FROM AWAY ~ BOOK TWO

by Mackey Jr. , Deke

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Spoiler-Alert!

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Previously...

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  What Happens Next?

  How To Help

  About the Author

  FROM AWAY - Series One - Book Two

  Copyright © 2015 D. Campbell MacKinlay

  Pearlcasting Press - a division of Pearlcasting Productions.

  First publication: August 2015

  All rights reserved. A work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic or otherwise, without the author’s written consent.

  ISBN 978-0-9948359-1-8 (pdf)

  ISBN 978-0-9948359-4-9 (mobi)

  ISBN 978-0-9948359-5-6 (epub)

  dekemackeyjr.com

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  For Dr. Lorraine Bliss-Mackey, who

  - to her eternal credit - hasn’t killed me yet.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  This book would not have been remotely possible without the love, unwavering support and constant encouragement of my partner, Dr. Lorraine Bliss-Mackey. Her understanding and the sacrifices she has been willing to make were nothing less than crucial, and the need to live up to her expectations is the engine driving the entire process.

  For putting up with general absenteeism, locked studio doors, shushing, hold-on-a-seconding and my more-or-less constant state of semi-distraction, I thank my long-suffering daughter, Pistachio. When, one day, she reads these books, I hope she thinks they were at least somewhat worth the trouble.

  Eternal gratitude to early readers, Carac Allison, Greg Kovacs, John Luciano, Brian Sharp, and Momma Mackey for their insight, enthusiastic support and hawk-eyed typo-catching.

  Special thanks to king of the sys-admins, Adrian Stiegler, without whom my online presence would be highly improbable.

  PREVIOUSLY...

  DAWN LESGUETTES is FROM AWAY. Anyone not born on MOSSLEY ISLAND is considered FROM AWAY.

  Hoping to discover her roots, the seventeen year-old accompanied her Islander father, REN LESGUETTES, returning - after twenty-five years - to ensure the completion of a long-range bridge.

  Intended as a permanent link to the mainland, the project had been overseen by his protégé, PAULA FIELDS, until she was brutally assaulted and hospitalized.

  Attributing the attack to local anti-bridge sentiment - and claiming to want to avoid further violence - a shadowy group known as the OLD MEN seized on the incident as an excuse to halt construction.

  After their ferry voyage - on which a seasick Dawn met an odd group of nuns - father and daughter parted ways when Ren ran into his high school sweetheart, ANTOINETTE HUBERT, now the local Sheriff.

  Sent to play chauffeur, Netty took him to see MRS. RUTHERFORD and the other Old Men in person. Then, to the bridge construction site, where an attempt on his life was narrowly thwarted by his youngest sister, WANDA LESGUETTES, who pushed him out of the way of a falling pillar only to have her own hand irreparably crushed beneath its weight.

  Wanda - longtime addict of an island drug known as GOO - had also been responsible for the attempted assassination, obligated by a debt owed to the Old Men, who hadn’t told her the target was her own brother.

  Meanwhile, checking into their cabin on the grounds of the TALBOT INN, Dawn encountered a strange elderly couple who suggested she investigate a nearby lighthouse, in order to learn more about her family.

  Headed there, Dawn spied on MR. and MRS. HUNTER - a tattooed couple who arrived on the same ferry - up to something weird in the woods: Dropping a heavy weight on the ground. Measuring the results.

  At the lighthouse, Dawn met her cousin, AARON COATES-LESGUETTES and his best friend, MAX HUBERT. Both lighthouse keepers, but also members of THE CIRCLE, a secret society working to keep the island safe from something evil lurking in the ocean nearby. Something unseen for fifty years, which only a very few still believe ever existed at all.

  Despite uncertainty about his position in the Circle - after recently placing his second accidental false alarm - Aaron agreed to introduce Dawn to their grandfather, MARTIN LESGUETTES, living in the next lighthouse up the coast.

  Aaron’s mother (and boss), SYLVIE COATES-LESGUETTES had always hoped her son would follow in her footsteps - and those of his grandfather - but after suffering an anxiety attack reporting Aaron’s latest false alarm to the Old Men, she was reconsidering.

  Halfway to their grandfather’s lighthouse, a message from Max had called Aaron back, leaving Dawn on her own. Detouring along the beach, Dawn’s first encounter with the ocean caused her to pass out in the surf. Only the sudden appearance and intervention of the nuns - who anonymously called Dawn’s father to come retrieve her - saved her from drowning there.

  Arriving back at the lighthouse, Aaron found it had lost power. Went to check the back-up generator. When Aaron didn’t emerge, Max investigated, only to be knocked down by an enormous BLACK FIGURE which then leapt into the ocean. Inside the genny shed, Max found Aaron, eviscerated. On the verge of death.

  Before Max could go for help, the generator powered back on and exploded.

  AND NOW...

  CHAPTER ONE

  Rounding the curve out of the woods, headlights flash across a pale, blonde teenager.

  The Jeep wrenches to one side. Narrowly missing her. Kicking gravel. Tearing furrows into grass. Spinning one-eighty. Back onto the lane again. Rocking to a stop. Facing backwards. Lights illuminating the girl once more.

  Simply standing. Motionless. In the middle of the gravel lane. A fog of dust settles around her. Hair and long t-shirt rippling in the wind. Bare legs glowing white in the halogen beams.

  Far too late, the driver lays into the horn. Blasts the girl. The trees. The empty night.

  She doesn’t notice. Gazing off into the dark of the woods. No awareness of the near-miss.

  Only when the large man in the passenger seat places a tattooed hand on the
driver’s tattooed arm does the small woman behind the wheel let up on the horn. She looks a deadly warning at him. He heeds it. Removes his hand before she’s forced to bite it off.

  Turning her rage towards the girl, she honks again. A short blat. Just for good measure.

  The girl pays no attention.

  The driver shakes her head. Throws the Jeep into reverse. Backs away in an arc. Aiming towards their intended direction. She puts it in drive. Doesn’t have far to go.

  Small cabins dot the property surrounding the Talbot Inn. The Jeep pulls up in front of one. Their temporary home. Only a few hundred yards from the nearly-tragic accident.

  The man gets out. Tall. Thickly muscled. Covered in grime. He rubs his bald head. Looks back up the lane. Concerned. Spots her. Barely visible under the slightest shard of moon. The girl still hasn’t moved.

  The driver slams her door. They share a look across the hood of the Jeep. She’s exhausted. Dirty. Neither patience nor interest for middle-of-the-night teenage girl nonsense. She pulls her filthy tank top over her head. Pauses long enough for the man to take a mental snapshot. Heads for the cabin. For the shower she’s been anticipating most of the long ride home.

  The man debates his options. Briefly. Then, follows the woman into the cabin - into the shower - without another thought for the girl.

  ~

  Graham knows the Jeep is responsible. Doesn’t need to look out the window. Who else would be so thoughtless? So inconsiderate?

  He leaves his place behind the Inn’s front desk. Crosses the uncomfortable sitting area where no one ever sits. Peers out into the night. Just as a light comes on in their cabin. Confirmation.

  He nods to himself. Suspicions satisfied. Of course it was them. At this point, he’d be surprised if they managed to come or go without causing a disruption of some kind.

  The Hunters are quite possibly the rudest guests Graham has encountered in six years as concierge at the Talbot. Pushy, obnoxious and demanding from the start. Without the smallest acknowledgement or gratitude. Or gratuity, for that matter. Not that he would ever alter his level of service based on the potential for personal reward. No, indeed. He was not that sort. But it said something about a person, didn’t it? How they treat those employed to help them.

  No one has called down. Not yet. This late in the season, only a few guests remain in residence. Graham knows better than to presume they’ve gone undisturbed. He’ll undoubtedly hear about it. In the morning. As they assemble to scarf down continental breakfast danishes. Holding him accountable. Asking what he’s going to do about it. And rightly so. While at the Talbot Inn, their comfort and contentment are his responsibility.

  He gazes out across the grounds. The darkness all but impenetrable.

  What had they been honking at? It’s almost too easy to believe there was no motivating factor involved. Just noise for its own sake. Simply announcing themselves. But as someone who deals with people, Graham knows: Things aren’t often done for no reason at all. The reason for honking is usually to move something out of the way.

  Which begged the questions: What was it? And: Did it get out of the way in time?

  It’s always been Graham’s fervent belief that his task as concierge is to ensure his residents’ maximum happiness. In this case, by removing any signs of death or destruction before someone inadvertently stumbles across it.

  With that in mind, Graham dutifully retrieves shovel and flashlight. Ventures out into the night. In search of whatever Mr. and Mrs. Hunter may have left behind.

  ~

  Graham is looking for a corpse. Or something on its way to becoming one. He plays his flashlight across the pea gravel. Follows the lane. Hoping for a bloody trail of gore at the very least.

  Macabre, but he knows it’s better to find something than nothing. Otherwise, he’ll never be certain. He won’t be able to return to the Inn. To relax. If he makes it all the way to the Hunters’ cabin empty-handed, he’ll have no choice but to secretly examine their fender for evidence. An invasion of client privacy by any measure. Something he always strives to avoid. If that turns up nothing, he’ll spend the next month waiting for a resident to happen upon a mouldering carcass somewhere on the property. Not exactly the wish-you-were-here memory he hopes guests might take away from their stay at the Talbot.

  Just ahead, his flashlight finds two deep ruts. Dug into the lane when the Jeep’s brakes suddenly grabbed. Graham follows. Head down. Off the road. Up onto the lawn. Trenches carved into the grass. He enumerates the tasks necessary to undo the damage before it becomes a permanent feature: Raking gravel. Filling grooves. Planting grass seed. Or would it make more sense to lay sod?

  The trails curve. Cross one another. Ultimately end up back on the road. Pointing in the opposite direction. The Hunters definitely tried to avoid something. Graham moves his flashlight beam back up the lane. Nearly has a heart attack when it illuminates the girl.

  Barefoot on the stony road. Wearing only an oversized black t-shirt. Stock-still. Staring into the woods. The girl from Cabin Six. Staying there with her father: The Lesguettes.

  A resident. In need of his assistance. Not what he’d expected, but he prides himself on quick adaptability.

  Graham gathers his wits. Moves towards her slowly, so as not to startle. “Miss Lesguettes?” He’s pretty sure he heard her father call her by name. “Dawn?”

  If she’s noticed him, she’s not showing it. She focuses on the treeline. Or something hidden in the darkness beyond. Graham continues forward. Aims the light at her feet. Keeps her lit without blinding her.

  “Hello? Dawn? It’s Graham. Your concierge?”

  Her mouth is pressed closed. Brow furrowed. Concentrating. Her hands are clenched. Fists.

  He reaches out. Gently taps her wrist.

  “Miss--”

  She lashes out. Connects with his jaw. Knocks Graham backwards. Into the grass. He spits blood. Tongues the inside of his cheek. A ragged place where he bit himself.

  Scrambling to his feet, he finds her terrified. Head darting back and forth. Looking in all directions. “Where...?”

  Graham holds his hands out. Protection against further attack. “You’re at the Talbot Inn. It’s two in the morning. I just found you. Standing in the laneway.”

  She looks down. At her feet.

  “On the Island.”

  “That’s right.” He nods. Exaggerating the movement for clarity. “I’m Graham. If you’ll allow me, I’ll be happy to escort you back to your cabin. Then we’ll--”

  “No.” She seems to be calming. No longer confused. “I mean... Yes. I’ll go back to the cabin, but please...” Her pale blue eyes find his. Earnest. Desperate.

  “Please. Don’t tell my dad.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  A nearly black piss-stream dribbles into a styrofoam cup. Almost certain to be the single worst coffee Netty has ever looked forward to. From the steam rising, she guesses she will be looking forward to it for a while longer. Allowing it to cool to a temperature somewhere beneath that of lava.

  She waits for the vending machine to stop hissing and spitting. A green light tells her the hatch is unlatched. She slides it open. Reaches for her cup. Tentative. Testing lightly with her fingertips. Too hot to carry. An insulating napkin barrier will be needed to transport it back to Max’s room.

  A belated final spurt catches her knuckles with a boiling mist. She yanks her hand away. Instantly in tears. Sobbing. No longer able to hold in what she’s worked so hard to hide from everyone around her. This surprise burn: The final straw.

  She doubles over. Gasping for breath as she lets it all out. Grateful it’s after visiting hours. Fewer bystanders to potentially witness the spectacle: The Sheriff breaking down over a few red dots on the back of her hand.

  As the tears abate, guilt descends. Surrounded by suffering. Rooms full of people with every reason to bawl their eyes out. While she is so incredibly fortunate. Her son - caught in an explosion three days earlier - will be releas
ed tomorrow. Cuts and bruises well-tended to. Minimal shrapnel excised. Nothing vital pierced or threatened. A few minor scars. Most will fade in time.

  Physically, anyway.

  It could’ve been so much worse. It was. For Aaron.

  Netty bites her lip. Stops herself from sliding back into misery. Wipes her eyes. Her nose. Grabs the coffee from the machine. Heads back down the corridor.

  Ahead, a door opens. A tall woman emerges. Older. Face creased by gentle kindness. A large crucifix hangs over her conservative black dress. A basic wimple covers her head. She pulls the door closed behind her. Lost in thought.

  Netty’s face darkens. Her back straightens. Any temporary weakness she’d permitted herself is flushed from her system with the few deep breaths she’s allowed before the nun turns towards her.

  “Oh!” Surprised to find anyone in the hallway at this late hour. She nods. “Sheriff.”

  “Agatha.” Netty pointedly drops the honorific title from Mother Agatha’s name. “After visiting hours, isn’t it?”

  The nun smiles. “Allowances are made, aren’t they? For public servants such as ourselves.”

  “Mm.” Netty doesn’t need to look at the card next to the door. “Paula Fields. Terrible, what was done to her.”

  “How fortunate for us all then, that you are on the case.” Mother Agatha moves past. To the elevators. “The culprits, I’m certain, are as good as caged.”

  “It was truly savage. Perverse. The work of inhuman monsters.”

  “Our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.” She presses the down arrow. It lights. Inside the wall, gears begin to grind.

  “That mean you’ve come to lay hands on the sick?”

  “Simply ministering to the faithful. And you, Sheriff...” Mother Agatha places a hand on Netty’s arm. With a great deal of effort, Netty manages to leave it there. “We were all so sorry to hear about your son. And the Lesguettes boy as well, of course. I want you to know we’ve kept Max in our prayers.”