Addicted to the Light

by S. E. Amadis

  I was slightly surprised when Ricardo took his place on the front seat. I hadn’t expected him to come along with us. Although when I reflected upon it a bit, I did understand that my father would probably prefer to do as little work as possible during our journey.

  I hoped that Ricardo wasn’t expected to carry out the role of jailor to me as well.

  With the four of us snuggled in safe and warm like a happy, cosy family, we set out on our way. The unhealthy smog and skyscraping highrises of the city soon gave way to rolling countryside. I noticed from the highway indications that we were heading due west, through Pennsylvania. The chauffeur drove without stopping for hours surrounded by a sepulchral silence on our part. I wondered how he had the stamina to keep it up.

  With only brief pauses for lunch and a mid-afternoon snack, we pulled into Chicago shortly before sunset. It was June, so the sun was setting quite late. My father had booked accommodations at the Four Seasons Hotel near the lake in an upscale neighbourhood: an executive suite with two double beds for him and me, and a regular room with two double beds for his employees.

  I wanted to catch a glimpse of the view out over the lake, but the sun was already setting behind us and there wasn’t much to see except the scintillating lights of watercraft out on the water and, of course, the ever-present neons on the streets below.

  My father hastened to drag the thick, luxuriant curtains over the windows as soon as he noticed my avid interest in the great outdoors. Then he ordered dinner for the four of us in our rooms. After that, everyone took to their beds. We never once stepped out of the hotel, nor even went down to the lobby, for that matter. We weren’t there for sightseeing anyways.

  The next day, after an early breakfast, we followed the same routine. I wondered how many days we would be on the road, and what my father’s ultimate destination was.

  *****

  “Did you know there was a scandal at Dorsey’s, and that was the reason why they closed?” Jingles mentioned one lazy afternoon in late June. “I wonder if it had anything to do with Patricia.”

  Carrie Anne had been gone for several days now, and Jamie was mooning and moping around depressed, without the faintest taste for doing anything. Garry nicked him on the shoulder and kicked playfully at Jingles’ shins underneath the table.

  “Get those jingly fingers rolling, Jingles,” he exclaimed in high spirits. “The sooner we solve this mystery, the sooner we can get Carrie Anne back and then the sooner lover boy there will be happy again.”

  Jingles giggled.

  “I don’t see how us solving the mystery will bring Carrie Anne back. But I’m onto it right away.”

  Garry gasped histrionically and rolled around for a while on the sofa, grasping at his chest and generally making a clown of himself.

  “I’m sure if there was a scandal, Patricia had something to do with it,” he moaned melodramatically. “Anywhere Patricia went, I’m sure there was trouble. Didn’t Carrie Anne say something about Patricia murdering her own sister? I mean, how loonie can ya get?”

  “Well, Patricia was a sicko. And now she’s dead. She paid for it,” Jingles murmured in a rational voice.

  After a moment, she gasped.

  “Look, here it is. ‘Dorsey’s Boarding School for Young Ladies closes due to mysterious death.’’” She scanned through the article. “A little girl who was visiting the school during a school outing died in undetermined circumstances. She was found drowned a few days after the school trip, but no one’s been able to explain how that happened.”

  Garry clapped his hands together.

  “I’m sure that was Patricia’s work!” he whooped. “I’d bet you half my month’s salary – and that’s a loada money, guys – that it had something to do with Patricia.”

  “How did Patricia’s sister die?” asked Carola. “I mean, how did Patricia kill her?”

  “Hum.” Jingles pulled at her lower lip. “I believe she drowned too. In a pond, I think it was, on Miss Havisham’s property. I remember I looked it up once.” She turned to her computer. “Here, I’ll do it again.”

  “She drowned,” Jamie intoned monotonously. “Patricia pushed her in and she drowned. I remember Carrie Anne told me all about her vision in the pond. I only half believed her then. You know I’m a man of science, and I was sure she was just hallucinating. You know, lack of oxygen to the brain and all that shit.” He gazed morosely at the floor. “What was it that she said once? Something about Horatio?”

  Jingles giggled.

  “It’s a quote from Shakespeare,” she said helpfully. “Hamlet.”

  “So what does this have to do with what’s happening to Carrie Anne today? She didn’t even have anything to do with Dorsey’s, or whatever that old school was called.”

  “I can’t answer you, Jamie.” Jingles continued fiddling with her computer. “But maybe wherever Carrie Anne’s headed, we’ll find the answer there.”

  “What?”

  Everyone leapt for Jingles’ computer. Jingles smiled victoriously.

  “Yep. That’s right. The GPS trackers are finally on the move.”

  Everyone gaped at the little signal on the map on Jingles’ screen as if mesmerized.

  “So where is this place?” Garry cried at last.

  “Somewhere south of the Great Lakes. But she’s still moving.”

  Garry yawned and plopped himself down onto the sofa with a humungous groan.

  “Good thing Carrie Anne had the brainstorm to get GPS trackers this time,” he yelled. “Otherwise it would’ve been even more difficult to trace her this time round. At least last time she could send us email.”

  Jingles grinned wryly.

  “Well, clearly, old man Houghton has no intention of ever letting Carrie Anne communicate with the outside world in any way.”

  She fingered her chin. This gesture so characteristic of the Barrett brothers was apparently rubbing off on her.

  “I wonder why he wanted her so badly.”

  Chapter 4

  Yes, closer and closer now. I rubbed my prey’s wizened hands together and cackled with delight. Soon she would be within the grasp of my conjuror. It wouldn’t be long now. It had been so easy to take over the sleazy mind of that girl’s hapless multi-millionaire father. After so many failed attempts, I’d finally found the way to get to her.

  Although basically a good type, his mind was weakened and softened by his need to make money no matter the means. There was love in him, of course. No doubt about that. He did love his daughter, in his own way.

  But the lust for money was far greater. And that was the sinful thought I so easily seized upon to worm my way into him.

  His will was weak. His resolve and determination backsliding and easily overcome after years of living a slothful and slovenly life. For a few days we battled inside him. His mind reeled, and he tried to regain control. That was the one thing I hadn’t counted on: his insatiable need to be in control at all times. And he certainly didn’t take too kindly to not being in control inside his own being.

  But it wasn’t long before I won him over. A few unscrupulous moves at the stock market that brought him even greater profits than he had ever known before. The admiration in the eyes of passers-by on Wall Street as soon as the name Charles Houghton came up in any conversation. A gaggle of the unemployed queuing at his door begging to work for him and praising him as a boss over all other bosses. And he was mine.

  *****

  Jamie was flicking through his mobile.

  “Well, we’ve only got the two trackers to follow Carrie Anne with,” he said. “Her phone’s disappeared. I assume ole man Houghton must’ve taken it away from her, or got a hold of it somehow.” He glanced up at the crowd. “Good thing she had the insight to get those two trackers.”

  “Where’s it going now?” mumbled Jingles.

  “Can’t you check it up on your computer?”

  “Well, I could. But I’m busy doing something else right now. And your mobile’s right at
hand.”

  Jamie thumbed through his mobile.

  “Still moving due west. If this keeps going, they’re gonna fall right off into the ocean.”

  But in fact, Carrie Anne and Charles Houghton didn’t fall off the map into the ocean. It had been almost a week since they’d set out, stopping each night in a major city or metropolitan area, always moving westward. They appeared to spend a night in Seattle, and the next day they turned northwards, following the coast.

  Garry ambled out of his bedroom with a suitcase.

  “Pack your bags, bro,” he said. “Soon as they settle down somewhere, you’re grabbing the next flight out. Here, I’ll even lend you my suitcases.”

  He frowned at the map on Jamie’s mobile.

  “Though the way things are going, I’m starting to wonder if they’re planning on ending up in Alaska. It’s summer, you know.” He yawned and stretched. “Me, personally, I prefer to stay where it’s warm in the summer, thank you very much.”

  Around noon the trackers crossed discreetly into Canada, then appeared to mosey on up into Vancouver and plant themselves there.

  “Good thing they’ve got international coverage,” said Jingles with a yawn. She had spent the morning trawling through the internet and was a bit tired. “Strange they’re not moving anymore. Usually they seem to drive the whole day.”

  “Maybe they’ve reached their destination.”

  Everyone leapt for Jingles’ table almost at the same time.

  “Who did Patricia know in Vancouver?” they cried almost in unison.

  “No one, far’s I’m aware,” replied Jingles.

  “Go through that family genealogy thing again,” suggested Jamie. “Maybe they had family up in Vancouver.”

  Jingles flipped through websites.

  “You mean that thing about Patricia’s grandma, that Olivia Stewart-Havisham thing I was telling you about earlier? About how Olivia was descended from Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots and all that?”

  Jamie nodded.

  “Yeah, sort of. But look and see if they’ve got family in Vancouver now.”

  “Stewart’s a very common name,” Jingles murmured after a while.

  Jamie leaned over her table.

  “What’re you doing? The White Pages? I didn’t say look up the White Pages. I said check her genealogy tree.”

  Jingles pushed at his head.

  “You big lumphead. I already did that. That’s the first thing I did, you nerd.” She shook her head. “There was nothing. So now I’m doing the next logical thing.”

  “Trackers’ve settled in the Four Seasons Hotel again. In downtown Vancouver this time.” Jamie switched around on his mobile. “This thing’s really neat, it actually gives you the address.”

  “Wonder if ole man Houghton has some sort of shares in the Four Seasons enterprise or something,” said Garry. “They seem to stay there whenever they can.”

  Jingles shrugged.

  “Doubt it. ‘Sides which, they’re a Canadian company. Can’t see someone like him investing in something foreign. Probably just likes the views.”

  Garry nudged her.

  “Ah how little you laymen know about investing. It’s actually wise to diversify your portfolio. Including companies from other countries—”

  “Cut the crap, we’re not interested.” Jingles yawned again. “Actually, Jamie, it not only gives you the address. It can actually locate something within a metre or two of its real position. So you could even attach that thing to some object in your house that you’re always losing, and it’ll tell you exactly where it is even right in your own home.”

  *****

  After settling our bags into our room, my father shut me into the bedroom of our suite.

  “Take your time, daughter, and get yourself prepped and plumped up. I’m taking you to dine in the city’s finest restaurant tonight.”

  I wondered why I was supposed to get myself plumped up. Was he planning to eat me?

  He strode across the room and rummaged through my bag, then pulled out my makeup case, a pair of dress slacks and the most elegant blouse it had occurred to me to throw in.

  “Here, use these. There are hair dryers in the bathroom too.”

  He left, closing the frosted glass doors behind him. As I was putting the finishing touches on my makeup, he came in and slipped up close behind me. In one surreptitious move, he had fastened some sort of necklace around my throat. My hand flew up in surprise to finger whatever it was that hung from the pearl-encrusted chain. It looked, and felt, like a cold, multi-faceted diamond.

  “A family heirloom,” he said, then left the room again. “I’ll be waiting for you out here whenever you’re ready, daughter.”

  A sudden chill spread through my whole being. I felt the urge to wrench that frightening artefact from my neck and hurl it across the room. Something about it gave me the creeps, absolutely filled me with horror. I tried to study it in the light from the crystal-stemmed lamp. It looked like an ordinary diamond (inasmuch as a diamond could ever be ordinary), not particularly massive or weighty, transparent and flawless and about the size of half my palm. A teardrop, really, almost.

  I wondered why I suddenly felt as if he were about to lead me to my last supper.

  I stepped out from the room. I had decided to sweep my hair up into one of the fashionable chignons I had learnt to create when I was pretending to be Carola Hochmeister, and I’d let two delicate ringlets hang down around my face, near my throat, framing the necklace coquettishly. My father let out a sharp whistle when he saw me, the first expression of emotion I’d observed in him yet. He held his arm out towards me.

  “A daughter like this makes me proud to be a father,” he declaimed. But his voice was flat, and there was no mirth in his eyes.

  I stepped towards him and passed my arm through his, studying him warily. His white Armani suit fit him like a glove, and reddish-brown Louis Vuittons gleamed on his feet again. Unlike me, he wore no jewellery or adornments, only a sparkling gold-and-chrome Rolex around his wrist.

  We strolled together towards the elevators, appearing to the rest of the world like an idyllic father and daughter accustomed to a life of luxury and enjoying a healthy relationship filled with love. We stepped into the elevators, and I was surprised when he pressed the button for the lowest floor instead of the lobby. I didn’t dare ask him where we were headed.

  Once in the basement, he led the way firmly down linoleum-tiled passages lined with narrow, utility-room type doors to an enormous cavity filled with pipes and roaring with heavy machinery nearly deafening us. We wound our way to the back of this room, where a giant furnace blared and groaned at us. My father opened a hatch on the front of the furnace, and the acrid flames that shot out almost took me by surprise, making me leap back instinctively.

  I wondered if he was planning on roasting me in this furnace in the end, like a sacrificial lamb, and started to back away uneasily. But he only reached out and snatched my purse from my hand.

  “You won’t be needing this, or its contents, anymore, daughter,” he told me.

  Before I could think of the implications of what he was saying, he had already shoved my purse into the flames. I watched the scarlet leather sear into blackness in a daze, trying to recall what was in it. I remembered I had my passport and Social Security card in there, but I couldn’t think of anything else. Without my passport, I would have no way of returning home.

  What could my father have meant when he said I wouldn’t need my passport anymore? Somehow I didn’t think I was being overly pessimistic by reading sinister insinuations into his statement.

  I’d never doubted that his final objective was to kill me.

  *****

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