by Ghost Night
Seated in the companion seat, Vanessa was glad enough to laze the time away. Marty took the helm several times, and Jay and Sean spent the hours filming the voyage. Sean did a few minutes on the straits, the proximity of the Bahamas to Florida, and how the voyage would have been different in the eighteen hundreds when the wind played such an important role in travel. They pointed out the area where Mad Miller’s pirate ship had supposedly gone down, and Sean gave his calculations on the currents of the time, estimating that the debris field had to extend farther than it had often been presumed.
Vanessa was roused for a few moments to do a two-minute take on her research regarding Dona Isabella, Mad Miller and Kitty Cutlass, and how they had followed the same path when they had been making the film.
She was surprised when Sean filmed Jay, asking him about his feelings on the distribution of the film. Jay sounded sincere when he said that he believed that Georgia and Travis would have wanted it shown—they had been actors, after all—and that he hoped they could find the truth, see that the murderer was punished and be able to distribute the film feeling that they had justice and closure at last.
Jay’s speech seemed heartfelt.
From her comfortable perch, a warm poncho around her shoulders against the chill of the wind, Vanessa observed Sean’s questions as he interviewed Zoe and Jake, wanting to know everything that had happened on the island the day that Georgia and Travis had been murdered. Jake had been in charge of props, and he explained that it was easy to understand why they had all dismissed Georgia’s fears—any one of them might have played a prank.
When she had come screaming down the sand, he had been in his little tent, getting ready to come on out and share the champagne.
Zoe talked about her love of the period costumes and relayed the story about the afternoon when they’d dressed Vanessa up as a deceased Dona Isabella and gotten a bit carried away, forgetting that she was floating in the ocean in heavy materials. She had last seen Travis that afternoon, when they had filmed the scene in which help had come to the island at last. She, too, had been in her tent, pleased with the film and hoping for great distribution and big notches on their résumés for future work.
Vanessa noted that Bartholomew was silent, watching their destination before them and listening intently to the interviews. He seemed thoughtful.
They arrived at the island at just about three that afternoon.
She rose and went aft, watching as they came upon Haunt Island and trying to remember when she had been there last. Now it all seemed such a blur. The island appeared lovely and tropical, totally benign in the bright sunlit day. She had thought she would feel something. She had thought that she’d be afraid. She wasn’t. It was just an island.
Lew Sanderson was standing at the end of the dock, waiting to greet them. He waved a welcome and caught the ties as the Conch Fritter drew in first. Vanessa hopped to the dock and was enveloped in a huge hug by the big man.
It felt good.
The Claddagh pulled into the dockage behind the Conch Fritter. Vanessa and Lew caught her ties, and soon everyone was standing on the dock. Lew greeted those he knew and met those he didn’t, and the next two hours were spent setting up camp on the island. There was nothing terribly rustic about camping on the island; the tents were large, the camp bunks were not uncomfortable, they had an impressive barbecue area and a battery-operated coffeemaker, not to mention that showers could be had back at the boats—they were well supplied.
By the time all the work was done, they were exhausted, and Vanessa thought that they might have forgotten that terrible things had happened here. They had all seemed to work very well together, hauling boxes and bags to the beach, setting up the tents and then, when all was done, digging a pit and starting a fire on the beach. Sean had brought a good supply of torches as well, and as darkness settled, their area of the beach was still aglow. The sea remained calm and easy and the sound of the waves was lulling. She was amazed to enjoy the glow and the company as they worked together and finally sat down to a meal.
She, Jay, Sean and Barry had taken turns with cameras during the day, documenting their setup. She forgot that Barry was still filming as dinnertime rolled around—Zoe in charge that night, supervising Bill fondly as she barbecued hot dogs and hamburgers and warmed baked beans in a huge pot, and announcing—with a smile for the camera—that she also had spinach so that they could make certain the meal was healthful. They had to keep up their strength, of course.
Then they sat by the fire, eating. It seemed relaxed. But Vanessa was aware that five people had subtly been changing an important position throughout the day. Guard duty. As Sean took a seat beside her, she saw that his uncle Jamie was standing at the perimeter of the group, watching the dock, the sea and the foliage. He was wearing a windbreaker, and she thought there was a bulge beneath his arm. Jamie was carrying a gun.
If there was tension within their group, Lew Sanderson didn’t seem to know it. He entertained them with a Bahamian tale about a talking raccoon, and they all laughed, and then he told them another story, his face dark and mysterious as it was caught in the glow of the fire. “They say we are in the Bermuda Triangle, but long before it had such a name, the people here knew that there was something special about the air. The earth herself is mysterious, and as man has come to learn all about technology and science, he has often forgotten that no matter how far we go, we are dots in the universe, and the universe itself is a mystery. Now, you know, my ancestors who came to these islands came as slaves, and they brought with them a certain magic that belonged to their ancestors. They were open to the world, open to life and death, and aware that all things were not to be seen. Nowadays, we claim that there are underwater forces here. There are the currents, there are the wicked wonders and destruction of the storms and hurricanes that ravage the area. Ah, yes! There are magnetic forces in the earth as well, and they cause confusion, the horizon itself can trick a pilot or a captain. But my people believed that there were gods and devils that dwelled on earth, between the realms of life and death. Forces, for good and for evil. Kiandra, the sea god, once appeared as an ugly thing in need before two sisters. The first spurned him and married a handsome man. The second felt pity, fed him and married him, and went to live with him in his fine kingdom in the sea, bearing many children. The handsome man the sister married proved to be a kishi, an evil devil or demon. She had a child with a human head and a hyena head, and in the end, her husband devoured her. Her spirit remained, evil and bitter, and when Africans came here, many believed that what we call the Bermuda Triangle now was where the first sister’s bitter soul came to dwell and that now, while the sea god Kiandra and his wife seek to save those who travel the sea, the evil sister’s influence can make men crazy, can make the evil dead within the ocean rise and cause all kinds of havoc. There are those who believe that the magnetic forces that cause compasses to spin and ships and planes to go astray are merely the toys of the spirit of the evil sister, and that she teases her prey before she kills, just like a great cat of the sea.”
Zoe laughed softy, but the sound seemed a little nervous. “Lew! You don’t believe that story, do you?”
Lew smiled. “It is a tale, it is a legend. All people have tales and legends, and perhaps they come from a grain of truth.” He shrugged. “I do believe in good and evil, and they dwell within all of us.”
“On that, I’ll have more coffee!” Bill said. He stood, and having been sitting next to Zoe, he asked her, “Zoe, more coffee? You’re shivering.”
“I admit to being a little nervous,” she said.
He smiled at her. “Don’t be. I’ll protect you,” he said.
Watching them, Vanessa smiled. She hadn’t realized—though perhaps she should have—that Bill seemed to have a crush on Zoe. Ah, the slightly older woman. She smiled back at Bill. Maybe Zoe had a crush on the younger man, as well. “Thanks,” Zoe said. “I’ll hold you to that!”
Well, that was good. Zoe would have Bil
l with her, and she wouldn’t be as nervous, and there was always safety in numbers.
“I think I’m just calling it a night,” Katie said, yawning. “I imagine we want to start out on a dive pretty early?” she asked.
“Actually, I was thinking just after twelve tomorrow,” Sean said. “I want to take some footage with the original film crew, each person talking a bit more about what they did. And we’ll take a walk down the beach, see what we see. Maybe discern if another boat might have come in during the night.”
“Well, a boat had to have come in—I think,” Barry said. He was frowning. “I mean, if a boat didn’t come in, it means…Carlos…or…” He fell silent.
The group was silent.
The fire snapped and crackled.
“One of us will be on guard all night, every night,” Sean said.
“One of us?” Jake asked.
“One of us who wasn’t with the original crew,” Sean said.
There was silence again. “Well, good night, all,” Katie said, and she left the group.
Sean rose and talked to Marty for a moment. The others began to rise and murmur good-nights and head for their tents.
Vanessa realized that Marty was going to bed; that Sean was taking the first watch.
He looked at her and she smiled, nodded and turned to head for their tent. She slipped inside and almost started—she still wasn’t accustomed to Bartholomew showing up all the time.
“Sean is on first watch,” he said softly.
She sat at the foot of her canvas bunk, smiling. “And you’re watching over me?”
He winced. “Hey, I can watch over you at least. And I can make a few things happen. I can push buttons…I can trip people. I’m not bad at manifestations, but…”
“What?” Vanessa asked.
“I was listening to that fellow tonight, the Bahamian, Lew Sanderson,” Bartholomew said.
“He was telling a story,” Vanessa said. “An African legend.”
“Yes, of course. But often…well, gods and goddesses, angels and demons…it’s strange how the world can be so different, and yet so much the same. The Norse had Odin, the Romans, Jupiter, and the Greeks had Zeus, and he was nearly one and the same. The Christian, Jewish and Muslim faiths recognize one God, but he lives in Heaven with the angels, and the angels often have characteristics that line up with the lesser gods in other religions.”
She was startled at first that he seemed so philosophical, but then she realized that he was seriously troubled by Lew’s story.
“You’re talking about the fact that people here thought the bitter sister’s soul haunted the ocean, while many people now believe there’s something eerie about the Bermuda Triangle?” Vanessa asked.
He nodded. He stared at her. “Well, I told you—the legend that has come down about Mad Miller and Kitty Cutlass…well, there’s just something wrong with it. Mad Miller got his name because another fellow was making fun of him one day and called him mad because he was…well, he was a bit of a fop. He hated blood. And Kitty…Kitty was in love with Mad Miller because he was the best thing that ever came along in her sad and pathetic life. You were making a film about them and Dona Isabella. I was thinking that…well, obviously, I’m still around, and maybe they are, too.”
“Bartholomew, we’ve all agreed that ghosts couldn’t have committed the murders,” Vanessa said. “I mean, thank God…thank God we do have you, because we know what ghosts can and can’t do. And I always believed that ghosts stayed behind because…they were lost, or they needed help, or justice, or they stayed behind to help others.”
“Maybe,” Bartholomew said.
“What do you mean maybe? You are a ghost!” Vanessa reminded him.
He nodded. “It doesn’t mean I have all the answers. Hey, I was a decent fellow in life. I’m a damned decent fellow in death. But perhaps, if you were a bastard in life, you stay a bastard in death.”
“You keep telling me that Mad Miller was basically a prissy-ass pansy,” Vanessa said with a sigh.
“Yes, I know, though your language is quite colorful,” Bartholomew said.
“Sorry.”
“That’s why I’m perplexed,” Bartholomew said. “Ah, well, you had best get some sleep. I think you’ll need it in the days to come.” He stood. “I’ll be near,” he promised her.
She smiled, thanked him and bid him good-night.
It wasn’t until he was gone and she lay back and watched the fire dancing on the canvas of the tent that she felt alone and uneasy—and suddenly fully aware of the last time she had lain in a tent on the beach at Haunt Island.
She remembered dreaming first that Georgia had come to her. She had almost heard the young woman’s voice in the shadows of the night as tears streamed down her cheeks.
I told you there were monsters.
Then Georgia’s image had faded, and she must have seen the shadows against the canvas of the tent even in her sleep, because they had seemed like giant monsters rising from the sea, made of seaweed, forming arms, reaching into the sky.
She sighed and lay awake, and thought that she would do so until Sean’s watch was over.
But somewhere along the line, she fell asleep, and she didn’t dream. She was vaguely aware of Sean coming into the tent, and she was comfortably aware that she tried to get close to him.
Then she let out a startled little cry—completely unaware that she had fallen.
“Vanessa!” It was Sean’s voice, and a light suddenly flared in their little tent. She was on the ground between the two cots. They’d been pushed together, but in trying to get too close, she had wedged them apart.
Sean was stretched out on his own, flashlight in one hand as he smiled and reached for her hand with the other.
She grimaced ruefully. “I suppose I forgot where we were.”
“Hey!”
“Vanessa!”
“What’s going on?”
There was a chorus of voices just outside the tent. She scrambled up, glad that she had chosen to sleep in an encompassing flannel gown. She pushed open the flap to the tent just as Katie was nervously opening it.
“Vanessa!” Katie said.
David was behind her, Liam was behind him, and it seemed that everyone was gathered outside their little tent.
“You screamed!” Zoe said.
Barry cleared his throat. “Um, it didn’t sound like a scream of…um, er, happiness.”
Sean was behind her then. “Sorry, all.”
“I fell off the cot,” Vanessa said, aware of the flush that was rising to her cheeks like fire.
“What?” Bill said, and then started to laugh.
“Oh, Lord! You scared us silly,” Zoe said, laughing, as well.
“No more even slightly scary stories around the campfire,” Lew Sanderson said, shaking his head. “May I suggest you pull the cot mattresses down and leave them on the sand?”
“Great idea, Lew, thanks,” Sean said. “Forgive us, folks, and get some sleep.”
The good thing was that everyone seemed to be amused. The negative, of course, was seeing just how on edge they had all been.
And probably would remain.
Sean looked down at her, his grin broad. He pulled her into his arms. “Let’s get those mattresses down, huh? We’ll fold up the bunks—I think we’ll wind up with more room.”
She agreed. It was really late; they were both exhausted, and aware of the thinness of the canvas that separated them from the others.
And still…
It was good to be close. Seaweed monsters were just shadows on canvas, and Georgia Dare did not return that night with tears streaming down her face to plague Vanessa’s dreams.
She thought the morning might be bad as well, with the interviews on the beach. But the sun was shining, the day was bright, and it was hard to imagine that anything horrible had happened in such a beautiful place on such a pristine beach.
They were surrounded by people.
That was good.
<
br /> Marty and Jamie O’Hara seemed large, wise and imposing, and as she watched the men, naturally taking positions that seemed to guard the group from opposite angles, she realized that they had been asked along from the very beginning because Sean had felt that he needed a security force of those he knew and trusted. They were able seaman, divers and outdoorsmen, but they took no part in any of the filming. They simply watched, interested.
The only one missing during the morning was Liam. Sean told her he was doing some work on his computer on the boat. He didn’t mention what. But Liam was a police officer, and he had taken leave at a time when the force was short, and she assumed he was keeping in contact with his colleagues, keeping up on events in Key West.
She was interviewed with Jay, who was matter-of-fact. She spoke about seeing the heads when she had come down the beach. Jay walked to the sand and winced as he told about his disbelief at what they had come upon.
They were all quiet and somewhat mournful when they finished the segment. They walked back to the encampment in comparative silence. Once there, however, everyone set about the business of a light lunch, since they’d head out to the reefs and an afternoon dive soon after. Zoe and Katie went about setting out the sandwich meats, cheeses, lettuce, tomatoes and condiments, but everyone helped themselves, and everyone picked up after themselves.
It was decided that Lew, Marty, Ted, Jaden and Zoe would stay behind to keep an eye on the encampment. They would take out Jamie’s boat, the Claddagh, because he had recently purchased new sonar equipment, and Sean and David were eager to see if his calculations might be right, if they might find some of the debris from the pirate ship in shallower water.
There was an hour of busywork, coming and going from the Conch Fritter and the Claddagh as they transferred dive equipment and supplies from one boat to the other, but in the end, once again, it seemed that they all moved smoothly.
As the divers and crew climbed aboard, Vanessa noted that Bill looked forlornly back at Zoe, and that Zoe smiled and waved.
