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

by Wayne Tripp

  * * * *

  When she came to, Lacey was lying on a couch, wearing one of Kat’s cotton nightdresses. The others were gathered around, honest concern on all their faces. Jamie squatted down beside her, his hand holding hers, worry lines digging into his face. The real James. Clean shaven now. She’d miss that beard. She’d liked it. He wore a clean shirt open at the throat, displaying his ugly tooth. The one he said protected him, and he was never without. The one the fake James had been missing. Something she hadn’t realized until now.

  That creature! God, what had she been kissing? She fought to think about it, but her eyelids seemed as heavy as lead. She slipped steadily down toward sleep.

  Rising quietly, Jamie padded toward the door. He missed the smug look of gloating hatred Kat shot at the bedridden woman. Drifting towards sleep, Lacey thought she heard him growl, “It’s time we struck back!”

  Chapter 41

  A few days later, Lacey rose determined to make the best of things, put on a cheerful mask, and find a way to be useful. In minutes it was clear that she was alone in the apartment with Kat. Her plans for a positive attitude hit their first bump. When she asked where everyone else was, Kat briskly told her they had better things to do than lie abed all day, and were out beating the bushes for help. Undaunted, Lacey asked Kat how she was feeling.

  “Remarkably better. Amazing what a little bed rest in the arms of your loving man will do.”

  Lacey bit her tongue, about to blurt out that she wouldn’t know. Instead she asked if there was anything she could do to help out.

  Kat smiled. Although Lacey could have sworn her lips were about to form the word disappear, Kat launched instead into a volatile description of how they all thought Lacey was some sort of spoilt crybaby who needed to grow up, pitch in and make herself useful. Those were Jamie’s exact words, according to Kat. When Lacey angrily asked her just what she could do, Kat told her to stay out of everybody’s way. Go to church and pray or something.

  Lacey was in the midst of implementing Kat’s brilliant idea, although she was beginning to have her doubts about the brilliant part. Here she was in the town’s only Catholic Church, on her knees before a God who was practically a stranger. Her grandmother’s rosary was entwined around her shaking fingers while she whispered barely remembered prayers in that dear woman’s native tongue. Nothing was hers. The rosary, the prayers, even the hat on her head was borrowed. Only her desire for repentance and her tearful sorrow were her own. Those and her desperate plea for guidance out of chaos. Lacey Rodriguez might be praying on her knees in a church, but her soul writhed in hell.

  Getting out of the house had been easy. Unlike the cheesy horror flicks were all the hormone-laden teenagers go off on their own the second they hit the haunted house, her group had been smart enough to cluster together in adjoining rooms. First thing, they’d placed a sentry just inside the door. Eric had the duty just before dawn. Since it was her place, Kat claimed her own bed again. The first night, she’d pouted and whined until James had finally lain beside her. Now he seemed resigned to that nightly fate. Abby and Lacey slept in stuffed chairs in the other room.

  Lacey made sure she was closest to the door. Within minutes, everyone except Lacey was asleep. She’d sneak out and go to church, maybe steal some holy water to help in their fight against the dark. She’d show Kat; and make herself useful.

  Getting by Eric had been easy. Even though he sat sprawled beside the door with an old M16 across his lap, he slept the deep sleep of the innocent. He shouldn’t be going through this. None of them should.

  Squinting away tears, her gaze grew flinty with steely resolve as she left the house. She recalled Kat’s last searing jab. She’d grabbed her upper arm in a brutal grip, forcing Lacey to face her.With a scalding sneer, she’d insisted she stop playing the spoilt little brat. She needed to stop acting like a frightened little girl, and start pulling her own weight. She of all of them had the connection to Principal Sweetling, the obvious monster. She had the best chance of cutting off the serpent’s head. Kat's foul seed took root, sprouting into her brilliant idea.

  Seeing she had her rival upset, Kat slashed out one final time, burrowing deep beneath Lacey’s skin, stabbing her through the heart. “Jamie might have filled your ears with sweet endearments, sweetie, but he is sleeping in my bed. Remember that.”

  * * * *

  She rocked her legs from side to side as she knelt on the threadbare kneeler, her shinbones beginning to scream at her. It had been a very long time since she knelt like this in prayer. She shuddered, feeling sour bile rise in her throat. Not so long ago she’d been on her knees, paying homage of a very different sort to a fiend she despised.

  * * * *

  Lacey had already stolen a small jar full of holy water from the grimy font. When she’d first walked in, the place had been like a forgotten tomb–dark, quiet and almost empty. There’d been no one in the old gothic church but a pair of sisters praying much closer to the altar. Seeing the nuns, Lacey shivered, noticing they both were dressed in old style habits, bent over their prayer beads like ancient withered crones. Unpleasant memories began chattering to break free. Turning a deaf ear, Lacey bowed her head and lost herself in saying her half-forgotten rosary. Instinctively, her fingers moved along her beads, her voice rediscovering the words first learned as she knelt beside her Latina grandmother. As she prayed, a shadow drifted by, the feeble light suddenly dimming in the candle lit church. Caught in mid prayer, Lacey didn’t react until two figures flanked her, the worn crimson cushion on the kneeler crushed beneath their weight as they knelt beside her. Looking to her right, Lace saw a familiar face smirking back at her. A glance to the left revealed one of the two praying sisters. Beneath her shroud-like black veil, stern green eyes flecked with scarlet shards glared at her in naked hate.

  “So, you’ve decided to join us after all. We wondered if you’d take the bait.”

  Lacey wondered if she had time to rise, put up some sort of resistance. She had no doubt where these two would take her; just as she had no doubt who’d laid the trap. She’d been such a fool to prance right in. She had just decided to fight when she felt something sharp poke through the back of her thin dress and bite into flesh. “Move, bitch, and keep your mouth closed. I can make this hurt a whole lot more. That was just a little prick. Time to go see the master.”

  * * * *

  What had she been thinking? One sarcastic dig from Kat, and she just had to prove her wrong. God, she was so stupid. She’d fallen for the most obvious of bait; pride. Now, no doubt, she would be the bait. Or worse; Sweetling’s plaything. She was terrified. She was driving straight toward the one forbidden place on the island that the dumbest kid in her class knew to avoid. The principal’s house. Right next door to the abandoned institute for the Criminally Insane. The nut house. Haunted, by all accounts. Yet here she was speeding through the island’s early morning fog, a helpless hostage just tempting all those haunted inmates to come out and play. All she really wanted to do was find somewhere warm and safe, curl into a fetal ball and cry her heart out. Hadn’t she been through enough? In the last two months she’d been assaulted, almost raped, almost murdered, blinded, lost the man she loved, regained him, learned she was expected to share him, learned there really were monsters, learned he was a monster–how much more could she be expected to endure? As much as it takes, Lacey. You were headed this way anyway, after a few prayers and you swiped the holy water. That lying bitch was right. It’s time you stopped being a frightened little girl. Cut the head off the serpent. Do your share. Time you got a grip on yourself, and acted like the intelligent woman you supposedly are. In your gut you know Jamie won’t back down and run, just as in your gut you know that you can never, never plunge that needle into his face even if he’s going to rip out your throat. You all have reasons for staying on the island. You can’t leave your kids; not knowing if their unsuspecting paren
ts will protect them, or if those same folk, already turned to monsters, will feast on their little bones. Running is not an option. So here you are, a gift package for Sweetling. Just concentrate on getting free. This time you will be strong. You will be a warrior. You will fight back. Take back your honor, get revenge. This will help. Lacey glanced at her purse, dumped next to her on the seat, the small 9mm handgun still hidden inside. Apparently her captor thought of her as pretty helpless prey; she hadn’t even bothered checking through her bag. Jamie had given it to her, and showed her how to use it. Of course, Jamie had promised to protect her too. Well, he wasn’t here. Time to save yourself, girl.

  There’d been an awkward moment when Abby innocently asked if there was any way they could tell the beasts from the normal townsfolk. Jamie said there was nothing obvious, like a sulfurous stench, or drooping tail. In fact he’d said the only thing was the presence of red flecks in their eyes, but to see those you’d have to get a lot closer than you’d ever want. Like an idiot, she’d blurted out that principal Sweetling had them. Four pairs of eyes turned on her, wondering when and why she’d been close enough to Gerald Sweetling to notice that. Eric cleared his throat, rushing to her defense, insisting that principal Sweetling was indeed like that; always in your face. The others all seemed to accept that; except for Jamie. He looked totally unconvinced.

  Shivering, she peered intently through her slick windshield as she groped her way through the fog. The woman next to her threatened with her knife and told her to move it along. The weatherman had promised another unseasonably warm day so Lacey had worn another spring dress that flaunted quite a bit of tempting skin. She was after all, bait.

  As Lacey inched closer to the mansion, the fog grew much thicker through the whispering salt marshes. Approaching the causeway to the old Paine estate, she risked a quick glance at her captor. The woman was looking right at her, leering.

  She slowed further as the fog thickened. Off to her left she could hear the angry surf pounding ashore on Goosefish Beach. Pretty soon the road should start to rise as the rocky cliffs reared up and the cold Atlantic waters deepened. Unfortunately, she’d have to turn on to the causeway to Sweetling’s mansion before that. If only she could flee back to Jamie’s arms with her self-esteem between her legs.

  Sticking its tongue out at her, the miserable mist grew worse, forcing her to creep along just to stay on the worn-out road. She felt the tip of a very sharp knife prick her side again.

  “Step it up, Rodriguez. It’s just fog, for Christ sakes!” The creep jabbed its blade just a little further into Lacey’s side, ripping through her thin dress and biting into her soft flesh. Drawing blood. Smelling the red ooze, it looked at its terrified captive and smiled. “That’s for all the trouble you’ve caused me, you little bitch. Now drive! You don’t want to keep principal Sweetling waiting. He’s got unfinished business with you. Drive faster, bitch!”

  Chapter 42

  Surrounded by his dead friends, Gerald whistled with glee. Things were going splendidly. True, MacLeod had gathered a small group of friends around him, and in the last few days had been out beating the bushes for more. Gerry’s spies told him they were acquiring a small arsenal of weapons too. Pitiful fools. Already, a good portion of the town’s population had been infected and turned. Almost all of the key folk on Grim Island were already Gerry’s, or dead. His people had control of the island’s communications. Cell phone users were finding themselves suddenly without service. Lap tops and all the modern gizmos people took for granted suddenly ceased to work. People were still allowed to come to the island, in fact, some were downright lured. Nobody was being allowed to leave. It was almost hatching time.

  Those unfortunates foolish enough to try leaving the island found Captain Smiley of the island’s ferry, On Time, had been one of Sweetling’s first converts. His family had roots deep in the island’s history, almost as deep as Gerry’s. Any families trying to escape Grim Island never made it to the mainland. Only the young women were brought back alive. They’d need breeders.

  Gerry thought for a moment of the young red-haired mother he had imprisoned in the blue tiled cell near his lair. He liked redheads. In shock over the slaughter of her family, she’d been easy to take. Many of them were. When he had time, he intended on taking her mind off her dead kids.

  His thoughts had to be as plain as his face, for suddenly two of his dead friends moved, and began to drool. “Eager to play, my pets? A little more patience, I pray. Soon. Very soon.” The two grumbling beasts shambled in place, staining the priceless Persian carpet before slumping back into massive dead lumps. They were bigger than most of his other dusty trophies and definitely not something found at any zoo.. The long, needle-sharp teeth and residual gills were a dead giveaway.

  Principal Sweetling pulled out his great-great grandfather’s railroad watch, noticing the time with obvious delight. Julie should have her by now. Poor MacLeod, trying so hard to keep his lady love safe, and she willingly waltzes right into my trap. The poor little fool was trying so hard to show Jamie and his friends she was brave, with something to contribute. Hoping for revenge against me, no doubt. Such a foolish woman. The full moon was upon them. That meant that as soon as Julie brought her in, they’d better get right down to play. He was so looking forward to reducing Lacey to tears again.

  * * * *

  Gertrude Shaw navigated through the darkened Sweetling mansion in drained exhaustion. As she hefted her considerable bulk through the shrouded rooms, waddling and wheezing her way beneath the disapproving glares of ten generations of Paines, it never occurred to her atrophied mind that each step was an agony; each breath came harder than the last. She tried to ignore the constant dripping ooze, and the things that simply fell off. Soon she would rest; soon her decaying body would give into the stinking rot and simply lie down to die. But not before she completed her latest mission for the master; bringing him the grimoire she’d stolen from the library, along with her latest progress report.

  At last she stood sweating before Principal Sweetling, her tired old heart near collapsing beneath her massive weight. Pudgy, sharp-nailed fingers drumming on his chair, Gerald waited impatiently while she wheezed and coughed. He relieved her of the heavy volume and handed her his empty wine goblet so she could relieve herself of phlegm. Finished, she wiped away her drool of blackened spittle with her bloated paw, and gurgled through her recital.

  “MacLeod’s woman left early this morning. Straight to church, like a good Catholic girl. She should have been taken by now. MacLeod is busy elsewhere, trying to win over the unbelievers. His ragtag band is a joke so far.” She tried to laugh, ended up choking and holding on to the nearest dust-shrouded elk head until she caught her breath.

  “Smiley says there were only two cars coming over on the ferry this morning. A pretty young thing and a couple of old queens. Twins, by the look of them. Flamboyant as hell. The young woman is by herself. Went right to the newspaper’s office. DeCosta has Spinelli following her. That’s about it, Mr. Sweetling. Will there be anything else?”

  Gerry forced a most indulgent smile. He could tell Ms. Shaw was worn-out, just about used up. She’d done well, served her purpose. He could be merciful. “No Gertie. That’ll do just fine.” The obese woman smiled, her dimples buried somewhere in her face’s blotchy flab. “Why don’t you go over there, under that light? I’ve left you a little snack. Turn off the light, relax and enjoy.” The threadbare chair he indicated was the only one within staggering distance that would support her weight, but Gertrude only had eyes for her snack, a massive heap of Whitman’s chocolates, and a huge tumbler of cold milk.

  Once she’d shambled across the short distance and collapsed like a ton of bricks into the groaning chair, Gerald’s smile vanished. He waited until she’d flicked off the light and he heard the smacking of her flabby lips engulfing a hand full of chocolates before he turned to his dead
friends and motioned three of them back to life. Flecks of eager saliva burned him as they shuffled across the worn carpet to join the old librarian. Hers was a very brief struggle. In a few minutes, the room’s silence was broken by Sweetling’s contented giggle, and the sounds of sloppy eating.

  Chapter 43

  Coming in through the door, Jamie flung himself into a kitchen chair, disgust written all over his face. Kat looked up from her reading, and brought him a beer from the fridge. Taking a hearty belt, he sat there glumly staring at nothing, until he felt her long fingers begin to knead the back of his neck. As her fingers worked, he felt some of the tension melt from his exhausted body. When she kissed his neck and ear tips, he turned and looked back at her, daring a smile. Always a tigress, she took him with her hungry lips, soothing him with her passion and driving away some of his pain. Their embrace calmed the beast raging within him, and once again, he wondered how he’d ever decide what to do. Shoving his dilemma away, he opened up, filling her in on the latest of their deteriorating situation.

  “It’s not good, Kat. Eric and I spent the morning trying to scare up some support. Between us, we’ve enlisted maybe five more troops to our cause. Pretty much like yesterday. Some of those are people who’ve actually seen something or lost someone–people with reason to believe. Most of them, like Larry, are just buddies or relatives who think we’re out of our minds. Because they’re our friends, they think they’ll humor us until we come to our senses. That gives us a grand total of twenty three people, including all of us. Right now, we’ve more firepower than troops. How’s Abby doing with my computer?”

  “Not good. She says it’s pretty fried. Her laptop too. Weird. You got any cell connection?”