by Ruby Raine
“I’m guessing there’s a basement below the quarters.”
William turned the doorknob. It opened instantly.
“Good old small town values,” mumbled Michael. “No one locks anything.” He stepped away and tried to look as though he were simply checking out the view, while William vanished inside.
William darted effortlessly through the living quarters and as expected, there was nothing that appeared supernatural in the least. He located an entrance to the basement, also finding it unlocked. He flipped on an old light switch and a string of bulbs buzzed, flickering to life. Thankfully, William could see perfectly in the dark, so the dim lighting did not bother him.
The only thing in the basement, however, was spare parts for the lighthouse, a generator, a water heater, an old wood stove that was no longer in use and some personal things the keeper had in storage. He searched along the walls, the ceiling and the floor, but saw nothing remotely magical or suspicious.
Outside, Michael’s phone rang. “Hi, Em.”
“Hey, so get this,” she started out, excitedly. “That story William told you was easy to locate. I logged onto the historical society’s website and started foraging through the old newspapers.”
“Sexy and brilliant,” declared Michael.
“So true,” Emily returned playfully. “But, here’s the super cool part. That little boy was a local. And he’s much older now, of course, but he still lives here.”
“Really?”
“That’s not all,” she continued. Michael could practically see her face lighting up as she spoke. “The man’s name is Freddy Collier, and he spends a lot of his time at the Wicked Muddy. He meets his old buddies there to have coffee, play games and stuff. I see him there all the time.”
“Wow! That’s a good solid lead.”
“I know, right. But seeing as you guys are all out in the field, I figured I would stop into the Wicked Muddy on my way to check in on Melinda. I gotta grab a coffee anyway.”
“Emily, that would be so awesome of you!”
She giggled into the phone. “It’s sort of neat,” she admitted. “I finally get to question my first witness.”
Michael laughed.
“Don’t worry, totally professional and all.”
“I have no doubt,” said Michael, as he saw William suddenly swoosh to his side. “Call me once you talk to him, okay?”
“Will do.” She disconnected.
“Anything?” Michael aimed at William.
“No. Nothing at all out of the ordinary. No sign that anyone has even been down in the basement in a long time.”
“Onto the next one I guess.”
William nodded and headed toward the jeep. Michael dialed Charlie as he followed.
“Michael, what’s up?”
“Nothing so far. Checked out Mermaid Point, nothing here, and no sign of Mr. Jordan. How about you guys?”
“We’re just pulling in now.”
“Right, well, we’re heading out to lighthouse number two.”
“Okay. I’ll let ya know if we find anything.”
Before letting Charlie go, Michael explained Emily’s findings. Both Charlie and William were impressed at how fast she had tracked down the information and were eager to learn what she’d discover in her talk with Freddy Collier. Michael promised to call as soon as he heard from her. He hung up, started up the jeep and continued toward the next lighthouse.
CHARLIE INFORMED EVA it was Michael on the phone. He shook his head, speechlessly informing her they had found nothing of value. She nodded that she understood, swerving slightly as they pulled into the parking lot of the lighthouse.
“I think I’ll drive once we leave here,” he suggested.
“What? Can’t handle my mad driving skills?” she challenged.
“Mad skills? Have yet to see those,” he quipped. “And if you grip that steering wheel any tighter I’m going to need pliers to loosen your fingers.”
She let go of the steering wheel as if it were suddenly burning her hands, and balled and stretched her fingers, trying to return some feeling and color. “Bad habit when I get nervous. Guess I probably shouldn’t be driving.”
Charlie took hold of her hands, rubbing them, returning some blood to her skin. She shivered, but had no idea if it was because she had a chill, or because he had touched her. He worried it was the latter and let go. She looked away, making an obvious gesture of checking her cell phone.
“Let’s go see what we can find,” he suggested when she had no new messages.
She wasted no time hopping out and making her way to a large sign, which marked the location.
“The Cliffside Lighthouse,” she read aloud. “Otherwise nicknamed the Suicide Light as visitors often claim to see the ghost of a young woman dressed in veils of black wandering through the lighthouse and the surrounding grounds. The young woman is believed to have thrown herself over the cliff after the untimely death of her beau, in the early to mid-1800’s.”
“Kind of sad.” Charlie sidled up alongside her.
Eva glanced at him, rolling her eyes.
“Well, if it’s true, it is sad,” he defended.
“Have you ever seen the ghost? Is she real?”
“No idea. Never seen her myself. Far as I’m aware, no one in my family ever has. But there’s been plenty of sightings, by others.”
“Others who want to keep the myth alive?” she spoke suggestively.
He shrugged. “On the Isle, you just can’t be sure.”
Eva laughed under her breath. “So where should we start? When I came here earlier this morning the place was empty, and I couldn’t get inside, it was locked up. So I just scoured the outside.”
“Locked? Really? No one locks anything around here. Why don’t we get it open and look inside? If we don’t find anything, we’ll take another look around outside too.”
“Okay,” she agreed.
Suicide Light was a shorter, more rotund lighthouse, which sat just twenty feet away from the edge of a cliff, with a steep drop off directly into the ocean far below.
It was probably the least visited lighthouse on the Isle, and there was no gift shop or guided tours. The lighthouse was still in use, but there was no keeper on site. This one was run electronically, its light kept fisherman and their boats from being pulverized by the sheer rock wall it sat atop of.
Most visitors came in the evening or at night, hoping to catch a glimpse of the infamous ghost girl.
Eva turned the knob to the lighthouse door and found it was still locked. “How are we going to get in?”
Charlie glanced around. There were a couple of tourists hanging around, peering out over the cliff. He gazed down at the doorknob and aimed the palm of his hand at it, speaking something under his breath. They heard a click and Eva smiled, trying the door again.
“You’re very handy.”
He puffed out his chest and took in an I’m-completely-full-of-myself breath. “I’ve been told I’m pretty good with my hands.” His voice held sarcasm, and he made dramatic googly eyes at her, while stepping past and going through the door.
“I can’t decide if that was pathetic, or funny,” she mumbled, following him inside.
“I am a man of mystery. Okay, never mind, no idea where I’m going with this now. Humor, not my thing.” He let the door slam behind them, thrusting them into complete darkness.
“Well, Mr. Good With Your Hands, can you do anything about the lighting situation in here? I can’t even see my own hands moving in front of my face.”
“Can do.” Charlie faced his palms upward. He clenched his hand into a fist and upon opening, a glowing orb jutted upward, hanging near the ceiling. He did this a few more times until they could see their surroundings.
Eva sighed at the sight of the place. Charlie understood why.
If it was this hard for them to get inside, and to see, there was no way her father could have been inside this lighthouse. This could not have been where he disapp
eared.
“Let’s look around, just in case,” Charlie said.
“Yeah, okay. Just in case. Cover all the bases.”
“You a baseball fan?”
“Me? Nah. Just something my dad’s always drilling into my head. Cover all the bases. Check everything. Even the smallest detail could lead to something big!”
“Gee. Sounds familiar. I can’t count how many times my dad told me stuff like that.”
“Just trying to keep us safe,” she guessed.
Charlie chuckled. “Unfortunately, and I hate to admit it, but they are both right.”
Eva made a sound that said, don’t remind me.
Even with Charlie’s magical orbs lighting the room, it was still dim inside. They could make out the circular shape of the lighthouse’s walls and had to be careful not to bump into one of the steel partitions that jutted into the room. The floor was concrete and covered in a thick layer of dust.
“This place was built to withstand the most brutal weather known to this area,” explained Charlie. “Have to keep that in mind if we suddenly ever need a bunker.”
“What about over there?” asked Eva, pointing to a rusty looking spiral staircase leading upwards.
“Let’s check it out.”
Charlie went first, checking each step to make sure it was sturdy before climbing. It may have looked rusty, but the staircase did little more than squeak as they stepped upward. Charlie stopped when he realized there was a door over his head. He hoped it wasn’t too heavy, or rusted shut. Using magic to unlock a door was one thing, but a heavy, jammed door...
He pushed above his head and to his surprise, the door lifted quite easily. The more he opened the door the brighter it became.
Below him, he heard Eva gasp.
“What?”
“Something touched me,” she told him. “I-I felt something touch me.”
He let the door slam down over their heads. He looked, but saw nothing moving. “There’s nothing down there.” He assumed she was playing a trick on him.
He stepped down a rung, sharing her stair and searched the room. He saw nothing but the dim lights of his magical orbs, still floating near the ceiling.
Eva squished in alongside him, her face paler than usual.
“I know what I felt, Charlie. Something touched my back. I didn’t imagine it.”
“Sorry. I don’t see anything.”
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
He shrugged, the corner of his mouth turned up in a controlled grin.
She let out a frustrated groan and motioned for him to continue up the stairs.
A low rumble echoed inside the room, bouncing off the walls.
Eva gasped, grabbing hold of Charlie.
A bright wisp of light swirled toward them darkening as it approached, taking the form of inky black veils that billowed like smoke in front of them.
Charlie’s jaw dropped. Son of a freakin’ bitch.
“You don’t belong here! Filthy Howard! Get out! Get out!” The dark tendrils of smoke-like veils engulfed them, sweeping through their bodies and straight up through the rusty door Charlie had let close overhead.
A coldness crept into their bones, goose bumps springing up on their arms. Charlie grabbed Eva, darting for the exit, bursting out into the sunlight. He slammed the lighthouse door shut, leaning against it as if somehow this would protect them from a ghost that could seep through walls.
Eva suddenly put her hand over her mouth, nervous laughter funneling out.
Charlie bent over, shaking his head.
“That totally just happened, didn’t it?” Eva contained the laughter, a smirk forming.
“I feel like a ten-year-old kid that just ran screaming out of a haunted house,” Charlie admitted dejectedly.
“Well,” started Eva, reaching out and patting him on the back. “I guess we can confirm that the ghost girl is indeed real.”
“Without a doubt.”
“Do you ever get used to this sort of thing?”
“You know, you’d think so, but obviously by my pathetic, school boy reaction, no.”
“Good, then I don’t have to feel like a total lame-ass all alone. And did I hear right? She called you Howard? So, even ghosts know you by name?”
“It comes with the job. Kind of weird though, she clearly didn’t want me around.”
“Do you think that could mean anything?”
“Regarding your father, no. Spirits can get feisty if left to fester in this plane of existence. It’s a shame she doesn’t just move on.”
“She must have a reason to stay,” figured Eva, once again disintegrating into a mass of doubt.
Charlie peered into her brilliantly hazel eyes; even etched with doubt and worry they were beautiful. “Ghost girl is a problem for another day. C’mon, let’s keep moving.”
Eva sighed as they headed toward the parking lot. “We’re no closer to finding my dad, Charlie.”
“No, but I think we can safely cross the Suicide Light off the list of suspects. Even with a ghost in action, that place was locked up tight.”
She nodded in agreement. Where the hell are you, Dad? I really don’t need to chase ghosts across the Isle looking. And Charlie, he was being far too nice. She didn’t have time for that, either.
They walked back to the jeep. Charlie called Michael but got his voicemail. He left a message that their first visit was a bust and they were moving on.
Charlie motioned for Eva to hand the keys over to him and she did so without argument. Once on the road again, a thought hit Charlie, something he had overlooked.
How had the ghost girl spoken to them? To his knowledge, spirits needed a vessel to speak to the living; someone like Emily Morgan, someone that could allow a spirit to take over and control their body, temporarily.
Yes, spirits could appear to the living. And with many years of practice they might even make noise or cause things around them to move. But they were not supposed to be able to speak. He would be sure to discuss it with William later.
MELINDA BEGRUDGINGLY accepted Riley’s assistance in getting off the beach. She wanted to get away from the crowd of gawking onlookers. Once back in town, she spun around and faced him. The words came out easier than she expected.
“Thanks for your help, Riley, but I can manage just fine from here.”
“Maybe so. But I’m not sure you should be on your own right now.”
She frowned. “Well, what you think doesn’t really matter.”
He let out a growly breath. “Look, Melinda. I really don’t know what to say. I’m mostly just sorry.”
“About?”
“You being a Howard and me being a Deane. My brother was so pissed when I told him.”
“You told your brother?” That took the wind out of her.
“Yes. Why? You didn’t tell yours?”
“None of your business.”
“Well, yes I told my brother,” he confirmed. “I had to. He would have found out sooner or later and better from me than someone else.”
Melinda frowned again. She feared he was right on that point.
“He was livid though. I mean, it was the one thing he swore me not to do. Don’t go bothering the Howards. Let them go about their business, don’t get in their way. Let them get used to us being here and let us have a chance to introduce ourselves, let them understand we mean them no ill–will...” he went on as if speaking to no one in particular.
When finished, he looked up at Melinda and shrugged.
“Sorry, rambling.”
She nodded whatever in reply. In truth, she had been listening and clinging to his every word. She heard nothing but sincerity as he spoke, but perhaps that’s just what her heart wanted to hear.
“So how is it you just so happened to be here on this very beach, at this very moment?” she interrogated haughtily.
“Um, well, do you remember how I’m sort of perceptive about things?”
“What about it?”
“Wait wait wait.” Melinda flung her arms around her head wildly. “Are you saying that you’re prophetic, or empathic?”
“I wouldn’t say prophetic, or empathic. I’ve always called myself a feeler.”
“A feeler?” Melinda snorted. “That’s the best you could come up with?”
“Yeah, um, not my forte, coming up with names for things. My brother always makes fun too. But what else could you call it? I mean it’s not like I’m a full on empath, and the things I feel don’t really tell me anything specific, they just lead me to places where for some reason, I need to be.”
“You could have called yourself a detector, a finder, a perceiver, or probably a dozen other names I can’t think of right now, but you went with a feeler.”
“Okay, I got it, feeler sucks.”
Melinda took in a deep breath. “Riley, I’m sorry. Really, thank you for your help today but I cannot be seen with you. Do you have any idea what people would say? What my brothers would say?”
“I know. I get it. I had no idea that my whatever you want to call it was taking me to see you. Although I should have guessed, seeing as I haven’t stopped thinking about you in days and it does sometimes lead me to things I want.”
“Really?” Melinda’s anger slipped away for a moment.
Riley shot her a quick smile that said, yes.
Her legs went jelly-like, and she wasn’t entirely sure it was just because she had run long distance and nearly drowned, or because Riley was so close and looking as heartbroken as she felt from head to toe.
“I... I really wish you weren’t a Howard, Melinda.” His voice was low, his gaze averted at the ground.
Melinda could not reply, her throat swelled up and no words would formulate.
How could he possibly be evil? Perhaps on the surface, he wasn’t. Perhaps he didn’t believe himself to be. Perhaps he was very good at faking, being good.
She took a step back, not having realized she had stepped closer.
