Sea Scope

by Debbie De Louise

  “I assume so. Whatever she discovered under hypnosis coupled with Glen's death probably caused her to develop a personality disorder or whatever the psychiatrists she visited coined it.”

  “Did she ever try hypnotism again?”

  “No. She refused.”

  “Do you know why the pages were cut out of Glen's record book about Wendy?”

  “I have no idea. They were that way when I stored them.”

  “Why didn't you give them to Wanda?”

  “I didn't think she'd want them. I felt they belonged more to you or your mother because they contained Glen's writing. I actually wanted to tell you about them during your visit here, but so many other things got in the way. I had no idea Wendy would be hiding out around the inn and leaving notes. I still don't know what that means or what she found out during her hypnotism session.”

  “I don't understand. What could be so terrible that Wendy wouldn't want people to know and would initiate her illness?”

  “Sarah, I've spoken to Donald about this back then and more recently. I've always believed that Michael's death wasn't an accident. That morning when Wanda took Wendy to Bible school, I think she met up with Michael.”

  “How can that be? The police verified her story. Wendy was late for Bible school, but she attended. Her teacher confirmed that.”

  Julie picked up her coffee cup and took a sip before replying. “I don't have all the answers, Sarah, but I know that trauma can cause strange reactions in those that experience it. I believe Wendy's nightmares and later her condition was caused by a terrible experience that her conscious mind refuses to accept.”

  “And you think it has to do with Michael's death?”

  She looked me straight in the eyes. “Yes, I do. I believe Wendy witnessed it.”

  “But if that's true and it came out in her hypnosis session and Glen recorded it, which he must've done, wouldn't she know?”

  “Absolutely. She knows, but something is preventing her from telling.”

  “Instead she's leaving clues? That doesn't make sense.”

  “Glen is leaving clues,” Aunt Julie corrected. “Wendy is unable to face the truth.”

  “Why?” I asked, already suspecting the answer.

  “That's obvious, Sarah. If Wendy was at the lighthouse that morning, so was her mother.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Sea Scope: Twenty years ago

  Since Wanda didn't own a car and Bible school was only a few blocks from the inn, she and Wendy walked there on Saturday mornings. Sometimes Wanda would return to Sea Scope and help start breakfast before returning to the school to pick up her daughter, but there were days she just felt like spending the hour on a bench outside the school waiting to walk Wendy back to the inn after class. Occasionally, she'd talk to one of the other moms who were also waiting, but she often felt uncomfortable with them. At twenty-six, she was the youngest, and a few of them mistook her for a babysitter before she'd introduced herself at the beginning of the summer.

  That morning, she was in no mood to sit with the other mothers. Her heart was heavy. Michael hadn't even said goodbye to her.

  As she walked with her daughter, Wendy asked her why she was so sad. She wiped the tears from her eyes with a tissue from her purse and said, “I'm going to miss Michael. That's all.”

  “I'll miss him, too. I thought he was going to be my new daddy.”

  Wendy hadn't referred to her real father since they came to live at Sea Scope. Even though she never knew the married man who impregnated her mother when Wanda was a sixteen-year-old naïve girl, Wendy used to question Wanda about him often.

  “Why would you think that, honey?”

  “I saw you kiss him once. I thought he was your boyfriend.”

  How could she explain to her daughter the complicated triangle in which she'd caught herself? “We were friends, Wendy. Friends kiss one another sometimes.” She hoped Wendy would accept that answer. The girl simply tossed back her braids and clutched her doll tighter. Fortunately, they were already at the school.

  “Wendy, I have something to do this morning that may take extra time. If I'm late, please wait for me by the door. Okay?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  Wanda watched her daughter join a few other late children rushing into the building. None of them greeted or talked with her as she skipped to her class.

  Chapter Fifty

  Sea Scope: Present day

  “What are we going to do?” I asked my aunt. “I agree what you said is the most likely explanation, but how do we prove it?”

  Aunt Julie got up. “Maybe we don't. Wanda has been more than a housekeeper to me all these years and better than a friend. I've felt she was the daughter I never had. I think I can trust Donald, but I have to be careful. The main thing is to find Wendy and get her the help she needs even if it means having her confront her memories of that day. Wanda said she'd let me know if she finds Wendy at home. She hasn't called yet, and since you discovered that note, Wendy may still be around here. Donald is on his way over, and we'll probably go through the inn again. I have a feeling we're going to find her soon.”

  While my aunt was talking, a thought occurred to me. Since Wendy hadn't turned up at her house or at the inn so far, was it possible she was hiding in the lighthouse? Although the place was still closed to visitors without an appointment, I recalled how years ago, Wendy had scaled the fence and taken me through the secret back entrance Glen had originally found. I didn't mention this idea to my aunt but decided to check it out on my own. Derek would likely sleep a few more hours, and Carolyn and Russ were enjoying each other's company away from the inn. I might run into my mother and, since we were now strengthening our relationship, I was sure she would be happy to help me look.

  “Aunt Julie, I think I'll take a walk.”

  “That's a good idea, Sarah.” I could tell she was pleased at the prospect of being alone with Donald when he arrived.

  As I stepped out on the patio, Al came up behind me meowing. He gave me a slight scare because I hadn't expected him. I bent down and began petting him thinking of the old saying about the dangers of a black cat crossing one's path. Although I never believed in that superstition, I noticed dark clouds gathering in the sky. It looked like another heavy rain was headed our way, so I hurried down the path, the hanging moss brushing against me. Al remained on the patio regarding me with what I imagined was a warning in his yellow eyes.

  The first raindrops began to fall as I made my way across the beach. It was empty today, and I assumed people had heard the forecast and were spending their Sunday indoors. I kept an eye out for my mother but didn't see her anywhere. When I got to the sign that warned about trespassers, I put the toe of my sneaker into the middle link of the fence and hoisted myself up. It was more difficult as an adult, and a pregnant one at that. I was careful to drop down lightly, so I wouldn't hit the ground on the other side too hard.

  The lighthouse loomed liked a haunted house with the dark sky as a backdrop. Up close, I noticed the signs of age—the fading gray metal; the smell of decay and neglect from the untrimmed bushes that covered its base. The back door was harder to yank open, but it finally gave when I tugged.

  As I stood on the threshold, peering into the darkness, I nearly changed my mind about entering. My idea about Wendy hiding out here was a good one but probably not true. Surely, Donald Marshall had considered it and checked earlier.

  I nearly jumped at the sound of a low echo from within. I identified the noise as a sob. Someone was crying. The door swung shut with a creak followed by a thud. I tried to get my bearings relying on memory and an internal compass to guide me forward in the unlit chamber. The sound of thunder outside and the rain falling harder kept me on edge. I listened for the cry, but it was muffled by the storm.

  I suddenly felt the walls closing in on me and began to sweat. The morning sickness I'd avoided the last few days hit me with a vengeance, and I leaned over and vomited by the stairwell. Feeling
slightly better, I took a deep breath. Then I noticed a pack of crayons, paper, and a duffle bag lying against the wall behind the stairs. I heard the cry again. It was coming from above. I supported myself by grasping the right bannister and headed up the stairs. I knew there were several landings before I reached the tower, and I paused on each one to catch my breath, something I didn't need to do as a child chasing my brother. As I approached the top, I started feeling dizzy, but I kept from looking down and took more deep breaths to calm my reaction to the elevated height. The crying became louder and then I heard a voice, a young boy's voice. It sounded so much like Glen that I almost believed I'd gone back twenty years and he'd, once again, beaten me to the top of the lighthouse.

  “Mother, don't cry. It will be over soon. You know I need to punish you for what you did to Ms. Wilson, and of course, Michael. They would've been happy together, but all you did was drink and try to hide your failure as a wife.”

  I was on the top step. Looking toward the far end of the tower, I saw my mother backed against the railing. She was covering her face with her hands so probably wasn't aware I was there. Wendy had her back to me and, although she might have heard me come up the stairs or noticed my ragged breathing, her attention was directed at my mother and the gun she pointed at her.

  “Please, Wendy. I wish it had been different and that Michael cared for your mother, that my husband was in love with me, but life isn't always fair. Killing me won't make up for that.”

  “I'm not Wendy. I'm your son, Glen, and I won't kill you Mother unless you refuse to jump off the tower like Michael did.”

  “What are you saying? Do you know what really happened to Michael?” Mother had uncovered her eyes and seen me tiptoeing forward. She was playing along with Wendy, trying to stall for time, so I could disarm Wendy before she noticed I was there.

  “I wish I could fill you in.” Wendy's laugh was like Glen's childhood giggle. “I wasn't there that day, although Sarah and I found the body.”

  I urged Mother silently to keep Wendy talking. I was a few feet from her now.

  “But Wendy was there, wasn't she?” Mother said. “For years, she had nightmares about it, and when she finally learned what really happened, she couldn't face it, like I couldn't face the knowledge of my husband's preference for young men. Instead of becoming addicted to alcohol, Wendy developed a second persona—you, Glen, whom she loved and tragically lost the night she discovered the truth about Michael's death.”

  “No,” the scream that bellowed from Wendy's mouth was her own. A crash of thunder accompanied the yell, and she turned and saw me approaching. She backed away holding the gun, swinging it between me and my mother.

  “Well, look who's here, Silly Sarah,” Wendy said using her real voice. “And, yes, I know what happened that morning. I have the recording of my hypnotism session on Glen's phone, and I still have your cell. You won't be needing it, though.”

  “Why did you pretend to be Glen? Was it all part of an act?”

  She pushed back one of her braids with her unarmed hand. “No, of course not. Your aunt had the right idea about inviting everyone back after all this time. Although I wasn't on the guest list, I decided to crash the party. It jogged my memory and gave me an opportunity to make amends with the past.”

  “You know everyone's out looking for you. It's a matter of time before Donald Marshall and others are here.”

  She laughed. “Give me a break, Sarah. Marshall is probably too busy screwing your aunt right now.”

  “Even if that's so, there's two of us against you,” I said motioning my mother to my side.

  “But I have the gun. Mama showed me how to use it when I was young. We lived alone for so many years that it came in handy to have protection.”

  “Why don't you tell us what you learned from the recording?” Mother prompted, and I was proud of how composed she sounded.

  “Good idea. I'm not in a rush, and the recording actually isn't very long. Glen promised he'd erase it, but I'm glad he didn't.” She reached into the pocket of her jeans with her free hand and removed two cell phones. I recognized mine as she tossed it toward me. She lay the other down on the ledge of the railing next to her and pressed a button. I winced as I heard Glen's voice through the speaker. My mother reached over and took my hand. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as we listened to the playback.

  “Relax, Wendy. Concentrate on the pointer and breathe deeply.”

  “I don't think this is going to work, Glen.”

  “Don't worry. If it doesn't, we'll try another time. Keep staring at the pointer. That's good. Now I want you to think back to when you were a young girl living with your mother at Sea Scope with me and my sister. Do you remember? Visualize it in your mind.”

  “I can, but I don't want to.” Wendy's voice became fearful and young. She sounded the way she did at ten.

  “Why not?” Glen probed gently. “What don't you want to remember?”

  Wendy paused and then whispered the reply that I could barely hear above the thunder. “He raped me.”

  “Oh, Wendy. I'm so sorry. Was it one of the guests?”

  From the Notes of Michael Gamboski

  (Boston Light, Wikimedia Commons)

  All lighthouses in America today are automated except Boston Light. Congress declared that this lighthouse, the oldest in the U.S., always be a staffed station making Boston Light the only official lighthouse with a keeper.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Sea Scope: Twenty years ago

  She heard her mother crying. It had been this way every night since the Fourth of July. Wendy would wake up late at night or early in the morning to her mother's sobs. She knew the cause of Wanda's sadness. Michael had rejected her, and he was planning to check out of the inn soon. She wished she could make her mother happy again.

  As her mother's cries subsided into sniffs and then into the light snores of sleep, Wendy got out of bed. Glen wasn't the only one who liked to patrol the inn at night, but Wendy didn't snoop around the guest rooms. She slipped out the back door and into the woods behind the inn. The night air invigorated her and helped her think. It was a welcome relief from the hot day, and she felt akin to the animals and insects that were awake around her. Glen would call her “nocturnal,” the scientific term for those who were active at night.

  As she tramped through the woods, trying to avoid the twigs and other sharp objects that would cut her bare feet, she filled her nose and lungs with a deep breath of air. When she'd walked a bit farther, she found her special place. It was a log in a clearing where she could sit and think about life. She didn't keep a journal like Sarah, but her mind was full of her experiences. She remembered the first time she realized she didn't have a father, unlike most of the kids at school. A few of them made fun of her and called her mother a maid. They said she'd probably end up pregnant before she graduated high school, but her mother had taught her enough to stay away from boys. She didn't need to instill this lesson too deep, for Wendy saw the pain relationships caused. Even Sarah and Glen's parents, although they were still together, weren't happy. She heard them fighting often and knew Mrs. Brewster drank because her husband cheated on her.

  As she sat there, thinking about how men and women could hurt one another, she heard footsteps behind her. She prepared to run from what she suspected might be a wild animal native to the South Carolina woods. But, as she stood, she saw Mr. Brewster walking toward her.

  “What are you doing out here?” he asked, and she noticed his words sounded blurry, like his wife when she'd been on what Sarah called a bender.

  She didn't want him to tell her mother, or she knew she'd be in big trouble. “Hello, Mr. Brewster. I wasn't feeling too well, so I came out to get some air.”

  “Does your mother know?”

  She pursed her lips in reply because she'd be punished even more for lying.

  “You know it's dangerous for a young girl to be out at night, don't you?” he asked.

  She nodded
.

  He regarded her with a strange look. “Let me walk you back. Take my hand. It's safer that way.”

  She didn't understand what he meant. She was self-sufficient. She didn't need anyone to hold her hand, but she hoped if she agreed with his requests he wouldn't tell her mother. She let him take her hand, his large one covering it completely. There were hairs on back of it and even on the palm.

  “That's better.” He smiled. “Come with me.”

  “That's not the right way, Mr. Brewster.”

  “It's a shortcut, Wendy. You'll see.”

  She knew all the shortcuts in the area; but where he was leading her was deeper into the woods, not toward the inn. She went along, anyway, afraid to disagree with him.

  When they came upon the small cottage that used to be where she and her mother stayed when they first came to the inn, Mr. Brewster said, “Let's stop here a minute, shall we? I'm a bit tired, and it looks like it may start raining.”

  It didn't feel or smell like rain to her, but she remained silent as he led her into the small house. She was surprised to see it was in such good condition. The double bed where she and her mother once slept was neatly made, and the floors had been recently swept. The inn hadn't been overbooked lately, nor had any honeymooners reserved the cottage as far as she knew.

  “I come here once in a while,” Mr. Brewster explained, “when I want to get away from things.” She realized he was talking about his wife. “Why don't you have a seat? We can rest a minute before going back.” He indicated the bed.

  “Mother might be worried,” she said, knowing that once Wanda fell asleep, there was no waking her for hours.

  “Don't worry. We won't be here long.” He staggered toward her, and she caught a whiff of whiskey on his breath. Her heart began to race as he approached.

  “It's okay, sweetheart. I'm not going to bite.” He smiled again. “Sit with me a minute.” Her instincts told her to disobey him, to flee from the house and run back to the inn, but she did as she was told hoping he was just being friendly.