by C B Cox
I hear a man’s voice.
“She’s waking up, Levi. Fetch mom.”
I recognize Eliah Wiley’s voice. Leathery fingers run down my cheek.
A bloodied axe races toward me…
I bolt up. Eliah gently presses me down with a firm hand.
“Eh, settle down, child. He’s gone. You’re safe. The police are on their way. Dorothy is coming right along,” he says, with a thin smile.
I remember.
“Where is he?”
“Who?”
“Curtis,” I say, flatly.
“He’s dead,” Eliah says.
Through the numbness, I feel relief.
Eliah rises from a kneeling position and reveals the source of the blue neon. Black diamond shaped eyes on a neon-blue background, stare out from the ancient TV set in the corner of the room.
“Where am I?” I gasp.
Behind me, the light dims and Dorothy Wiley appears at my side.
“Eliah Wiley, don’t you ever listen? Haven’t I told you often enough how much I hate those damn tapes? Roswell aliens! 9/11 cover up! Bigfoot! Yeti! For the love of God, Eliah, won’t you ever grow up? Turn the damn TV off. As if the poor girl hasn’t been through enough,” Dorothy scolds.
“Sorry, my love,” Eliah says, pulling his bottom lip tight over missing teeth, giving me an ‘I’m in trouble now’ look as he switches off the TV.
I return a weak smile.
“Let me have a look at those wounds,” Dorothy says, taking Eliah’s place. Disinfectant vapor stings my eyes. She dabs cotton wool swabs over my face, ankles and wrists.
“Is it true?” I ask.
“Is what true, my darling?”
“Curtis Jackson. Is he dead?”
“Yes, my child, he is.” She sounds relieved. “And not I hasten to add, before time.”
My memory is vague. I sigh.
Think. I tell myself.
Two long minutes pass.
Images settle in my mind. I see Levi standing behind Curtis. He’s holding something. I sense the air parting. Hot wet spray landing upon my face.
I see it all. Every detail. Doubt I will ever be able to unsee it.
“What will happen to Levi?”
“The police will come. Levi will tell them what happened. We’ll put our trust in God,” she says, tending my injuries. “This time, with God’s help, they’ll believe him.”
I nod. Smile. Stroke the back of her hand.
“Don’t worry, I’ll tell them the truth. How Levi saved my life. I’ll make them believe.”
“Thank you,” Dorothy says. “Just you tell the truth. The good Lord will do the rest.”
“How did Levi know where to find me?” I say.
She evades the question. Looks away with pursed lips.
“How, Dorothy, how?” I grab her wrist. She removes my hand and places it gently on the comforter. Sighs. Wipes her palms down the front of her pinafore.
“Tell me, please.”
Resignation settles on her face. “Yesterday, Eliah was cross with me after I sent you away. I ought to have been more sympathetic. Losing your dog must have been very traumatic. I know how much you loved, Bella. I was embarrassed. I assumed you’d seen Eliah’s collection of conspiracy theory tapes. They drive me nuts. I ought to have made you a meal. Made sure you were all right. You were grieving. I ought to have shown more empathy. When you’d gone, we had a big bust up. Levi hates arguments, so he stormed off to the barn alone. We sulked for a couple of hours. Eliah cleaned up the store. I baked bread. We often do that after a fight. It’s a kind of ritual. Anyhow, after a while, we made up. Only, I couldn’t forgive myself for the way I’d treated you. So I baked you a cake and asked Levi to deliver it to the island.”
“But I wasn’t at the lodge.”
“No. Levi was gone for hours. We didn’t think to worry. He does that when he’s upset. Sometimes, he stays out all night. He likes to go hunting and fishing when he’s had a bad day. Yesterday, was a terrible day in Levi’s world. He was upset. Unsettled. So we figured he needed some time alone to get things straight in his head.”
She manages a tight smile.
“Did he say how he found me? Is he able to say what happened?”
“Levi’s slow. And shy. He doesn’t like speaking to strangers. To some folk’s way of thinking, he’s odd. They don’t know the real Levi. He’s a gentle soul. He knows the difference between right and wrong,” she says, fixing me with a stern gaze. “I won’t have a bad word said about him.”
“I’m sorry, Dorothy, I didn’t mean to imply…”
She interjects. “I know. I apologize. I’m overprotective. Folks around here have always misunderstood Levi. Curtis Jackson made his life a misery. If the police get the wrong idea about him and he ends up in the State penitentiary, poor boy won’t be able to cope. It will destroy him.”
Her pained expression suggests she’s about to cry.
“Don’t worry, I promise to make sure the police know Levi saved my life. My memory, it’s a little hazy. I can’t remember every detail of what happened. I need to fill in the blanks for my own sanity. Can you understand that? When the police arrive, they’ll stop me speaking to you, and Levi. They’ll start their investigations. Jump to conclusions. They won’t let me speak to anyone until they’ve taken statements. If I say the wrong thing, there could be a trial and unnecessary repercussions.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that. I know how it works. We’ve had our fill of murder investigations over the years. No thanks to Curtis Jackson,” Dorothy says.
I nod. Hesitate. Wait, until she’s put the past to the back of her mind.
After a minute, she sighs, says, “Levi left with the cake for Tern Island. When he arrived at the lodge you weren’t there. Your porch was a mess; looked like a storm had blown through. I told him to hand the cake to you, personally. Told him it was important. He went off to find you and saw you from the cliff top. Said you were in the lobster boat. That you were struggling to get it started. He thought it odd, since it was getting dark and he’d never seen you in a boat, before. When he arrived at the beach, you’d gone. He saw the boat round the headland. Levi is like a dog with a bone when he has a task to complete. It’s his autism. He absolutely will not stop until it’s completed.” She shakes her head, slowly. “He saw you being dragged towards the causeway by a tall man in a black coat. Then, he watched the pair of you disappear into a hole in the ground. It scared the life out of him. He ran back to the woods. He loves those woods. Feels right at home in them. He was confused. Says he sat on his favorite log and tried to figure out what he’d seen. Tried to make sense of it. He knew what he’d seen was bad. It worried him. After a couple of hours, he returned to where he’d last seen you.”
“Levi found the shaft? The tunnels?”
Dorothy nods. “Yes, he did. He climbed down the ladder and followed the candlelit tunnel the entire way to the Jackson place: at least the basement under it. He came up in an adjacent room. He heard everything. Heard Curtis say that he was going to kill you. That it was Levi next. Then he…”
Dorothy stalls, sobs, settles a hand over her bosom and sucks in an anxious breath. The thought of Curtis Jackson making good on his evil promise to kill Levi is almost too much to bear.
I steal the words from her mouth. “He brought an axe down on Curtis’s skull to stop him killing me,” I say.
“Yes, that’s right. That’s exactly what happened. Levi killed Curtis. He confessed to it.” Silent tears roll down pale cheeks. “He had to.”
I take her in my arms. Her bosom presses against mine. Wet tears soak my shirt. I whisper, “Curtis can’t hurt him, anymore. He can’t hurt anyone, ever. Not me. Not Levi. Not you. Not Eliah. I’ll tell the police everything. I won’t let Levi go to prison. If I have to, I’ll commission the best attorney money can buy. I really don’t think it will be necessary. Levi has done nothing wrong. Whatever happens, I promise, I’ll do whatever it takes, to protect him,” I
tell her. She squeezes my knee and mouths a thank you.
Eliah enters the room, looks down, says, “The police are here.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
THREE DAYS LATER
I had no desire to go to hospital, but the paramedics insisted. They diagnosed me with mild concussion. The skin above my right eye needed three stitches. The bruise is a flattering shade of bluish-purple, tinged with green. They kept me in hospital overnight under observation. They told me I was confused and ‘slow to react to stimuli.’
No shit, Sherlock. I’ve had enough stimuli to last a lifetime.
I think it’s a ploy to keep me away from the Wileys, so the police can do their job. I may have overreacted to the blunt and incessant line of questioning of one particular detective. He was the older of the pair. His habit of jumping to conclusions pissed me off.
I told them everything I knew. It must have sounded far-fetched and not a little hysterical. I didn’t care. I don’t care. I know the truth.
The initial interview in the Wiley’s living room wasn’t pleasant. I described Curtis’s tunnels, the weird collection of objects and his gruesome confessions. The older guy seemed disinterested and preoccupied only with Levi’s involvement: How did Levi find me? When did he appear in the basement? Did he help, Curtis? Had they had an argument? Did I know how Levi acquired the axe? Did I fear Levi was going to kill me?
I sucked a long breath. Glowered at him. “Listen, I’m going to say this real slow. It. Wasn’t. Levi. It. Was. Curtis. Have you got that?”
He sneered, shrugged. “Eh, honey, gimme a break. I’m only doing my job. I gotta get the facts straight,” he said. The younger detective seemed confused by the older guys singular line of questioning. Dorothy was beside herself. She knew the detective from before. Whispered to me that it was turning out to be just like last time. I felt her pain.
“You always believe Curtis over Levi. When will you believe us and not the damned Jacksons?” Dorothy screamed.
She sobbed so hard that Eliah had to manhandle her out of the room.
“You must believe me,” I said. “It was all Curtis’s doing. It was never Levi. Why won’t you believe me?”
“Frank, you’ve gone far enough. Leave it,” said the younger guy.
“Huh. I’m gonna take a look around. If you need me, I’ll be outside. Take statements. Do it right,” Frank said, turning and heading for the door.
“Sorry about, Frank, he’s old school. Don’t take it personal. I believe you,” said the young detective, pausing, setting a pencil against a notepad. “Take your time. Go through it slow. Tell me like it happened, Mrs. Madison. Warts and all.”
So I did.
I was allowed to return home to Tern Lodge the following day. I’m sat here now on the porch nursing a steaming mug of coffee against my chest, watching the yellow and black, ‘POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS’ tape, flap in the breeze. It’s everywhere. Halloween has come early. My head hurts. My vision remains a little blurred.
I make more coffee. Sit all afternoon in my rocker, enjoying the feeling of being alive.
What more does a person need?
My best friend and my dog are dead because of me.
Can I ever forgive myself? I’m not sure I’ll be able to.
Charles will be here soon. I feel numb. It’s a lot to take in. I need to process what’s happened over the last few months and decide what I’m going to do.
They found Curtis’s fingerprints throughout Tern Lodge and the outbuildings not just in the kitchen and bathroom, where I’d expected them to be. The evidence suggests he spent a lot of time in the bedroom, writing den and closets. Seems he picked up and touched almost everything I own. The thought of him here, touching my possessions, sickens me. The reality is Curtis Jackson enjoyed unfettered access to the island via the tunnels. Believing I was alone on the island, I never closed the curtains. Is it any wonder that I sensed I was being watched?
They’ve taken his body to the morgue in Portland. He won’t hurt anyone else, again.
Things are moving quickly. Levi was released on bail. An anonymous benefactor posted his $100,000 bond.
I wonder who that might have been?
The younger cop, David, has taken over as lead detective. Frank has been reassigned. His superiors accepted without question the Wiley’s written complaint. They’d submitted a complaint years ago following the incident on the cliff with Levi. Somehow, it has been destroyed. I’m led to believe it was one of many.
The police have confirmed they won’t be charging Levi with anything. They’ve taken into consideration his mental age and learning difficulties. And so they should. I’m delighted. I kept my promise to Dorothy and got Levi the best legal representation money can buy.
They’ve taken statements, dusted for fingerprints and swabbed every surface at Tern Lodge, the Explorer and Wiley’s Store. They’ve also searched the tunnels and bagged the evidence. According to the female officer assigned to act as my liaison, they’ve recovered a substantial amount of evidence.
Montana PD are involved, too. Three cold cases have been reopened because of events here in Maine. The bodies of three women were discovered in shallow graves at various locations around the city. Their abductions and disappearances were almost identical. Witnesses claim to have seen the women with a man fitting Curtis Jackson’s description, just prior to them disappearing. They hope to get DNA matches and link the murders to him. Investigations, as they say, are ongoing.
The Jackson’s place has given up its secrets. The tunnel entrance in the basement dates to the 1860s, when the big house was first constructed. It runs from the house under the causeway. The brick access shaft on Tern Island is located just far enough away from the end of the causeway that it never floods. Archeologists will be all over it like a rash after the police wind up their investigations. The press are having a field day.
In the basement room nearest the tunnel entrance, they discovered three chest freezers. In one, they found the decapitated body of a young female. DNA tests confirm it’s the missing Canadian hiker, Leona Watson. Her skull is the one I found in the tunnel. In another freezer, the police found the bodies of Angela and Carl Jackson. They were mutilated. Indications are the desecration took place post mortem. It explains why nobody can remember attending their funerals. The other freezer was empty. Thank God. There by the grace of God, go I.
The liaison officer confirmed they discovered Martha’s body in a closet in a second-floor bedroom – the one with the orange light. She was sexually assaulted, then strangled. Her body currently resides in the morgue in Portland. Her mom has been informed. She’s traveling up from Atlanta as I speak. She’s old and frail. A family friend is accompanying her. After the autopsy is complete, the decision will have to be made where to take her remains. She would have wanted to be buried in New York – her spiritual home. Her mom will decide, I guess.
Silent tears run down my cheeks. I slurp coffee and glance along the path.
I know what I have to do for Martha. I will write my best novel ever.
There’s movement beyond the picket fence. It shakes me from my reverie. Charles Madison passes through the gate. He strides along the path with purpose. I must admit he looks good. Hugo Boss has usurped Ralph Lauren. His summer sailing tan is all but gone. His handsome face glows in the late afternoon sun. As usual, his timing is impeccable. He’s waited until low tide. Chances are, he’s flown and taken a cab. He doesn’t have the disheveled look of a man who’s driven for hours.
“I heard. I came as quickly as I could. You look terrible,” he says, bounding up porch steps.
“It’s good to see you, too,” I say, with a liberal dose of sarcasm.
“Christ’s sake, just look at you. If that bastard Jackson wasn’t already dead, I’d go over there right now and kill the bastard with my bare hands,” he says, looking down at me, concern etched in his eyes.
“You don’t have to. You’ve got Levi Wiley to thank for that. If he hadn’
t found me when he did, I’d be pushing up daisies. He killed Bella, Charles.”
The enormity of my ordeal wells up inside of me.
“I know. I’m sorry,” he says.
Charles leans forward, takes me in his arms and settles his head against my neck. I hug him back. The dam bursts. I sob. He rocks us both, strokes my hair and lets me weep until I’ve cried myself out.
When I’m done, he raises up and stands over me.
“Better?”
“Yeah. I’m okay,” I say, making to rise from the rocker.
He places a hand on my forearm, pressing me down.
“Can I stay? I like it here, with you.”
My eyes betray me.
“No, Charles, I really am okay. I need a drink. Can I get you anything?”
As I start to rise, he pushes me into the rocker.
“Let me,” he says, shuffling inside. He reappears a minute later carrying two glasses of water. I settle against the backrest.
“It took you three days to come. Why?” I try hard to erase any hint of petulance from my voice. Fail miserably.
He frowns. “I told you, I came as quickly as I could. The police were a little vague when they spoke to my P.A. She didn’t pass on the message; just left a voicemail. When I eventually picked it up, I was already in Washington.”
“Washington?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to talk to you about. It’s why I’m here. The reason I came before. I’m running for Mayor,” he says, running a hand through his hair, preening.
So, that’s what Curtis knew.
“Congratulations,” I say. I’m genuinely pleased for him. He’ll be a good, Mayor. Maybe, even a great one.
“I want you to come home. I want you to be my First Lady,” he says, thrusting a hand forward, like he’s about to propose all over again. “It will be the making of you.”
It’s the easiest decision of my life.
“No, Charles, it’s over. I wish you all the luck in the world. I really do. But you and me, we’re history. I’m going to finish my novel. I owe it to Martha. I’m going to finish it, here, on Tern Island. After that … who knows…”