Grim Island(Book 1)(Legacy of Terror Series)

by Wayne Tripp

  “I kind of doubt that. She seemed pretty happy to see the last of my ass.” I wouldn’t mind having a nice long look at it, sweetie

  Now that she had him opened up and talking, Kat was reluctant to let things die. He might have a girlfriend, but he obviously found her attractive and there was no ring on his finger. She’d found out he’d been seeing his school teacher on and off for about five months. No commitment. All was fair in love and war, right? MacLeod was as interesting as he was handsome.

  “What about this place, this Grim Island? Kind of a creepy name. Does it mean anything special? Some guy’s name, like the brothers Grimm, maybe?”

  “No, it’s not a person’s name. I'm a bit of a history buff. I've made it my business to learn all I can about this place since I've moved here. Besides, I'm seeing a school teacher. Anyway, Dyer and Paine were the founding families around here. Dour old Yankees. Island is pretty obvious. Here we are, like a huge pustule sticking just off the ass of the Ocean State. In case you haven’t noticed, the only way on or off this rock is that crappy ferry you came across. As for Grim, that may be more of a comment on the area’s history, or the scowl on the founding fathers’ faces. It’s a pretty rugged coast we have, with very stony soil. The first settlers must have thrown up their hands after a day of futile plowing. You sure you want to hear all this? It’s pretty boring stuff.”

  Moving closer, she touched his arm, smiled prettily at his face and told him she was entranced.

  “Okay. The only crop that seems abundant here are rocks. One of the reasons the island has so many stone walls. Then there’s our history. This is a very strange area with a very unpleasant past, Kat.” He cleared his throat, noticed he really did have her full attention, and plunged ahead. “The Indians hated the place. The Narragansett name for the island actually means foul ground. They sent their old and sick here to die, along with anyone else they felt was bad medicine. When the original settlers wanted to buy the island, the local chief couldn’t unload it fast enough.” He stopped, rubbed his hands together for warmth, took a quick look around the park, and continued. “The colonists just continued going down the same rut. You remember I mentioned Rhode Island got all of Massachusetts’ cast offs–men like Clarke, Coddington, Holden, Tripp– even Roger Williams himself. Even the heroine in the Scarlet Letter was based on a real Rhode Island woman, Anne Hutchinson. The story goes that she was punished for visiting her friends back across the Massachusetts border. She kept getting caught and told to never cross the Bay colony’s borders again. Apparently, the bond of friendship was just too strong; she kept going back. Eventually, the magistrates got tired of handing out warnings. She was tried and hanged, just for visiting her friends. Of course, another version just has her moving away, and being murdered by Indians. Anyway, there were parts of Rhode Island, or Rogues Island as some called it, where the worst of the worst were sent. Newport, for instance, became home to brigands, slavers and pirates.”

  “I would think Newport was ideal for working their trade,” said Kat. “Now we’re getting to the juicy stuff.” She took a long look around the park, making sure they were still alone. Was she looking for the perp sneaking in, or hoping to make an unobserved move on MacLeod? Don’t forget the cameras, Kat.

  “Of course, if they’d lived up in Pawtuxet, and helped burn the British tax-collecting schooner, Gaspee, well then, those were patriots. In time, Newport residents discovered their own undesirables. Grim Island got the vomit that evil Newport spewed out, and eventually the rest of the state’s puke flushed down here too. Small wonder most of Rhode Island won’t even acknowledge our existence. Most local maps just forget to show us. I think our state would like to see us flushed out to sea and sunk a good fifty fathoms. Drown every last one of us like we never existed. Then they could dump a ton of asphalt on top of us and pave themselves another parking lot.”

  “You missed your calling, MacLeod. You should have been a history professor.” She flashed a smile at him, noticed him studying her again, and looked away, suddenly blushing. So he was interested. Men were always staring at her; ­ some sneaking a peek, some brazenly gawking at her. Usually if it wasn’t a gross pervert annoying her, she took it in her stride. With MacLeod, she just grew, unsettled. Like she might have lettuce stuck in her teeth, or something. Blushing, she finished with a lame, “You make it a damned sight more interesting than memorizing all those dates.”

  “Thanks. You know what, O’Hara. This blows. Let’s head back to the station. DeCosta’s probably finished buying all today’s trashy memorabilia and scurried home to his burrow for the day. It’s three forty-five. He’s usually gone by two-thirty. I can drop you off at your apartment if you like before I head home.”

  She’d been appreciative, and he’d taken her home. She’d invited him inside for a cup of coffee. They’d done that, each realizing they were teetering on the edge, each wanting more. She’d offered him dessert and another cup of coffee. They’d done that. She’d asked him to stay a while, wanting to talk over the case and other things; enjoying each other’s company, not wanting it to end. They’d done that. She’d changed out of her uniform, putting on something much softer, offering an obvious invitation. To hold hands, kiss, and bounce across her big empty bed. They hadn’t. Instead, MacLeod had made his excuses, hopped into his Ford and sped off into the night, fighting an immediate urge to stop and turn around. Now, hours later, he was so very late.

  Chapter 4

  Miss Rodriguez finished correcting the arithmetic quiz, and glanced up at the round clock humming to itself on the wall. Four forty-five. Jamie was due in another ten minutes. Mierda—shit! She placed Suzy Clarke’s test with the other kids. She was glad she’d fudged a few of Suzy’s answers, correcting two wrong equations to bring up her score. She made sure she showed the correct way to do the equation right alongside, but honestly, if Suzy didn’t pass this quiz, the other pupils would tease her to death. Poor kid had no self-esteem already. Kids could be so cruel to one another. People could. Poor kid. She already had a reputation for being the class dumb bell, and she was such a sweet child.

  Lacey would just clean up, put on her coat and meet Jamie at the school’s entrance. She couldn’t wait to plant a passionate kiss on his handsome mug. He’d be surprised to see her so pleasant and cheerful after last Friday night’s fiasco. Surprisingly, the school dance had gone off pretty well, though he’d managed to crush her feet a little too often. It was afterward–self-consciously she touched the tender bruises on her left breast– when he’d gotten a little carried away. He’d been all apologies, the poor dear, even offering to pay for her silky pink dress. Maybe she shouldn’t have been such a tease, but honestly, she shouldn’t have to ask him for sex. Lately, he just didn’t seem to be into her that much. Maybe it was that murder case he was working on. What little he’d told her about it had been pretty gross and creepy. It made her shudder just to think about it. Poor Jamie. Hadn’t he realized she’d wanted him to take her right there in the car? She was every bit as horny as he, and actually enjoyed it when he played a little rough. Just as long as he didn’t hold her down and tickle her. What was one torn silk dress compared to a night of pleasure? Instead, he’d backed off as though she were a virgin nun, mumbling something about getting carried away. Then he’d disappeared into the night, leaving her completely frustrated and unsatisfied. Thank God for toys with batteries.

  Glancing outside into the wintry night, Lacey realized how quiet the school had grown. The students and other teachers were long gone. She’d lingered in her classroom long enough that even principal Sweetling would have finally given up and gone home. She had to be pretty much alone in this wing with maybe just the elderly janitor, Mr. Cardoza, off boozing or snoozing somewhere. Her busy scampering seemed suddenly too loud to her, and she felt an uneasy need to leave. Taking off her frameless glasses, she pinched the bridge of her nose, willing her l
urking headache to vanish. She picked up the framed picture of Jamie she kept on her desk, and flashed a determined smile. Be patient, my love. Tonight, I’ll be your slave. I’ll do anything you want. Tonight I intend to show you just how much I love you. Searching her bag, she brushed aside her tangled rosary, and removed her makeup kit. Why did she keep her mom’s rosary in there anyway? She’d left all that buried in another time, like her Puerto Rican heritage. She brushed aside her curtain of dark hair, and scrutinized her face in her mirror. Not too tired looking. She brushed on a little mascara and grey shadow, freshened up her lip gloss, and crossed to the closet for her coat. Shrugging into the red wool coat, she left the row of gilded buttons undone, and hastily gathered her personal belongings. Unconsciously she tugged her pale blue cardigan tighter across her chest as her sense of unease returned, creeping forth with icy fingers. As she flicked off the first bank of overhead lights, the dimmed lighting picked up the twinkling pearl buttons of the white blouse she favored. It also pointed an actinic finger at the conspicuous drawing glaring at her from the bulletin board.

  At the same time, she became aware of stealthy footsteps coming down her corridor, and then stopping abruptly, as though trying to hide. With the frenzied nervousness of a hunted mouse, she retrieved the drawing, gathered her belongings and swept from her classroom, totally forgetting to shut off the final bank of lights. Almost panting, she stopped several yards outside her classroom door and stared both ways into the fuzzy gloom. Fumbling in her bag for her glasses, she jammed them back on her narrow nose and frantically scoured the dark. No one. There was no one. She was quite alone.

  Keeping her glasses on–not that they actually made her see much better in the dark; she felt better with them on– she started down the endless bowel of a corridor, the nervous tapping of her glossy yellow heels the only sound. That is, if you discounted the wildly thumping of her heart. And the whispering titters of ghostly giggles.

  Behind her, the empty classroom grew quickly colder as flickering shadows darted through the dimmed light. From pupils’ desks in the darkened corners, blacker forms rose slowly, and flitted by the teacher’s desk. There was an audible click and the final bank of lights flicked out. A chill breeze from a passing shadow rocked the framed picture of James MacLeod. Suddenly all fell silent. The glass covering the framed photo bowed outward and split, the only sound in the tomblike room becoming one of tingling glass.

  * * * *

  Fleeing toward the door, Lacey’s open coat flapped wildly like untended sails in a stormy sea. She felt like a baby; her imagination must be running wild. A moment ago, she’d felt herself touched. Beneath her lacy camisole, the crease between her full breasts was suddenly slick with nervous sweat.

  * * * *

  Lacey scurried down the endless corridor, half expecting heavy footfalls to signal a relentless pursuit. None came. There were sounds; hissing and groaning from an ancient heating system, the bumbling bumps of a brazen rodent, and the underlying sense of phantom whispering and giggles. Once or twice she stopped and listened, certain she’d heard her name called. Not the respectful “Miss Rodriguez”, but her first name, as though someone searched relentlessly through the silence, seeking to do her harm.

  She stopped, listening. There was nothing, just her labored breathing and the too-loud tapping of her heels. What a way to meet her Jamie, sweaty, with her tits all a jiggle. He’d be so turned on; he might take her right there on the school steps. She might like that, except for the security cameras! She needed this job.

  She felt another touch. Subtle, but definitely there. Heart in her throat, she looked quickly behind her. No one. Nothing. Silly woman. There! Someone touched her bum. Her skirt. Someone was lifting it! She could feel the patter of fingers pressing in on her breasts. Snickering and giggles. There was no one there! Lacey Rodriguez swatted at the empty air around her as though trying to get rid of a bothersome wasp, and took off like a spooked mare toward the distant entryway, mindless of her hammering heels or her disheveled appearance.

  She half expected the door to be locked. What a humorous image that would be if she hit the door’s panic bar and ricocheted backwards to fall on her ass a dozen yards away. Funny as hell if she wasn’t so damned frightened. Miraculously, the door opened easily, virtually dumping her into the winter night. She recovered her balance and trotted a dozen feet outside, stooping forward with her hands on her knees, her heaving breasts teasingly visible beneath her half-buttoned blouse as she fought to catch her breath. She straightened as her breath slowed, a sudden wave of dizziness competing with her stomping headache. She peeked out at a frigid winter night filled with swirling snow. No Jamie. Where was he? She hoped he hadn’t forgotten to pick her up! She heard a sound behind her then; the door slamming open, and whirled around, ready to scream.

  As she looked, her large eyes glanced at the pretentious school sign. The one that read: Constance Paine Elementary-Junior High School. She thought of the joke around the school, among the teachers as well as the students. Everyone said that with Gerald Sweetling as principal, they should've changed the school's name to Constant Pain instead.

  Suddenly, there was a big man coming straight at her, calling her name. Defensively, she raised her small fists; then seeing him step into the light, mumbled, “You bastard” into his chest and crumpled into his arms. Unseen, he dropped the expensive irises he’d brought, suddenly concerned for the tears that racked her trembling body.

  “I’m sorry Lace. I didn’t think. I went to your classroom to surprise you. I got lost somehow in the corridor. You must have left your room while I stood there like a dumb idiot trying to decide which corridor was yours. When I found you, you were way ahead of me. Didn’t you hear me calling you? I’m sorry. Hey, the last thing I wanted to do was scare you.”

  She let herself be hugged for another few minutes, finding warm shelter in the comfort of his broad chest, his strong muscular arms. He felt so good. At last, she looked up into his blue eyes, a feeble smile inching across her lips, tears still glistening in her dark eyes. “Take me home, James, okay? Please. Right now. Take me home, and show me you love me!”

  Chapter 5

  Once they cleared the school parking lot it was an eight minute ride to reach Lacey’s old farmhouse at 29 Sweet Bottom Lane. Buckling up, Jamie waited for her to do the same before he started up. She didn’t seem to be in any hurry, instead repeatedly looking back at the school entrance.

  “So why didn’t you wait for me? You must have heard me trying to catch up. I must have called your name a dozen times, Lace. What was with the flailing arms anyway? Did you run into a swarm of flies, or something? Babe?”

  Empty seconds stretched with Lacey looking out her window, saying nothing. What could she tell him? Certainly not the truth. She’d been attacked by what? Kid Ghosts? Right. She wanted to keep this guy, not scare him off. She was trying to perk up his interest, not convince him she was a total flake.

  * * * *

  Jamie started the Escape and turned back to her, waiting. Finally, she turned, and flashed him a weak smile. “Bugs. Yeah, fruit flies. Somebody must have forgotten a banana in a drawer and let it go bad. A whole bunch of those tiny black ones. Yuck!”

  Shaking his head, Jamie threw the Escape into gear and started out of the parking lot. “Don’t forget your seat belt, Lace. I hate to be a prick, but you seem kind of out there tonight. Don’t want you getting hurt if I have to stop short.”

  She didn’t bother strapping herself in, instead shrugging out of her heavy winter coat. Jamie was about to repeat himself, insisting she buckle up, but then she leaned across his shift console, and snuggled into him. One lingering look convinced him to forget all about seat belts.

  Lacey hadn’t bothered to button up her fancy blouse, and as she slid closer, he could see that most of it was still undone. “I'm feeling very naughty. Maybe you'd better arrest me, officer.�
�� Cuddling into his shoulder scrunched her breast up against his muscles. He could feel the soft mound of it through his old leather flight jacket. A quick glance showed him her smile, and a glimpse of her breasts, almost bare beneath her lacy camisole. As she wriggled closer, he glanced south; her tight yellow skirt had bunched up on her pale thighs, the edge of her lacy underthings exposed. Placing his right hand on her thigh, he looked across for her approval before moving higher.

  "Mind your driving, officer, but use that cop training! Hurry! I want you so bad!”

  They were almost there. Smiling, Jamie concentrated on the darkened road with its tricky curves. Ah, there was her silly mailbox with the gaily painted flowers. They’d arrived. A few seconds up the driveway, then inside and he’d show her exactly how he felt. He’d better feed the beast soon; the rising pressure beneath his jeans was quite insistent. Park the damned car, James, and give this lady what she wants.

  The winding journey from the front door to her bedroom must have been lined with strewn clothes, but Jamie didn’t remember any of it. He did remember to shed his tooth necklace; last time, Lacey claimed the sharp tooth had nearly stabbed her. God, she hated the ugly thing. Somehow, he arrived in her ultra-feminine bedroom in just his jeans and well-worn boots. He stared at himself, wondering where his clothes had gone, not really caring. His jeans were unzipped and shoved halfway down his lean hips. There were lipstick smudges tattooing his chest and groin, and a rash of scratches burning across the back of one shoulder. When had she done that? He really didn’t mind because Lacey stood wantonly beckoning him, and she was such a vision of loveliness. Damn, he wanted her! She’d lost one yellow high heel. As he watched, she kicked off its mate, and stood there demurely in her stocking feet, all five feet three of her ready to play. Somehow she mated just the right mix of shyness with brazen seductiveness. God, it made him so horny! Her skirt was missing. She waited in her silky half-slip, with her Victorian blouse all undone, and one breast completely bare. “Jamie, I want to please you so much!” Beginning to shrug out of her blouse, she crossed to her closet and slid open the door. She sure had a fetish for Victorian blouses. There were six more nestled among her suits and dresses. A regiment of three dozen pairs of shoes and boots marched across her closet floor. Jamie saw no jeans, T’s or sweats. No rough and tumble tomboy here. Lacey Rodriguez was very much a girly girl.