Atlantic Pyramid

by Michelle E Lowe

  “Shush!” I hissed. To Laffite, I asked, “What do you mean?”

  Laffite pulled a gold case from his shirt pocket, clicked it open, and slipped a brown leaf cigarette from it. After he lit the cigarette and exhaled slowly, he said, “It’s no secret this place is unusual, but its mysterious elements aren’t much different than the world outside.”

  I chuckled slightly, thinking what a crock that was—until the thought of Bigfoot, space aliens, and the Holy Grail came to mind. Maybe what he said wasn’t that far-fetched.

  “My first mate’s ghostly image vanished simply because I ignored it,” Lafitte continued. “Why, I know not. But the ones who cross the borders and disturb the dead are stuck with that soul forever.” He took another drag on his cigarette. “Just touching a body in the junkyard seems to be a gateway for false spirits.”

  “What do you mean false spirits?”

  “I mean illusions, mon ami. This place is notorious for trickery, so be wary.”

  A shudder ran through me, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on me.

  “But why did it want me to awaken my co-pilot?”

  “In my opinion, I believe the island is trying to tell us something.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I’ve been here a long time,” Laffite confessed. “Not as long as some, but long enough to get a sense of this place—and I sense it changing.”

  “Changing? How?”

  Laffite folded his arms on the rail and said in a whisper, “This place seems worn and tired, like a man who’s lived too long and has nothing more to offer.”

  “Worn and tired? How could this place feel anything?”

  “When I first arrived, the air smelled more like the sea, but now it’s stale. Granted, this place has always been dark and weird, but in the course of a hundred years, it seems to have gotten more displeasing.”

  “What do you think it means?”

  “It’s as if this place is reaching out but doesn’t know how to communicate what it longs for, even though it tries. It tried with me and now it’s trying with you.”

  It was a strange conversation, but given the context of our surroundings, it was almost as if we were just two men discussing cars or women. I studied Gavin, who gawked up at the crow’s nest like a country bumpkin seeing a skyscraper for the first time. The way he acted was actually more like the old Gavin than the one who’d visited me. The real Gavin was a laid-back hick who could eat raw lemons and say, “At least it ain’t a steaming pile of dog shit.”

  I wished I’d hung out with him more. I would’ve gotten to know him better, would’ve gotten more accustomed to his personality. I shouldn’t have ignored the things I knew about him before I’d set his body on fire. And I should’ve listened to Jean Lafitte’s warning.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  I returned to the village the following day, paranoid and hopeless. What Laffite had told me didn’t help much. I mean, really, a depressed island? Maybe what he meant was that the island was about to go through evolutionary changes and we needed to stay on our toes. For all I knew, the island was really a volcano gearing up to erupt. That was a scary thought. If the island did blow, everyone would end up as ash statues, like the people of Pompeii.

  I wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet. I decided to risk physical and mental health to go up into the forest.

  “You’re here!” Travis greeted as I walked past his hut. He sounded relieved to see me, as if I’d just told him he didn’t have cancer.

  “Yeah, I’m here,” I said dejectedly. “Why?”

  He hugged me. “We thought the worst, mate.”

  I pulled away. “What are you talking about?”

  His eyes were a little misty as he took my arm. “Let’s go over to Khenan’s.”

  “Wait,” I said, pulling away. “First, I want to know what happened to that copilot.” When Travis looked confused, I added, “You know, Irving, the one who told you about the dead pilot inside the plane in the junkyard.”

  “Oh, him,” Travis said. “He killed himself years back.”

  “Tell me everything that happened.”

  “We heard the plane crash and waited on the beach for someone to show up, and sure enough, Irving did. At the Welcoming, he asked if we could help him bury his friend, George. We told him the rules about the dead and left it at that. The next day, he said George had come to him and told him to give him a proper burial. That was the first time we’d heard of such a thing, ’cause the dead don’t usually care about their bodies after they’re free of them. We asked if he’d moved the body, but he said he’d only touched him.”

  That’s all I’d done to Gavin. I’d touched his shirt sleeve. But, according to Laffite, a touch was all it took.

  “We figured he’d done the deed and disturbed the bloke. So, me and some other folks went out with him to the junkyard to bring the body back for burial. When we got to the plane, we were surprised by how fresh the corpse looked. I mean, even just a day and half at sea would’ve had some effect on it. But he seemed like a sleeping spirit to me. I asked Irving if George was with him and he said no.”

  “Go on,” I urged. “What happened next?”

  “I told him to wait a day to see if the body started decomposing. Irving thought I’d gone ‘round the bend. A few days later, the body looked the same, but Irving kept swearing George’s ghost demanded that his body be buried. He got real scared, but none of us knew what to do.

  “We had to restrain him from going back. He lost it more and more every day. We finally put him in jail for his own safety, even though Eleanor hated doing it. We knew something wasn’t right and we didn’t want him touching George until we understood what was going on. I remembered what Lafitte had told me and went to his ship to ask more about it. But, as I told you, he claimed he was too drunk to remember saying anything about it. By the time I returned, Irving was dead. He somehow got hold of a knife and slit his wrists. We blocked off his cell after that.”

  Maybe Lafitte was right about the island trying to communicate with us. But what exactly did it want with us and the souls of the dead? While listening to him, I noticed a connection.

  “Do these fake ghosts only occur if a person dies out in the junkyard?” I asked.

  Travis shrugged. “I guess. Lafitte’s first mate died while they were out at sea and ole’ George died when his plane crashed out there.”

  It seemed strange to me that both Laffite and Irving had someone who’d die out at sea and been harassed by phony ghosts the same as me.

  Travis rubbed his forehead a moment, then slapped at a mosquito on his arm. “Is that what happened to you, lad? Did your friend come to you? What did you do out there?”

  “Let’s go to Khenan’s,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll explain everything.”

  As we approached Khenan’s place, we found him sitting on the porch. His surprise at seeing me was evident. “You’re alive!”

  “Yeah,” I said dryly.

  “Where’d’ya go yesterday?”

  “Why is everyone so damn shocked you’re alive?” Gavin asked, standing next to me. “Did they think you were dead or something?”

  When I didn’t answer, Gavin prodded, “Heath?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered shortly.

  “You don’t know where you went?” Travis said.

  “No. I mean yes, I know where I went. Didn’t you guys hear the explosion?”

  “Yeah,” Khenan said coolly. “We seen da smoke and fire, too, but we just figured it was anot’er suicide.” He narrowed his eyes. “We tought it was you, mon.”

  “I didn’t go out to kill myself.”

  “But you were out in the junkyard,” Travis pointed out.

  “Yes, but I went to…take care of something,” I said hesitantly. I glanced at Gavin, flesh bubbles still oozing on his cheeks and lower jaw.

  “Take care of what?” Travis asked firmly.

  It would be better to tell t
hem everything. They’d eventually catch me speaking to Gavin and I didn’t want them to think I’d gone totally insane.

  “Okay, here it goes,” I began. “Since I arrived, I’ve been visited by Gavin, my student co-pilot. Only it wasn’t Gavin. It was an imposter. It promised to tell me a way off the island if I disposed of Gavin’s body, so I did. It wasn’t until afterward that I learned I was being fooled the entire time.”

  “What are we talking about?” Khenan asked. “A fake ghost?”

  I never thought anyone as dark as Khenan could pale so fast. I didn’t blame him. I’d just realized this myself, and if I put too much thought into it, I’d most likely vomit.

  “I’m going to climb the island,” I announced, changing the subject. “Do either of you want to come?”

  It was the first time I’d asked for their company. It wasn’t solely out for the fact that I finally realized going solo would only get me killed in some horrible way, but also these guys had become my friends. We’d come to care deeply for one another and I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d trust my life with.

  Travis looked at me in silence, his expression uncertain. “All right, lad.”

  “You out of yo ’ead, mon?” Khenan blurted. “Is it deat yer seekin’, ’cause most likely dat’s what’cha gonna find up dere.”

  “I don’t care,” I said. “I need to find a way out and I don’t think it’s on the beach or through the junkyard. There has to be something up there, some kind of answer.”

  Khenan turned to Travis. “And wha’s yer reason for going along?”

  Travis shrugged. “I’ve been here for two hundred years. I could use a change, whether it be dying or finding something we’ve been too afraid to go lookin’ for.”

  Khenan shook his head and took a drink of Miller’s home-made whiskey.

  “Come on, mate, what else is there to do ‘round here, eh? Finish building the docks?”

  Khenan turned his gaze to me. “What’cha expect to find up dere, mon? What’cha tink you’ll find dat ot’er idiots ’aven’t been able to?”

  “That’s what I want to find out.”

  Although I could sense his apprehension, Khenan asked, “When ya wanna leave?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “We should get some others to come along too,” Travis suggested. “Some blokes with fighting experience.”

  “Like who?”

  Khenan took another drink. “We’ll go to Sout’ Village.”

  * * *

  I slept on the floor of my hut for only the third night since the keys had been handed to me. I missed Eleanor’s soft bed and I woke to the sound of banging.

  “There’s a lot of hammering going on down there,” Gavin said. “What are they doing?”

  “They’re building a dock,” I said with a yawn.

  “Oh. What’s with those people standing on the beach with fishing poles? I saw ’em yesterday doing the same thing.”

  I rose, expecting him to be at the front window. Instead, he was sitting on the back porch railing, looking at his hand. I walked out and leaned on the rail next to him. “They just do that.”

  “Things are really weird around here.”

  “That they are.”

  I prepared myself for the sight of him. When I looked his way, he was hardly recognizable. Nearly every inch of him had been burnt by the fire. His back cracked every time he moved and water dripped from his body. I wondered what he’d look like if his corpse hadn’t fallen into the abyss with my plane. Would he have come to me as a talking pile of ash?

  It seemed as if the water had become a permanent fixture on him, like his torn clothes and burnt skin. It dripped off but vanished before hitting the floor. Gavin continued to study his only hand, which was nearly fleshless. His expression was melancholy, though it was nearly impossible to tell through his deformity.

  “Gavin, I’m sorry,” I said sullenly. “I should’ve left your body alone and—”

  “Yeah, ya should’a,” Gavin interrupted angrily. “I could’ve done without looking like a piece of overcooked meat. Know what I’m saying?”

  “I do, and I’m not asking for forgiveness, but—”

  “Good,” he snapped. There was silence before he said, “Since I don’t sleep anymore, I’ve had time to think about things these past couple of nights.”

  His voice sounded cold and dark, and I shuddered. Gavin was dead but he was still capable of doing things—horrible things. And I was the only one he could do them to.

  “I thought I ought to hate you for this,” he said intensely. “I thought I ought to get revenge or some shit. Maybe find a way to keep you from sleeping every night till you went nuts, or talk really loud whenever you talked to somebody.”

  “Would you do something like that to me?” I asked, straining to keep from sounding nervous.

  A deep and uneasy silence followed my question. Gavin kept looking at the ash-white finger bones showing through the holes riddling his skin. “I understand why you did it and I think I would’ve done the same.” He raised his head, his neck popping loudly, his movement jagged. “I don’t know what the hell’s going on. After the crash, it was like I fell into an endless dream. Then, the next thing I know, I’m here with you, lookin’ like I’d give Satan the heebie-jeebies. I’ve had an overwhelming need to follow you around like a goddamn dog or something, but you did what you did ’cause you wanted outta here, not to hurt me. I just want you to know I understand.”

  The corners of my lips raised, relieved to hear him say that.

  “I wish I’d survived the crash with you,” Gavin continued. “At least then I wouldn’t look like this! D’ya think I’ll be like this forever?”

  I wanted to tell him no. I wanted to say that one day he’d move on and be free to do whatever he pleased, in any form he wished, but I didn’t know that for sure. For all I knew, he’d be with me forever, like a string balloon tied to a child’s wrist, forced to tag along no matter how much it tried to float away.

  That was the reason I couldn’t bring Eleanor back. I couldn’t do that to her. But I’d done exactly that to Gavin, even if it had been unintentional. It pained me that he’d possibly stare at his deformed hand forever. How long would he continue to be understanding before he finally reached the breaking point? Whatever happened, it would be ten times worse if I spun him a story about a better future that never came.

  “I hope not,” I said delicately, “but maybe we’ll find answers once we reach the top of the island.”

  * * *

  Khenan took care of the food, mostly vegetables and bread, which could last longer on our journey. Travis was responsible for the weapons. Before meeting them, I took a much needed shower at the falls and had breakfast with Marissa and Tammy. They gave me one of those fingerless black leather biker gloves to protect my wounded hand. I dressed my wound with salve and wrapped more gauze around it, then put on the glove. After taking my dirty clothes to my hut to wash later, I grabbed my pack and headed out the door.

  “Where’re you going this time?” Carlton asked, standing on my front deck.

  I nearly jumped out of my skin. Gavin laughed as I said, “Jesus, Carlton, you trying to scare me to death?”

  “Hell’s bells, son, it’d take more than a start to bring down a strong man like you.” He took a couple of steps toward me before he stopped. “I envy you, boy. I wish I’d been thirty years younger when I got stuck here.”

  I was lucky in that respect. To always live in a young body was truly a gift. On the other hand, being trapped in a body close to its expiration date would be hell.

  “Why do you want to know where I’m going?” I asked defensively.

  The old man threw up his hands. “Just curious. And a little worried. I’m sure you miss Eleanor something fierce.”

  Having Eleanor ripped so senselessly away tore at me. The only thing keeping me sane was going on my self-appointed missions. As long as my mind stayed occupied, it kept the clock in my soul t
icking.

  “Son, she would’ve wanted me to make sure you’re all right. I thought I’d check in on you.”

  “I’m fine, thanks. If you must know, I’ve decided to climb to the top of the island.”

  “That’s very risky,” he said sternly.

  “Does everyone go crazy up there?”

  “Most of them.”

  “Why?”

  “If we knew that, we’d all be living in flats on the mountainside.”

  “In flats, huh? You know, you use quite a bit of British lingo.”

  “Do I?” he said, thickening up his Texan drawl. “Guess being ‘round all those English folks has rubbed off on me.”

  I didn’t see that as a credible excuse, considering there weren’t many Brits on the island. “Are you really from Texas?”

  Something flashed in his hazel eyes. I’d touched on something.

  “Don’t get your hopes up, son. It’s mighty dangerous up there. Watch out for them holes. Some of them are pretty deep and you don’t want to fall into one.”

  I didn’t ask him for any more information. I shook his hand and left to meet my friends.

  * * *

  “It’ll take us a while to reach the village,” Travis said.

  “You think they’ll help us?” I asked. “The soldiers.”

  “I don’t see why not. Most of them don’t have much else to do.”

  “Do they have a leader? A commander?”

  “Not really,” Khenan said. “But dere’s a famous sea captain living dere you might’ve ’eard of. Dey call ’im da Cyclops.”

  “The Cyclops?” I repeated. “You mean Lieutenant Commander George Worley?”

  “One and the same, lad,” Travis moaned. “But don’t get too excited till you meet him. He can be a right proper arse most of the time.”

  “Is he going to be an obstacle?”

  “Nah, he’ll just be himself. And trust me, that’ll be enough.”

  Our walk to South Village took nearly an hour, and by the time we reached it, my feet hurt.

  “Jesus,” I said in amazement. “Look at this place.”