Atlantic Pyramid

by Michelle E Lowe

  My confusion lingered. I was about to ask what she meant when I suddenly remembered what Paddy had said. The way ya came in is the way ya stay.

  “Kids,” I said. “You can’t have them.”

  “And you can’t give them,” she put in. “In this place, we’re unchangeable, like images in a photograph. It’s impossible to have a family.”

  I approached the counter and stood across from her. “If you want to look at it from another perspective, you could see it as a blessing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I was walking a thin line. “You told me that children don’t survive long here. Wouldn’t it be unfair to bring a child into this scary place just to die in a terrifying way?”

  Her eyes flickered with understanding. “You’re right. This place isn’t for children—or adults. The way it is around here, few women would even survive childbirth, much less be able to safely raise a child.”

  It seemed that she said it out loud to give herself comfort. I said nothing else about it. We went to bed and made love two more times before we talked about the work on the dock. That made her happy again. I guess working to build something came a close second to having children. We never discussed children again after that.

  I stayed the night with her, holding her close, even after she fell asleep. Eventually, I drifted off as well, only to wake in what seemed like a second after shutting my eyes.

  “Was it good?” Gavin asked. “Was screwing her just swell? Did you enjoy nibbling on her tits? Did her pussy taste like candy?”

  I recognized his voice before opening my eyes, yet I sat up to make certain it wasn’t anyone else—like Eleanor’s ex-fiancé. The dim light from the early morning gave enough illumination to see Gavin sitting on a wicker chair next to the bed.

  “I hope you’re enjoying yourself while I’m out there suffering.”

  A creepy feeling came over me just then. Could Gavin watch me throughout the day?

  I shook it off. His poetic rant about my sexual experience with Eleanor gave it away that he couldn’t. I hadn’t performed oral sex on Eleanor.

  I turned to her in case she’d overheard Gavin’s abrasive words. She was lying on her side, her back to us, peaceful in slumber and deaf to his crude words. At least that was a plus. Until I got rid of this nuisance, I didn’t have to worry about someone else acknowledging him.

  “You’re a real prick, ya know that?” Gavin said.

  I wasn’t going to fall for it, no matter what he said. I resisted shouting back at him by thinking how crazy I’d look if Eleanor woke up to find me naked and cursing at her wicker chair. Any kind of relationship I might have with her would be gone. If only Gavin’s ghost had been solid, I’d have knocked his wise ass to the ground days ago. But there was no sense wasting precious energy if my fist would only go through a patch of cold air.

  Then again, if he was solid, he wouldn’t be dead and bitching at me.

  I ignored him and rolled over, gently kissing Eleanor on the shoulder without disturbing her. Soon, the morning light grew stronger and Gavin’s voice weakened. When the overcast in the sky returned, his ruthless insults went away.

  Later, people who wanted to pay their respects to Inglewood gathered around his grave, which was in a cemetery on the mountainside. The rest of the villagers stayed away for many different reasons. Some didn’t know him well enough to say goodbye or had already been to plenty of funerals. Or perhaps they didn’t care. The village was the size of a small subdivision and one man’s death wouldn’t affect their daily function. But it was my first ceremony on the island. Yet, I overheard people remark on how nice it was to actually be able to bury someone properly for once.

  I stood by Eleanor under tall trees growing on a slope, holding a pesticide lamp to keep the bugs from biting. Her face was somber as a priest read a Bible passage. Afterward, people threw flowers on the coffin and went home.

  By the time we reached the village, a steady sound of chopping echoed from the forest. Several trees had already been cut down.

  “We should get to work now,” Eleanor said as we walked over the pier. “I’m going to change first.”

  “Are you going to be all right?” I asked.

  She looked over her shoulder without stopping. “Life goes on.”

  * * *

  Days went by and hundreds of planks were made. They were stacked in piles on the beach. When thick posts were ready, it was time to piece the dock together. It was dangerous work at first, with the sharks taking notice of the workers digging holes in the ocean floor for the first four posts. To protect the diggers, the best snipers in the village kept watch. The method was effective. Whenever a shark was killed, the others tore into it, culling their appetite for fresh meat.

  When the first four posts were in, the frames were nailed in place, creating a box outline for the planks. At the end of the week, over forty feet of dock had been completed.

  Eleanor and I spent most of our time together. It didn’t take long for people to notice our affection for each other. Being around her made me content. It forced me to look at the bright side instead of focusing on the negative. I didn’t have to pay rent or bills. I didn’t have to worry about overcharged accounts or late fees. But those were minor in comparison to what I missed, like my parents, flying, and my friends. Eating normal food, the ocean waves, and blue skies were also on my list, but with Eleanor, it was easier to accept.

  At the end of the day, evening began to bleed its mark over the island. The workers retreated back to the safety of the pier before the stingrays crawled in. It had been a long day and all I wanted was some quiet time with Eleanor. On my way to her place, the song Turn the Page grabbed my attention.

  “You’re sounding awesome, Mrs. Jones,” I said to the widow, just as she finished strumming her husband’s guitar.

  “Thank you,” she responded softly. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

  “Your husband taught you well,” I commented cheerfully.

  Her expression was anything but. “Yes, we spent many months working together after his death. At first, it was gratifying. Now I’m an expert and we have nothing more between us. We can’t make love or hold a conversation because there isn’t much to talk about. He can’t join in and share his stories with the others. I can be the medium, but it’s much better if he tells them. His only real comfort is speaking to the other dead.”

  That took me aback, but then I remembered Gavin mentioning something about speaking to other ghosts.

  “I’ve always been the shy one.” She placed her instrument down. “Sometimes I see him staring at this guitar with such longing. I know he wants to play it so much it hurts. We thought we wanted to be together forever, even if one of us died, but the mistake was considering how long I have to live. He’s not a man. He’s just a shade who can do nothing more than linger about.”

  Her sad brown eyes came up to me. “Don’t ever bring a loved one back if they’re taken from you, no matter how much you want to.”

  Her words shattered my good mood, but I never forgot them.

  * * *

  I exited Eleanor’s house carrying two empty wine glasses and a bottle of Barolo with just enough for the two of us.

  “This is quite funny,” Eleanor said as I poured her a glass. “This is almost how we spent our first night together, only I was the one who brought out the wine.”

  I leaned over and gave her a kiss, then sat beside her on the patio chair. I was tired and my joints and muscles ached from working all day. I poured the last drop of wine into the glass and set the bottle on a small table between us. For a while, we said nothing, just sat in complete silence like an old married couple. After taking my first sip, I leaned my head against the chair and closed my eyes. The wine tasted good but I wasn’t much of a wine drinker. I missed my favorite beer.

  Eleanor said something but my exhausted brain didn’t register what it was.

  “Heath?”

  “Sorry, what did you
say?”

  “I said I appreciate your help today. You worked hard.”

  “We both did.” I looked at the misty sky for a little while before I laid my head back and closed my eyes again.

  It was well into the night when I rolled over and noticed Eleanor wasn’t in bed with me. I raised my head to see a single light on the other side of the house. Eleanor was at a table, mumbling to herself. I got out of bed and joined her. When she heard me, she turned in my direction.

  “Hey,” she said sweetly. “Did I wake you?”

  “I heard you talking. You don’t secretly have a ghost with you, do you?”

  She let out a dry laugh. “No, and I’m not going insane, either. I talk to myself when I’m frustrated.”

  I looked at the dock’s blueprints on the table, drawn on actual blueprint paper. The edges were rough and a bit tattered. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to figure out something.”

  “Maybe I can help.”

  “Can you tow four hundred tons of ships to shore?”

  I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my chin. I needed a shave. “Sorry, this island seems to be built out of Kryptonite. I’m powerless here.”

  She gave me a puzzled look.

  “Superman,” I said just to see if she’d understand.

  “Oh, I know what you’re talking about now. I’ve read those comics before. They’re very entertaining. And you’re being a smartass.”

  “You haven’t figured out how to move the ships in yet? I thought you were working on a plan.”

  She sighed deeply and it sounded as if her soul escaped through her lips. She buried her face in her hands and set her elbows on the table. “No, I should have been, but I’ve been distracted by you.”

  “Don’t blame me,” I said jokingly.

  She raised her head and stared down at the blueprints. “The smaller sailboats should be easy to bring in, but it’ll be near impossible to tow in the heavier yachts that are farther off. So many other vessels are in the way. I’m afraid people are going to be disappointed.”

  Concern masked her sweet face. “Hey,” I said warmly, stroking her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll think of something. Maybe we can hold a meeting and solve this problem together. You don’t have to do it all on your own.”

  Her lips rose a bit. She allowed another dry laugh to escape. “You’re amazing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you’ve adapted to this place fairly quickly. Most of us live in denial. We want to find a way out. You seem at peace with it.”

  I thought about that for a minute. “I honestly don’t know why that is. Maybe I’m just happy.”

  Another concerned expression came over her face. Only this time, her uneasiness was for me.

  “What?” I asked.

  She rose from her seat, rolling the blueprints up as she did. She turned to the work desk behind her and opened the drawer where a six-shooter sat. “It’s good you’re happy, but don’t expect it to carry you through eternity.” She closed the drawer.

  “Don’t you get it?” I said, standing up. “You’re the reason I’m happy.”

  I thought that would delight her, but her face paled. I immediately went on the defensive. “Is that what this is? Just some fuck and run?”

  “Fuck and run?” she repeated, her sweet southern accent just as beautiful saying the crudest of words. “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing, I’m sorry I said it. But now you got me worried.”

  “Good, you should always be worried. The longer you stay on your toes, the longer you’ll survive. That is, if living is what you want.” She leaned toward me and stared me dead in the eyes, her face darkening in the shadows of the candlelight. “In this place, darling, anything can happen, and it’s more than you can imagine. Here, nightmares come true.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  What Eleanor had said kept me awake the rest of the night. I didn’t want to believe bad things could happen to me. No one really did, but it would be naïve to ignore the possibility. Bad things could happen to anyone, at any time, any place, and the Bermuda Triangle was no different.

  I went out to the porch to clear my head after she fell asleep and took in a deep breath. The air had become easier to breathe and my chest was no longer tight. I let the air out slowly. Dawn was approaching and I braced myself for another visit from Gavin.

  A clear sky stretched overhead as the sun peeked over the horizon. The ships and aircrafts came into view. I’d seen them nearly every morning, but this time I took Gavin’s advice and looked beyond them, toward the horizon. Something else was out there, peeking up from the earth. It was too far and hazy for me to distinguish exactly and I wished I had a pair of binoculars. What the hell was it?

  “Whatcha lookin’ at?” Gavin asked, as if on cue.

  I started to turn my head but then kept my attention on the spot. I only caught Gavin’s profile from the corner of my eye, but I noticed he’d become less solid and more transparent. When he spoke, his voice sounded hollow, like an echo in the distance. It was working. Gavin was fading away.

  I paid him no mind as I tried to distinguish what the dot was, but the fog rolled in, obscuring my view.

  “Look, man,” Gavin said, “I want to apologize for what I said to you last week. I wanted you to start talking to me again. What’s wrong? Are you mad? Maybe you’re upset because you survived the crash and I didn’t. We were friends.”

  Friends? Gavin and I had never been friends. I was just his flight instructor. We’d never even gone out for drinks.

  It was strange that he’d refer to himself as my friend. Perhaps he didn’t have many and considered anyone who gave him any attention to be his buddy. Yet he hadn’t come off that way. He’d never asked me to hang out with him after a lesson and never struck me as being lonely. Alive, he’d been a likeable guy, amusing and fun to talk with—unlike his ghost.

  I started to say something, but the words caught in my throat. I retreated back into the house and closed the door, hoping he wouldn’t follow me in. I wanted to get some sleep before I had to help with the dock.

  * * *

  The beach flourished with activity and the air was filled with the sound of hammering. The anglers stood in their usual places, holding their fishing poles, but several others were busy putting together the rest of the dock.

  Khenan and I helped put support posts in. It was hard work. Digging in water was as complicated as reciting the Chinese alphabet. Once we had a deep enough hole, we held the post while a couple of guys beat it down with sledgehammers. Every vibration caused my teeth to rattle and I had to trust those banging the top wouldn’t miss and bash my head in.

  When the posts were set, we screwed the stringers on and with the workers keeping up with nailing in the planks behind us, we completed almost the entire length by late afternoon.

  “This outta be done by the end of the week,” Carlton told Eleanor as they supervised the work.

  “I can’t believe it’s almost complete.”

  Carlton turned his massive head to her. “You don’t sound excited.”

  “It’s not that. It’s just…I still have no idea how to bring the ships in.”

  “So?”

  “So?” she said in surprise. “How are we going to get them to the docks?”

  “I dunno, but we’ve got plenty of time to figure it out yet.”

  Travis suddenly drew my attention when he said, “Get off it. There ain’t no way a doctor can do an operation without cuttin’ the poor bloke open.”

  “It’s true,” said Sam West, a doctor from Jacksonville, Florida. He helped nail on the decking. “All we do now is drill a couple of holes into the heart and zap, zap, we create new vessels for the blood to flow through.”

  “Using a tiny instrument?” Travis said in awe.

  “Yep.”

  “Blimey. I know you’re a heart doctor but d’you think you could do something about me choppers?
”

  “I don’t know. Let me see.”

  Travis clenched his teeth, curling his upper lip back and lowering his bottom one. He looked like a snarling dog. West studied his yellow teeth, some of which were missing, then whistled and shook his head. “I’m afraid there isn’t much hope for that mess.”

  Everyone laughed, but Travis wasn’t pleased. “It isn’t that bad! Bloody hell, I didn’t even start using toothpaste ’til the 1960s. No one in mi day and age had good teeth!”

  Khenan and I laughed—until Travis suddenly raised his rifle and shouted, “Incoming, lads!”

  I spun my head to see a fin heading for the dock. Travis was one of our sharpshooters and kept his rifle handy in case another shark showed up, even though no one was in the water. He steadied his aim and pulled the trigger. Water sprayed where the bullet hit the ocean, but the shark kept coming.

  “Damn!” he swore, ejecting the spent cartridge from the chamber. It fell with a heavy tink on the planks as he aimed and squeezed the trigger again. A pool of red swirled in the gray water and the body rose to the surface. “Hoorah! We’ll be eatin’ shark tonight!”

  A minute later, Neal Gibbons called out, “Haven’t you guys got that thing built yet?”

  “Shit, mon,” Khenan groaned, “it be ’is royal ’ighness.”

  Neal rowed toward us in an orange life raft. This time, he was alone.

  “What are you doing here, Gibbons?” Travis asked coldly.

  “I want to stake my claim.”

  “Tought ya were ’appy weh ya were,” Khenan said.

  Neal stopped near the dead shark. “I decided it would be easier for me if I brought my yacht over so I wouldn’t have to use this piece of crap whenever I need something from the island.”

  “Sorry, lad, but the docks are for those who actually lifted a finger to help,” Travis said.

  “How about this finger?” Neal said, giving him the bird.