get off this island once my work is done.”
“Which is?”
“Like the ghost said, the same as yours,” Helter said. He held out his hand. “Harold Skelt. My working name is Helter Skelter.”
Caroline nodded. “And you’re here to destroy the house?”
“The entire island, if possible,” Helter amended, then took a sip of stew. “I was hired by the current owners to burn the place for the insurance money.”
“You believe it is evil?” Caroline asked, incredulous.
Helter nodded. “You must have heard about the two cars and truck that got uncovered in the spring flood this year on the mainland? There are at least nine people that went missing in the last ten years that are now thought to have come out here and disappeared. That’s on top of the five reported disappearances, the three actual natural deaths that happened back in the seventies and sixties, and the fifteen deaths ‘by misadventure’ that happened in the last two decades, half of them drownings, and the other half murders.”
“So why pack for an overnight camping trip?” Caroline asked sarcastically. “You’re over prepared for arson, Helter.”
“Because I knew it wasn’t going to be easy,” Helter replied, his tone implying that she’d been underprepared in her own plans. “I did my homework, and talked to the guy who ran the boathouse near the shore. That place used to be part of the island, but they gave it up. The usual thing the house does to defend itself is call up a storm or something to drive anyone who arrives inside, or drown those that try to get back to shore. Then the ghosts descend. I knew I couldn’t risk going inside no matter what, but knew that I might get stuck here for a night. So I brought supplies to camp on the shore.” He smiled at her. “And aren’t you lucky I did?”
I was lucky. You saved my life. “And what if the house falls on you or something?” Caroline teased darkly.
“Tell you the truth, I was worried that the snowmobile was going to fall through the ice,” Helter said, biting his lip. “More people drowned in the water here than anything else…even the ones later found on the island or inside the submerged part of the house always had water in their lungs. That’s why I came in winter, to avoid the water.”
“Me, too,” Caroline agreed softly. “I tried to burn it before, this past summer, and never got further than the water before a storm pushed me back to shore. How did you know it wouldn’t burn?”
“Because no one hires a demolitions expert when they could pay far less for an arsonist,” he replied, sipping his stew. “I got the feeling I wasn’t the first person that had been hired, when the owners contacted me. That made me uneasy, so I did some research.”
“But you still took the job,” Caroline said, in disbelief.
Helter shrugged. “Money is money. I’m not afraid of ghosts. They can’t hurt you, just scare you.”
Not here, Helter. Here, they can kill you. Caroline rubbed her eyes. “So what’s the plan? We take turns sleeping and in the morning blow the place up?”
“I’m too wired to sleep,” Helter said. “But get some if you want. At the first sign of the storm clearing, I need to set the charges and blow the place up. Then I’m out of here.”
“What if it doesn’t clear up?” Caroline said. “What if we get buried? We both agree this is no natural snowstorm.”
“Are you always this optimistic?” he said with a laugh.
“For someone in this situation, you’re way too cavalier,” she replied evenly, lying down. “Are you going to tell me a good bedtime story too, so I have sweet dreams?”
“I have no personal stories with good endings,” Helter said with a hard edge to his words.
“So there’s no Mrs. Skelter at home, cleaning the extra dynamite?”
“I loved a girl, Sheila,” he said, after a lengthy pause. “It was a long time ago, and it ended badly. It was my fault. I left her in LA with no explanation. But she caught up with me six months later in the middle of a job in Atlanta.”
“What happened?” Caroline asked.
“The usual,” he said with a grimace. “She told me she was there for me, and she had an Uzi. I offered her a partnership.”
Was any of this for real, or was he bullshitting her? “Why?”
“I liked the gleam in her eyes,” he said wistfully.
Carolyn rolled her eyes.
“She was in the business I was in,” Helter added, defensive. “You have no idea how much easier that makes a relationship for someone like me. There’s so much you don’t have to hide, or gloss over. We made a great couple, and an even better team. So we decided to get married.”
His tone had turned bitter, the familiar chord striking empathy in Caroline. Had his true love gotten killed, too? “So what happened?”
“She and I got caught in a terrorist attack when we were vacationing in Europe,” Helter said defensively. “She and I banded together, and we got home because of it. We had to kill for the first time. It messed us both up.” He paused, sipping his stew. “We’d always taken jobs that didn’t involve anyone else. They were go in and get out fast kinds of contracts. Taking a life changed how we thought about what we did…and what we thought about ourselves for doing it.”
“So this story doesn’t have a happy ending? You sound like a match made in Heaven.”
“She became a government agent, and I became a merc,” Helter continued. “We separated for a while. Then she got in a tight spot and called me, when her new white-collar buddies left her hanging in a Lebanese prison. I got her out, with a little hardship.” He laughed, a short staccato burst, then took out a .44 clip and began to load it with hollow point bullets. “And she decided my outlook on life was better. We were together ever since.”
“This sounds like a happy tale to me,” Caroline said wistfully, thinking of Rob, and all they had never gotten to share. “You had some great times together, you got married—”
Helter shook his head. “Nope, we never married. She was at my side. That was all that mattered.” He pushed in the last few bullets, then snapped the clip into the handgun and chambered a bullet. “She died a few months ago.”
“Disease?” Caroline ventured.
“A job that went south. She contracted one on the side I didn’t know about, hoping to net us enough for a trip to Europe again. It didn’t work out.”
Sheila had died. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s the usual wa
y people like us go out,” Helter said with a shrug. “Don’t worry about it, ‘cause I don’t.” He adjusted his blanket. “How about you? Why are you here, Ms. Pyro?”
“Nothing I want to bring up,” Caroline said curtly. “Besides, there’s no point—”
“Let me guess,” Helter said patronizingly. “Your boyfriend got killed and you’re here because no one could ever matter as much as he did, right?” He chuckled. “How old are you, seventeen? Eighteen?”
“Old enough to stand up for myself,” Caroline retorted.
“And you came here alone?”
“My own house was spooky,” Caroline said conceitedly. “Lots of people were afraid of it, but I never was.”
“You’re young,” Helter stated condescendingly. “You’ll get over him in a few years—”
“I don’t want to get over him,” Caro shot back angrily. “I had something taken from me that mattered. I’m taking something in return.”
“Keep that anger,” Helter said with a nod. “I think we’re going to need it, to finish this job.”
There was the sound of a growl from outside the tent. Caroline woke and grabbed for her gun. Helter brought up his .44, pointing it at the tent flap, looking at Caroline and holding a finger to his lips.
The growl sounded again, but this time longer, wavering to a chilling howl that became a shriek. There was the sound of something dragging on the ice, a soft clink of metal. Both Caroline and Helter stayed silent, waiting.
Another howl sounded, this time further away, wavering, then becoming a roar.
The first sounded like a wolf, Caroline thought, holding one of her crosses in her hands. But that last was more like a lion. What in hell is out there?
Minutes dragged by, but the howl didn’t sound again, and there were no more sounds. Caroline and Helter remained motionless, anxious, worried that at any moment claws would rip through the tent’s side. But nothing came.
Caroline opened her eyes, blinking in the daylight shining through the sides of the tent. God, she was sweaty. Why was she so hot?
She put her hand where her gun had been and felt bare blanket.
Caroline bolted upright, heart pounding, grasping for her gun that was nowhere in sight. Afraid to call out, she rummaged in her pack, grabbing her backup gun, another .38. After making sure it was loaded and a bullet chambered, she clambered out of the tent into bright sunlight.
Helter stood there with his back to her, sipping coffee. As she emerged, he turned.
“Good morning,” he said bitterly. He indicated behind him with a sweep of his hand. “A little too good for January, wouldn’t you say?”
Caroline looked behind, horror etching her face. What had been mounds of ice and snow only last night was now water, gently rippling in undulation all the way to the far shore. Birds were calling on the mainland, their distant cries on the breeze. Regular plops of snow falling off branches of pines could be seen near her car, parked in the open for all to see now that the snow had gone. The sun was shining brightly.
What last night had been icy mounds in frozen lake water was revealed to be a series of ornate low walls on a weedy lawn that stretched to a paved path close to the shore. A long staircase was to their left. Above and to the side were a series of much smaller staircases, stone verandas, patios, and a few other small buildings, all interconnected with paved paths. Trees were above them, clustered to both sides of the main house, which seemed twice the size it had last night.
“It must be easily sixty degrees,” Helter said. “One of those strange mid-winter thaws of global warming. That’s what they’ll say, anyway.” He threw a rock into the water. “Without a boat, we have no way back to shore.”
“There’s a boat here in the boathouse, I think,” Caroline said slowly, trying to remember. “For emergencies, for the caretaker. Now where is my gun?”
“Wishful thinking,” Helter said dismissively. “Maybe there was a few years ago, when this place had a caretaker. But after he died, no one came out here.” He gestured at her feet. “I put it outside the tent, for your safety and mine. I didn’t want to get shot by accident.”
“Poor bastard probably died out here,” Caroline replied absently as she picked up her other gun, her mind racing as she tried to think of ways to get across the mile or more of open water back to shore.
“That doesn’t matter,” Helter said curtly. “I can’t set the charges and try to swim it. We’ll risk getting hit by falling debris, at the very least.”
“I can try to swim it,” Caroline said walking back and forth on the shore. “Where do you think is narrowest?”
“That’s a stupid plan,” Helter said arrogantly. “You know you’ll drown. As soon as you’re too far out to get back, a storm will come up. And even if it lets you get to shore once, it will capsize us when we try to leave if we use a boat—”
“Why didn’t you bring a raft?” Caroline yelled back at him, irritated. “You brought everything else but the kitchen sink and couldn’t bring an inflatable raft?”
Helter took a menacing step toward her, then visibly relaxed. “Arguing is not going to solve this. We need to check out the boathouse, and see if there is a raft or boat there. Then we’ll set the charges and take our chances.”
Caroline took off her heavy jacket, then swiped at her sweaty face. “Go on, lead the way. I’ll go with you.”
“You should stay here with the supplies,” Helter said with a dark look. “I’m a big boy and can take care of myself.” He jogged off, heading across the weedy brown lawn past the house to a long flight of stairs leading out of sight.
Caroline took a step to go after him, then thought better of it, sitting down on the shore. To her knowledge, no one had ever died on Latham’s Landing on the front lawn, only in the lake or inside the house. Last night’s decision not to go inside for cover had probably saved their lives. Helter could be the one to break that taboo first, not her.
Christ Jesus, how had anyone ever walked up all these stairs? Helter was only halfway up and already had counted over seventy. Latham must have had a lot of servants to fetch and carry for him…and another entrance closer to the water for himself and his family to use.
He made it to a sort of landing, with a gnarled tree and a carved red granite bench, the top layer of it bleached white. To the left side stretched up more bleached granite stairs that branched at the top, one set leading to a back entrance to the main house, and the other to another large building almost as big. The stairs to his left led down to a small boathouse. A rusty boat launch stood beyond the double doors, its tracks disappearing into the water.
Helter took the right fork, then walked down the remaining steps to the boathouse. Picking the rusty lock with a set of tools from his pocket, he opened the door to peer in, staying well back, his gun at the ready.
Inside was a steel boat, its hull rusty in spots. But it looked fine from where he stood. The problem was there was no motor, only a set of oars standing in a corner. Everything had cobwebs over it and a thick layer of dust.
It was better than nothing.
Helter closed the door, hung the lock back on the metal loop, and walked back up the stairs. As he reached the landing again with the metal bench, he stopped in surprise.
There was a cleared spot there between the two buildings. It looked like a helicopter pad.
Helter climbed a few more stairs, trying for a better look.
Yes, this was a square flat spot, easily fifty-by-fifty feet. Each side was also clear of trees and buildings, so that the helicopter could come in with the usual northeastern wind to land easily and leave the opposite way.
Helter climbed to the top of the stairs, checking out the square. There was no sign of anyone. But this stone here was clearly new, its color deep rust red, not aged and bleached to white like the main house was.
Had a cartel of some kind begun to use the island as a stopping over point for refueling or storing black market goods? None of the locals ever came out
here anymore, and the bed and breakfast on the shore had closed after being flooded out last spring. It would be a perfect place to refuel or store contraband.
Helter walked around the edges of the stone pad, looking for footprints. There were some odd marks, almost like deer prints, but larger. And the pattern was all wrong for deer. Maybe unicorns live here, too, along with the ghosts…
Helter was so focused on the ground, he bumped into a long tall ladder propped up against the side of the house. He steadied himself, then looked up with shock.
This building was being worked on. Several ladders were resting up against the house, and extensive scaffolding covered this entire side. But who was doing repair work on Latham’s Landing? And why?
The whup-whup-whup of the helicopter blades were almost drowned out by the loud rock music emanating from the stereo. Mac turned down the dial slightly. Too much rock music wasn’t good for your ears. But neither was having to listen to the constant whimpering from the rolled up blanket at the back of the cockpit.
Mac Ready thought of himself as a pretty good guy. To his business partners, he was one of the reliable ones, the ones they turned to when they needed the job done right. He’d been a helicopter pilot in the Gulf War, done two active tours without a scratch to himself or his bird. But the damn bureaucrats had fucked him over anyway, given him a dishonorable discharge, for what he’d done to that girl.
He’d had every right to do what he wanted to her, after catching her with that grenade. She wasn’t innocent. No bitches were. They all had murder in their hearts. Just like that whore whimpering back there.
Stateside once more, Mac had found a little work giving helicopter rides to kids at fairs, but he hated it. He also hated the stupid desk job that his mother encouraged him to take, ‘just for a while, ‘til he sorted out his life’. Mac’s life was already sorted out just fine. He knew what he wanted, too. It just took getting hooked up with the right kind of men to make it happen.
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