“You come down here often?” she asked with a slight tremor in her voice.
“Not too. Now and then to make sure everything is in order. Occasionally I’ll sneak down here to escape a particularly boring party, or, more often, my wife. It’s the one room in the house that’s all mine.”
Rose didn’t seem to listen. “What are those awful stains on the floor?”
Eliot shifted his weight and answered slowly. “Oh, those. They’re…grenadine. I keep it on hand for Singapore Slings. Dropped several bottles one night while drunk. The stuff never goes away.”
“You might try covering those spots with a rug,” Rose said quietly. Just like a woman, Eliot thought, you show her a secret room and all she wants to do is clean it. “What’s in the cabinet?”
“More liquor.”
“Why do you keep it locked up?”
Eliot was getting irritated. “Why do you ask so many questions?” He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her body, sliding his hands up to her breasts. “Enough questions. I think we should just go over to the bed now.”
Rose, for no reason she could consider rational, did not want to go anywhere near that bed. She didn’t even want to be in the room. “Not here, sugar, it’s much too damp. I’m afraid I don’t breath so well in the damp. Mild asthma, had it for years.”
“Oh, nonsense! Come on,” Eliot growled as he forced her to the bed. Rose fought him.
“No, really Eliot, I don’t want to!”
He spun her around so that she was facing him now. “May I remind you who is the employee and who is in charge here?” He pushed her away, and she fell on the bed, stunned.
“Sugar?” Her voice was sad, hurt. “Is that all I am to you?” Tears revealed themselves in her tired eyes.
Eliot took a deep breath. She was right, this was no way to treat her, not now.
“I’m sorry, baby.” He reached out a hand and pulled her up. “Come on, we’ll go upstairs.” She dried her tears on the robe’s sleeve as Eliot lead her back up the steps and out of the Safe Room.
1956
After being in that muffled anti-chamber every little noise seemed louder and shriller. The next crash of thunder was so loud it made me jump like a kid. Melinda thought that was pretty funny. Smart ass.
We tried Bachman’s office once more to look for another combination. We found none.
“We could try his apartment again,” she said to me.
“Forget it. I took that place apart once already. I didn’t find anything like that.”
“So now what?”
“Let’s go check on the children. Make sure they’re still snug in their rugs. Then we can sit down and think this through.”
The lobby was thinning out, people were returning to their rooms. Even the lobby bar was half empty. At the height of the storm people were hitting the hay to sleep it off.
We rode the elevator up with four very sloshed people who weren’t sure what floor they were getting off. We convinced them to get off at two. We got off at three. Melinda was just opening the first lock when we heard the screams.
We only looked at each other for a split second but it was enough to see the terror in her eyes. She fumbled with the keys, and through her shaking was finally able to get the three locks undone. She threw open the door and ran for Eliot’s bedroom. I was right behind her.
The screams came from both Eliot and Jessica. Not your average ‘I just had a nightmare’ kind of screams, but the kind of screams you only hear when someone is really, truly terrorized, afraid of living, afraid of dying. We flew into the bedroom and found Eliot and Jessica in the bed, pushed up against the headboard, holding each other as tightly as their limbs would allow, their faces stark white, steeped in fear and horror, their eyes fixed hard on something at the far end of the room. Melinda ran towards them. I stayed put and swung to the right, to the direction of their object of terror. What I saw was more puzzling than horrible.
Hanging all over the paintings and Tiki masks and shelves of oddities on the bedroom walls were several strands of what appeared to be seaweed. Wet seaweed. Wet, glistening, slimy seaweed. I walked over to the wall as Melinda calmed Eliot and Jessica down.
“Don’t touch it!” Jessica screamed at full voice as I reached out to take a piece of the wet vegetation. “Don’t, for God’s sake Bill, don’t!”
“What happened here?” I asked, not touching the seaweed. It’s not that I was afraid of it, you know, it’s just that I didn’t want to upset Jessica any more. “How did this get here?”
They were both silent, too frightened to speak. Jessica’s eyes were bleary and red, wide as saucers. She was shaking. Eliot just sat silently, staring at the wall.
“Hey, kid, snap out of it…tell me, how did this get here? Come on, it’s OK now, I’m here.” Finally Jessica started to move her mouth, but no sounds came out at first except a raspy moan. Then,
“They were here, again Bill. We were both sleeping. I woke up when Mr. Hawthorn started screaming. He saw them before I did. They were…They were coming through the wall.”
Melinda’s eyes widened too now, and she seemed more apprehensive than before. It was then I realized she was hiding something from me. She knew more – or saw more – than she let on. “Did you see them too, Jessica?”
“Yes. Just for a second. I awoke and saw them coming…I threw myself off the sofa and landed in the bed. I remember crawling up to Mr. Hawthorn as fast as possible. When I turned back around –” Her voice trailed off into a sob and she hid her face with her hands. Melinda put her hand on Jessica’s shoulder. The roar of the wind and thunder made an ominous backdrop.
“It’s ok. Tell us what happened next.”
“They…they were right there, at the end of the bed, moving closer like before. Then a noise came from the door…you, opening the locks. They…I think they heard it, Bill. They stopped, and just dissolved. Then you came running in.”
Melinda turned pale. “You mean, they were just here? Now?”
“Yes!”
With a slight shock of realization, I turned directly to Melinda. “You’ve seen them too, haven’t you!” She looked at me with a half-frightened, half-embarrassed look. “You know what she’s talking about.”
“Melinda?” Jessica uttered turning to her. “Tell him.”
Melinda took a deep breath and let it out slow. She ran her hand through her thick, dark hair in such a way that any other time would make me melt, but not under these circumstances. “I have,” she said very quietly, tearfully. “Just glimpses in the night, when with Eliot. They come to him. But they don’t want me to see, I don’t think. They always disappear just as I show up. Sometimes not fast enough.
I walked over to her side. “I had a feeling there was more to this. Tell me, did these…beings…ever leave solid seaweed behind before?”
“No,” Melinda said holding Hawthorn closer. “Never.”
“How about you, Jess?”
“No Bill. Not like this. They’ve always been more like…like dreams, surreal. Visions that go away and everything is back to normal. But not tonight. Tonight they were more –”
“Real,” Hawthorn said, not taking his eyes off the wall. “Tonight they were real.”
Melinda began to cry quietly. “Eliot,” she said softly.
Quietly, I asked, “Mr. Hawthorn, why were they here?”
His answer came in an eerie voice, one that will forever stay locked in my mind:
“Bitter brine upon our tongues, the brackish water fills our lungs.”
“Mr. Hawthorn? Who are they?”
“With darkened woes our life lines slip, our bodies bare, our organs rip.”
“Eliot?” Melinda said again, very softly.
“And while we die, the others live. Our fate to those we soon shall give.”
“Mr. Hawthorn?”
“Wrought with the storm, your last night’s breath, we carry you now to your wretched death.”
“Mr. Hawthor
n,” I said more forcefully, “Tell us what they want.”
He looked up from his blank gaze and his eyes, black as coal and rimmed in red pierced mine to my soul. “They want me, Mr. Riggins. And they won’t rest until they’ve taken me under with them.”
Labor Day Monday, 1935: The Day of the Storm
Eliot Hawthorne rose early on Labor Day Monday. He made a sweep of the grounds to make sure everything was secure, and placed a call to Roberts on Sugarloaf Key.
“Mr. Hawthorn, suh, it ain’t no use ya’ll stayin’ on that Island,” Roberts told him. “Navy’s already lost two boats out there. Winds are blowing up to two-hundred knots. We’ve lost, suh. Mother Nature’s done cast her dice an’ come up boxcars. The whole of the Florida Keys will be under water by mid-afternoon.”
“I thought Key West was in the clear,” Hawthorn said into the telephone.
“And it ought to be, but there ain’t no way to get to it ’cept by boat. And the seas are already six to ten feet in the open water. Your boat won’t make it.”
“What about the train?”
“Only one train comin’ down far as Metecumbe. Then it’s backing back up to Homestead as fas’ as she can.”
“What time?”
“Callin’ for five.”
“Fine. Dammit! Ok, I give up. I’ll take the boat and run it up to Islamorada. We’ll get the train there.”
“Ya’ll better leave soon, suh. Seas are getting’ rougher by the minute.”
“I’ll leave soon enough. Will you be there?”
“No suh, we’re evacuating on a Navy cutter in an hour.”
“All right Roberts. I’ll see you on the other side of the storm.”
“Yessuh, I hope so suh.”
Hawthorn set the receiver back on the cradle. He realized it would probably be the last time he ever used that telephone again.
Eliot woke Rose from a worried sleep. “Wake up darling. The storm’s gotten a lot worse than expected. Get dressed. Fast.” He said no more and left her. Rose shook, although she was warmed by the fact that Eliot called her ‘darling’. She grabbed the first thing she saw in Vivian’s closet, a yellow sundress, and slipped it on. Eliot was back in minutes. He stopped to look at her, almost alarmed, Rose thought.
“What’s wrong, sugar?”
“That was Vivian’s favorite dress.”
“Well she can have it back, I just picked the first thing that looked like it would fit.”
“No, it’s fine, Rose. Here,” he said, and reaching into his pocket pulled out a string of beautiful pearls, Vivian’s pearls. “Put these on too. They’re hers, but she won’t need them right now, will she?”
“Oh, Eliot, they’re beautiful!”
“Just for now, darling. I’ll have to give them back. But I promise to buy you a string just as beautiful someday.” Rose smiled and slipped the pearls around her neck. “Come on, no time to waste.”
Eliot led her down the steps to the ground floor, and continued out the door.
“Wait, sugar, what about the Safe Room?”
“It’s not as safe as I thought,” he said as he dragged her across the lawn to the boathouse. Rose could tell the storm was getting very close now; the sky was a strange shade of pinkish gray to the west, dark gray to the east. Clouds in the sky moved fast, forming strange, circular bands. The winds were picking up hard and the Gulf was churning.
“Let’s go back to Key West, Eliot. Key West never gets hurricanes. They always miss it.”
“No way, too late for that now.”
“Then where on Earth are we goin’?”
“We’ll have to make a run for Islamorada,” Eliot said to the very frightened woman as he helped her onto the boat. “I’m sure our yacht will cut through the rough waters without hesitation, but it will be a bit bumpy, I’m afraid.”
“Islamorada? But that’s…that’s insane! That’s runnin’ right into the path of the hurricane!”
“The train isn’t coming any farther south than that. We have to go there or else we’ll be stranded here.”
“We should have gone back to Key West,” she replied, shaking.
“I told you that’s no good,” Eliot screamed above the rising sounds of the wind and the roar of the Gulf. “Waters are too open, we can capsize too easily. Too late for that. We’ll stick close to the islands and make it up to Islamorada in less than two hours, tops.”
“Let’s just get this over with,” Rose said, this time more disgusted than afraid, and slipped into the cabin. Eliot took a last look at his home, his mansion. A last look at everything, knowing very well it would probably be the last time he ever saw any of it again. He untied the rope from the stern, started the engines, and ran them up to full power heading towards Metecumbe Key.
It was a long, hard, sickening two hours. Rose’s stomach couldn’t take the swells and three times she was sick into the Chris-Craft’s head. Eliot got his sea legs quickly but had to lash himself to the helm to avoid being washed over. Even between the islands the waves were getting fierce. Four-foot swells crashed over the mahogany bow of the yacht. The twin engines whined with stress as they tried to compensate for the ripping currents. Rain began tearing down in heavy sheets, reducing visibility to less than thirty yards. The smaller islands were already flooding over, making it difficult to keep the boat from bottoming out. But Eliot persevered. He ran the boat under the train bridge around to the marina by the station, and managed to moor it on the Atlantic side without crashing against the pier.
“Come on Rose, let’s get our tickets and get the hell off this Island.”
“What about all this stuff in the boat?”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s lost. The boat’s lost. Everything’s lost. Just be happy we’re alive.” He felt like a heel but couldn’t think about that now. The plan was working. They were in Islamorada.
They ran up the dock and up to the station. It was filled with WPA workers and locals waiting to get the evacuation train from Miami. “Listen darling, one thing, and it’s important. Anyone asks, you’re my wife, Vivian, got it?”
“Ok, Eliot, whatever you say.”
“Good. Now lets get those tickets.” They walked into the station and right up to the ticket window. A tired-looking man in a dirty gray uniform came up.
“Passage for two, and if you’ve got room for luggage we’ve got plenty,” Eliot shouted to the man behind the ticket window. “One for me, and one for my wife, Vivian. I’m Eliot Hawthorn,” he added, as if his name meant anything.
“We’ve got room for people and one bag you can carry yourself, no more.”
“That’s fine. How much are tickets?” he asked, pulling his wallet from his drenched jacket.
“No fee today, mister. This is an evacuation, not a vacation.”
“Ok, ok. Just let me know when the train is leaving.”
“Leaving?” the man said disgustedly, “It ain’t even got here yet. Wired Homestead yesterday we needed a train here pronto. The dumb suckers didn’t have one ready! Had to bring it down from Palm Beach to Miami. Just left Miami this morning, and with this weather...aw, hell, sure as hell ain’t gonna be here before five, maybe six o’clock!”
“Six o’clock!” Eliot screamed, “You realize the storm will likely be here by six,” he said mournfully.
“Yessir,” the man said, his face showing fear thick and real. His eye twitched just a little. “Yessir, we are well aware of that.” With that he turned and left the ticket window.
“Rose, we can’t stay here. That train might get in too late. I’m not sitting here leaving anything to chance.”
“What are we going to do?”
“We’ll take the boat and head up the gulf coast. Everglades City. We’ll be safe there.”
“Everglades City? That’s hours away!”
“We’ve got plenty of fuel and I’ve got the nerve. Let’s go.”
A man standing by heard the conversation and moved over next to Eliot. “Mister, you say you got
a boat?”
“Yes, what’s it to you?”
“Take me with you. Me and my family. I’ve got my wife here and two kids. We won’t take up much room. I can pay you.”
“No, no,” Hawthorn said sternly. “I can’t take on any more weight. The boat is laden down.”
“Take me too, mister,” a voice came from behind him. Eliot spun and saw an old man and young girl. “Take me and my granddaughter. At least take her, please. She’s only thirteen.”
“I can’t, no passengers. The boat’s not big enough –”
“Please buddy, I seen your boat, it’s a fifty-footer at least. You can hold a good thirty people in there if we pack in tight!”
The voices grew thicker and more desperate as Hawthorn pulled himself and Rose through the crowd toward the door. They clung to him, pleaded with him, but he couldn’t afford this latest twist, couldn’t allow anything to impede his plan.
“I can’t, I’m sorry. The train will be here. The train will take you to safety,” he yelled over the crowd. He was almost at the door when a large man grabbed him by the shirt.
“You’ll take us and you’ll like it, you rich bastard,” the man said with a menacing voice that shook Hawthorn’s shoes. But Hawthorn was no dummy. He was prepared for the worst.
“Back off!” he screamed as he pulled his Smithfield revolver out from under his shirt. He fired a single shot at the man’s foot and just clipped it as the bullet traveled through the wooden floor. The man screamed and fell to the floor grasping his injured foot. The entire station fell silent, save the howl of the wind and the beating of the rain. “Next guy who tries a stunt like that gets a gut full of lead,” he said waving the gun around the room like a movie gangster. “My boat is heavy with fuel and supplies and I’m not taking a chance on capsizing with people and kids. Now you people just hang on here and wait for the train. Have some faith in your government for Christ’s sake.”
Murder on Tiki Island: A Noir Paranormal Mystery In The Florida Keys (Detective Bill Riggins Mysteries) Page 38