Dawn shakes her head. “That is stupid.”
“Wouldn’t be a dare without danger, would it?”
Mandi starts coughing. Hard.
Max rises. Ready to run in. Waiting to be sure.
Allison quickly jams her flag into the ground. Turns back for her friend. Pulls Mandi’s arm over her shoulder. Starts back.
“Good. They’ll be okay.” Max relaxes slightly. Still on guard. “See that? How I jumped up? As if I could somehow help. But I’ve never gotten as far as they are right now. I totally suck at this.”
“On account of the barfing?”
“On account of the barfing.” Max is disgusted with himself. “If I never go in there again, it’ll be too soon.”
Watching the girls stumble along, Dawn slips off her backpack. Removes the souvenir flag from the front pocket. The black marker. She looks to Max. Sees he’s been watching her. “All right. Go ahead: Tell me how I’ve got nothing to prove. That I really don’t have to do it.”
“Pfft. Yeah. Like I’d waste my breath.”
Dawn smirks. “So, what do I put?”
“First name, last initial, usually. Some people draw something, too. To make it easier to find next time.” He stiffens up. “Oh, shit.”
Barely across the covered bridge, the girls have fallen. Both are on the ground. Allison crawling. Coughing. Mandi just wheezing.
Max starts forward. Dawn snags his arm. “Just... Stay.” She pushes past. Down the rock pile. Leaving him to watch.
The smell is stronger inside the wall. Mustier, even at her short distance from the entrance. Still: Nothing to warrant the reactions Dawn has seen from the others. She runs along the riverbank. Towards the bridge. Slides to a stop by Allison. Pulls her to her feet. Gives her a shove. Gets her moving.
Mandi’s next. Dawn drags her up. Hangs her over one shoulder. “Come on, chickie. Let’s go.”
Ahead, Max is halfway down the rocks. Keeping his mouth and nose covered. Taking Allison by the hand. Leading her out. Dawn and Mandi are close on their heels.
Outside, the air seems mostly fresh. Still, Dawn and Max pull the girls a short distance from the entrance before finally allowing them to collapse.
“Guess that makes you my BFFA.” Panting, Allison rolls onto her back. Looks up at Dawn.
Dawn tries to puzzle it out. “Best Friend... Fff...”
“From Away!” Mandi laughs. Coughs. Laughs again. “No fair. She saved me, too! I want Dawn to be my Best Friend From Away!”
“Ladies, please... There’s more than enough mainlander goodness to go around.” Dawn waves off the adulation.
“And thanks for all your help, Max.” Allison glowers at him. “Hope you don’t expect us to come to your rescue when you get stuck in there.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to be an issue...” Max sits on a nearby chunk of wall “I’m just along for the ride on this one.”
Mandi is dismayed. “You can’t come to Adderpool and not move your flag.”
“I can.” Max shrugs. “My flag is planted. I’ve got nothing more to prove.”
“Oh, no?” Allison sits up. Drags down the collar of her t-shirt. Reveals something wedged into her cleavage. “Then you won’t care that we brought you this.” She pulls out a little flag. Twirls it between her fingers. “MAX H.” written in bleeding black marker. A childish pot leaf drawn next to it.
Max deflates. It’s one thing to be content with a poorly placed flag. Another to not have one planted at all.
Mandi stifles a snicker. “You don’t even have to look for it. Helpful, right?”
He grits his teeth. Leans down to retrieve his flag. “What might be helpful, would be if you two would take a break from being such total--”
“Not to worry!” Dawn darts in front of him. “Yoink!” She plucks the flag from Allison’s fingers.
Mandi is shocked. “She did not just--”
“No biggie.” She smiles at Max in passing. “I’ll just drop it off when I plant mine.” She waves the two flags back and forth as she climbs the rock pile.
Max is horrified. “Dawn! You don’t have to--”
“Woah, there!” Dawn turns back. “Methinks you’ve played knight-in-shining-armor enough for one day. Allow me to return the favor.”
Max’s concern fades. He half-smiles. Nods.
Allison is on her feet. Pissed. “You can’t just stick one out there for somebody else. It won’t count.”
“So many rules!” Dawn scratches her chin with her flag’s short staff. “Let me see... Dropping off is no-go, but pulling up... That’s kosher?” She smiles. “I’ll try to remember that, in case I stumble across one of yours.”
Mandi snorts. “As if!”
“What you should remember is who gave you a ride out here. Especially if you don’t want to try walking back home.” Allison crosses her arms.
“You know what? I’m pretty sure I can handle it.” Dawn turns away. Disappears through the gap.
Into Adderpool.
CHAPTER FORTY
The living dead have gathered in the TV lounge. In large numbers. Like every other weekday afternoon. Drawn to the wall-mounted fifty-two inch screen. Attention focused on melodrama: The Sea Giveth. The popular long-running maritime soap.
For many residents of the Elysian Convalescent Home, this communal activity is no less a daily necessity than taking their meds. There are those who haven’t missed an episode since moving in. Others don’t watch the show, so much as they face it. Rolled into place by well-meaning orderlies. Believers in the power of socialization. Uncertain their charges are aware of the world around them at all, let alone following the saga unspooling onscreen.
Martin Lesguettes sits among them. Not a resident, but neither is he out of place. By age, he more than qualifies for a room of his own, though his steely grip on his faculties allows him to remain at large. Holding on to his visitor status. For at least a little longer.
He scans the lounge. Recognizing every face. Each one a connection to the past: Lifelong friends and hated enemies. The people Martin has spent his life protecting. Though few realize it, they owe the Circle their very existence. This room is his purpose: Making sure as many Islanders as possible end up here after long, hard lives. Accomplishment enough for any man.
At the back of the room, three sets of double-doors open into the hall. Orderlies stand in each doorway. Ostensibly: In case residents require assistance. Only three have been officially assigned this task. All six are fixated on the television screen.
In the corridor beyond, Sylvie appears, pushing a grimacing Burl in a wheelchair. His lower leg in a cast. Held straight out in front of him on a metal extension.
Martin shrinks down. To avoid notice, should his daughter or her passenger glance his way. Not much chance of that. Burl, distracted by pain. Sylvie, focused on escaping the Home. They pass quickly. Practically speeding. Disappear through the front entrance.
“I don’t much like that Jack Falconer. Disrespectful, that b’y.” Alberta MacDougal leans towards Martin. Squeezes his hand. Gripped firmly in her own since he pulled a seat up next to her wheelchair. “And how he treats Jessica? Lard-Almighty!”
During commercials, heads turn. Commentary rolls through the room. For these few minutes, entries and exits are acceptable. Orderlies jump into action: Escorting residents away for bathroom breaks. Hoping to return before the show does, though the likelihood is low.
“Found yourself a boyfriend already, Ma?” Alberta’s son kisses her on the cheek. Kneels down next to her. Only now does he register whose hand she’s holding. “Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t--”
“Carse ya ‘member Martin, don’tcha, Lanny?”
“Of course. Didn’t realize it was you, Mr. Lesguettes.” He shakes Martin’s free hand. Drops his voice. “I was so sorry to hear about your grandson.”
“Lanny!” His mother stiffens. “We don’t talk about Circle business!”
“Hush now, Ma.” He pats her arm. “I think your
story’s coming back.” Startled, Alberta returns her attention to the television. Still playing ads, but she’s not taking chances.
“Circle business.” Lanny shakes his head. Explains to Martin: “Ever since the stroke, anything she doesn’t want to talk about? For some reason, she calls it Circle business.” He’s never heard of anything so silly.
Martin nods grimly. “Regardless, I ‘preciate yer sentiment... And how’re all yer lil’ MacDougals, Lanny?”
“Good. They’re good. Listen: Since I have the chance, I just want to thank you again for helping Ma get into a single here. I don’t know what you said, but it sure worked a trick.”
Martin waves him off. “Least I could do fer a Watch-widow, m’b’y.”
“You lighthouse keepers really stick together, huh?” Lanny smiles. “Sometimes I think I should’ve followed in my father’s footsteps.”
“G’wan witcha, b’y. Y’oughtta know yer Da wanted better fer ya than that.”
“You brought all your kids into it, didn’t you?”
“Fer all the good it brung ‘em!” Martin receives shushes for his volume. Notches himself down, accordingly. “But there was no avoidin’ it, was there? Like it or don’t, it’s bred in the bone for Lesguettes to take the Watch since time immemorial. But make no mistake: The day doesn’t pass I don’t wonder what might’ve come, if I’d only had the good sense to forbid it.”
“Yeah...” Lanny glances at his mother. Glued to the big screen. “He never said it... But I can’t help but think the old man might’ve been a bit disappointed. That I went another way.”
“Well, he’d’a not had much use fer yer whingin’ about it, I can tell ya that.”
Lanny pulls back. He’d expected gentle reassurances. Not sure what to do with this.
Martin doesn’t wait for him to process: “No sir, Ted MacDougal was not one for yer modern introspective bullroar. None a’ this carpin’ and second-guessin’ fer Ted. Ya makes yer choices and takes yer chances, so ya stands by what choices ya made. That’s all he’d be askin’ of ya.”
Before Lanny can respond, a nurse crouches next to them. Cuts into the conversation. “Mr. Lesguettes?” She smiles an apology. “They’re ready for you.”
Martin stands. Pats Alberta’s hand as he disengages his own from her grip. Passing Lanny, he braces the younger man’s shoulders. “Rest easy, son. Know yer Da was right proud’a ya. More than that, he was proud’a himself fer givin’ ya better than he got. No point wastin’ yer life on thoughts a’ what mighta been.”
He follows the nurse out of the lounge.
“Time enough for that and then some... Once ya find yerself back here, in a room o’ yer own.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
“Paula Fields? I’m telling you, man: I don’t even know who that is.” Ella Chaisson paces in her cage. Almost as frustrated as Ren.
She knows nothing. Very nearly literally: Nothing. Completely ignorant on every question. Who was in charge? Who planned the protest? How long had it been in the works? Utterly in the dark on all counts. So far as she knew: Denis was given orders. Passed them along. But Denis wouldn’t be answering questions anymore.
Unfortunately, she’s the single protester left alive who might shed light on Paula’s fluorescent blueprint. Ren’s only lead. So he presses on. “That’s a bit hard to believe, Ella. Given you were protesting the bridge she was building.”
“He’s talking about the lady from away.” Mrs. Tanner’s voice. From another cell. “The one in the coma.”
“Oh! Yeah, yeah.” Ella smiles, briefly. “I heard about her. But that don’t mean I know her. Like, personally.”
“You’re saying you had nothing at all to do with Paula ending up in the hospital?”
“Me?” Genuinely surprised Ren would suggest it. “Of course not!”
“I hope you don’t think my Denis would have anything to do with that.” Unseen, Mrs. Tanner continues to insert herself into the conversation. “I raised him respectful. He knew better than to act out against a woman.”
Ren leans towards Cell E. Addresses Denis’s mother: “He and a dozen of his closest friends were willing to die to make a point about the bridge. Why wouldn’t he go after the woman in charge, before resorting to something so drastic?”
Ella shakes her head. “He seemed so nice, though.”
“He was nice!” Mrs. Tanner grips her bars. “You’re not going to pin that on Denis. Next thing you’ll be trying to blame him for all the others, too.”
Ren frowns. “What others?”
The woman clams up. Retreats from the bars. Ren looks to Ella. Frightened, she covers her mouth. Shakes her head, violently.
He stands. Crosses to Cell E. “What others, Mrs. Tanner?”
Her expression shifts. Seeing him up close. Head-on. “You’re no cop. We don’t have to answer any of your questions.”
“Didn’t say you did. Just thought you might be able to help. Might want to, after what happened.”
A slow recognition dawns on her. “You’re that Lesguettes boy, aren’t you? The one who went away? You know your sister used to see my Marshall?”
Crap. Her son had not been a big fan of his sister, either. Ren had picked the wrong strategy for talking to him. Opts for a slightly different path with his mother: “I gotta tell you... I’m not real close with Wanda, Mrs. Tanner. I don’t really--”
“It’s being with her that started him down his crooked path.”
Thanks again, Wanda. “I don’t know about all that. It must’ve happened while I was away. But who are the others you mentioned, before? The others like Paula Fields?”
Mrs. Tanner comes up to the bars. Sheer disgust on her face. “Boy, you’re just like your sister, aren’t you? You don’t know shit.”
Sighing, Ren steps back. “At this point? I’d have a pretty hard time arguing otherwise.” He returns to the folding chair. Grips the thinly cushioned backrest.
In Cell B, Ella has retreated to her cot. Spine against the wall. Knees drawn to her chest. Looking anywhere but out at Ren. The very mention of ‘others’ has caused a complete shut down. Not a huge loss, really.
Ren collapses the folding chair. Leans it against the wall. Heads towards the security door. As he does, Ella glances up. Softly: “I’m real sorry about your hands.”
He pauses. Looks down at his injured appendages. “Thanks for saying so.”
She makes a sudden decision. Gestures him closer. When he’s at the bars to her cell, she slides slowly off of the mattress. Tiptoes to him. Careful. Skittish. Cupping her mouth with both hands, she whispers -barely the volume of a breath: “The Broken Girls.”
“The bro--” He stops. Seeing the panic in her eyes.
“The others. The ones who got done like that Paula chick.”
“Who--”
She shakes her head. Backs away. “They say... If you talk about them? You could be next. So...” She mimes zipping her lip. Locks it. Tosses the imaginary key. Returns to her cot. Looks pointedly away.
That’s all he’ll be getting from her. But ultimately? It’s more than he’d expected.
~
At the unmanned desk. Outside the holding cells. Ren taps away at the computer. Calls up the web browser.
The local paper: The Mossley Island Dispatch. Online since 2011.
Searching the archive for “Broken Girls” nets zero results.
Searching for “coma” gives him two dozen. Boiling down to sixteen with clear linkages. All police blotter articles. Too many commonalities to be coincidental: Women. Dumped mysteriously at Midgate General Hospital. Comatose. Savagely beaten. All their limbs broken. Fractured skulls. Violated.
The ground shifts beneath Ren’s feet. Paula was not an isolated case. There was a clear pattern. A pattern which Netty must be aware of. One she had not seen fit to disclose.
Searches of the women’s names yield no further results. No mention of arrests. No suspects. No trials. No resolutions. No follow-ups. These fleetin
g mentions, the only interest the newspaper ever seemed to take in them.
Footsteps approach: Cowboy boots. Descending the stairs.
Ren’s back on the Mossley Island Dispatch homepage before Netty enters. Her face is grim. Dark. She’s bad news in a beige uniform. “We need to go.”
“Uh-huh.” He shuts down the browser. Follows her up the stairs. “And where is it we’re going?”
“Midgate General.”
“I’ve just about had my fill of--” He slows. Stops.
It takes a few steps for Netty to realize: He’s no longer keeping up. She looks back at him. He holds her gaze. Demands: “Tell me, Antoinette. Right now.”
Netty grips the railing. “It’s Paula, Ren. She’s gone.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“All is not lost.”
Dr. Ramsey slips through the sheeting. Wearing a plastic visor. Carrying another stainless steel canister. This one with a pump and hose sprouting from the lid. He deposits it on the bedside table. If he notices the corpse of Dr. Mendez spread across the bed behind him, he pays it no mind. “Setbacks of this type are regrettable, but in science they are common and certainly not worth getting worked up over.”
“Easy for you to say.” Wanda makes no attempt to disguise her contempt. “That lady over there might not--”
“Let me just stop you there.” He slides open a drawer on the bedside table. Removes what looks like a tissue box. Pulls a fresh pair of rubber gloves from the slot on top. “Need I remind you where you’d be without me? All the resources you’d squandered before I came on board. With the net result of what? A few amphibious mice.”
Wanda shakes her head. “What in hell are you talking--”
“No. I disagree completely.” Dr. Ramsey holds a finger to his earpiece. Turns up the volume. Not addressing Wanda at all. “The progress we’ve made hasn’t been erased. The results have been fully documented. Yes, it’s unfortunate we can’t continue to follow the development of this particular subject, but the work remains.”
FROM AWAY ~ BOOK THREE Page 15