by Ron Ripley
“Aye,” Wyatt said bitterly. “She boxed us up and shipped us out to the mainland. We were kept in darkness, bound in a place where the children screamed and wept. Only recently were we returned to the island, although I cannot say by whom or why.”
“My sister Ione,” Jillian said, startling Shane as she stepped out of a shadow.
“What?” Wyatt asked, looking at his granddaughter.
The girl, no more than twelve, walked forward and took a seat beside the man. She wore a long nightshirt, the large, heavy curls of her light blonde hair falling to her shoulders. Her face was angular, the cheeks high. Jillian smiled nervously at Shane.
“My sister Ione,” she said again. “It was she who had kept our bodies for Mother. Then Ione’s granddaughter returned them.”
“How do you know?” Wyatt asked.
“I saw her,” Jillian said. “Just once. Ione and her husband were arguing about the boxes, and about how long they would have to keep them in their own cellar.”
“What did she say?” Shane asked.
“Until mother called us home,” Jillian answered.
Shane looked at Wyatt and said, “When did Dorothy die?”
“I’m not certain,” Wyatt replied. “Shortly after she killed Clark, she sent our bodies away.”
“You should ask father,” Jillian answered. “Mother bound his body with chains and cast him into the ocean, right off the pier.”
“Your father’s a little upset with me,” Shane said. “I broke the lantern.”
“He’ll speak with you,” Jillian said confidentially in a low tone. “He despised mother. I can remember the names he called her when he was dying. They were terrible. Even dead I blushed to hear them.”
“Shane,” Wyatt said, “why do you want to know?”
Shane got to his feet and smiled at them. “I want her to leave the island.”
“She’ll never leave,” Wyatt said, shaking his head. “It is a fool’s errand to try and make her. And how would you? She is much too strong.”
“I’ll make her,” Shane said. “I may need help, but I’ll make her go.”
“I’ll help,” Jillian said softly.
“Thank you,” Shane said.
“As will I,” Wyatt said. “I’m sure the other children will as well. Perhaps even those who have died at Dorothy’s hands.”
“I would appreciate all of it,” Shane said. He glanced at the door and then looked back to Jillian and Wyatt. “She threw him off the pier?”
They both nodded.
“Okay,” Shane said, sighing. “I guess I’ll go and talk with Clark.”
“Come back soon,” Jillian said shyly, “I like talking with you.”
Shane nodded, smiled, and left the cellar.
Chapter 45: A Time for Action
Amy left her car in the parking garage, cut through an alley between a lobster shop and an antique store, and came out half a block away from the marina. Her disguise was simple and complete. Few people, if any, would recognize her in such plain attire.
I always dress well, she thought, smirking. They’ll never think it was me. And besides, I am on a mission. The family will be returned to the lighthouse. We will be the keepers again, even if we have to wash the island in blood to do it. Who lives. Who dies. What ships make port. All of it will be ours to decide.
Her smirk faded as she thought of her great-grandmother, the woman hard and brutal, but driven.
She pushes me to greatness, Amy reminded herself. She won’t let me fail.
A quick peek at the gatehouse showed it was empty, the guard probably on his rounds.
Amy relaxed slightly, set her eyes on George Fallon’s Boston Whaler, and moved quickly to it. Her sneakers were almost silent on the worn boards of the dock, the pistol a warm, comforting presence against the small of her back.
When she reached the end of the dock, where the Whaler was tied up, she bent down and went about untying the line.
“Miss?” a voice said from the boat.
Amy stiffened, looked up, and saw the guard who had been on duty early in the morning. He stood on the deck of the boat.
“Yes?” she asked, smiling as she stood up. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the line snake down and into the water. Her smile broadened.
“Have you seen George around?” he asked. “I came aboard, thinking maybe he was sleeping one off, but he’s not here, and he never passed by the gate house. I’m coming up to the close of a twenty-four-hour shift. I haven’t seen him at all.”
“No,” Amy said, “I don’t imagine you have. Did you check under the seats?”
“What?” the man said, confused. He twisted to look back and when he did, Amy quickly drew her pistol.
Chapter 46: A Bad Decision
Dell hadn’t made too many bad decisions in his life. Joining the Navy had been one of them. Three years of misery and chipping paint. Marrying Mollie Grace, which had been another. Turning his back on the woman who had left George Fallon’s Whaler alone in the morning wasn’t working out so well either.
Christ on a crutch, Dell thought, staring at the flat, black semi-automatic pistol in her hand. The weapon didn’t move, the end of it fixed firmly on his belly.
Dell had seen a man get shot in the gut while on liberty in Hong Kong.
“Miss,” Dell said, licking his lips nervously, “I ain’t got nothing to steal.”
“Step back,” she said softly. She didn’t wave the gun about. Instead, she made sure it stayed on him.
She’ll kill me if I don’t do as she says, Dell realized.
Keeping his expression neutral, Dell took a careful step backward and down. He kept his hands at his side, where she could see them.
“Take a seat,” she said.
Dell did so.
She climbed aboard easily, her movements graceful. She sat down across from him, the pistol resting on her leg, but still pointing at him.
“What’s your name?” she asked, smiling.
“Dell, miss.”
“Dell,” she said, nodding. “Tell me, can you pilot this boat?”
“Yes, miss,” Dell answered.
“Fantastic,” she said. She grinned pleasantly at him. “So can I. What you’re going to do, Dell, is pilot this little rig out to Squirrel Island.”
“Did you kill George there?” he asked suddenly.
“No,” she said, laughing. “No. George is alive and well. I promise you that. I also promise you that if you pilot this boat to the island for me, everything will work out for you too.”
“And if I don’t?” Dell asked nervously.
“Well, Dell,” she said politely, “Like I said, I can pilot this boat, too. And, in case you can’t figure out what that means, Dell, it means I won’t hesitate to put a couple of bullets into your chest and dump you over the side when we’re windward to Squirrel Island.”
“I’ll bring us to the lighthouse,” Dell said quickly. “No mistake about that.”
“Good,” she said, a smile still on her face. “Get up to the helm then and take us out. The sooner we’re done, the better we’ll all be.”
“Yes, miss,” Dell said. He stood up on stiff and awkward legs. With a painfully dry throat and his heart thundering against his ribs, Dell went to the helm.
Bring her out there, Dell, he told himself, bring her out there and be done with her.
Aye, he thought, best plan there is.
Dell started the engine and backed the boat slowly out of her berth.
Chapter 47: A Discussion
Shane walked around the front of the keeper’s house, wary for any of the dead who might be wandering. All he saw was Courtney in the doorway of the lighthouse. She lifted a hand in greeting, and he waved and smiled at her.
Her smile was tight and forced.
She worries, Shane thought, turning his attention to the pier. The young woman’s concern made him feel cared for, a curious sensation. Even when he had briefly dated Marie Lafontaine it had been mor
e physical than anything else.
Focus, Shane scolded himself. He followed the path down to the pier, walked to the end of it and sat down. His legs hung over the side, and a fine mist was picked up by the wind and cast on him with each wave as it broke. Clumsily he took out his cigarettes, lit one, and enjoyed the potent chemicals in the smoke.
“Clark Noyes,” Shane said, speaking towards the ocean, “can you hear me?”
“Aye, you git,” came Clark’s voice from behind him, “I can hear you.”
Shane twisted slightly, saw Clark standing a few feet back and asked politely, “Will you sit with me, Clark?”
“Tell me why you have a mind to speak with me now,” Clark said warily. “You ruined my light.”
“I ruined your light,” Shane replied, “because Dorothy wants the rest of us dead. And, no offense now, but I have no desire to be dead yet.”
Clark nodded. “Aye, understandable.”
“As for why I want to speak with you,” Shane continued, “I want to know how you died.”
Clark raised an eyebrow over one charred eye, then he grinned, the cracked lips twisting obscenely. “I like you, Shane, I do. And if my foul bride wants you dead, well, perhaps we can upset her a bit in that regard.”
Clark walked forward and took a seat beside Shane.
The cold emanating from the ghost was highly unpleasant but bearable.
“I have to tell you,” Clark said after a minute of silence, “I loved being a keeper. I enjoyed the solitude. I am not a good man, Shane. Nor am I a pleasant one. Are you looking to see remorse in me?”
“No,” Shane answered truthfully. “I’ve known a lot of bad men, Clark. Not many as bad as you, mind you, but bad enough. And one or two worse. God judges. Not me.”
“Just and true, and true and just,” Clark said, nodding. “Now, you want to know how I died?”
“I do.”
“My wife,” Clark said, looking out over the Atlantic. “My blushing bride. My own Eve, the lover of the serpent. She killed me. Tortured me first, though I deserved it.”
“How did she torture you?” Shane asked, already knowing the answer.
“The light,” Clark said bitterly. “My own light. Burned the sight out of my eyes. Starved me. Bled me. Gelded me. Thus my body is now the horror you behold.”
“Why are you still here?” Shane asked.
“She bound me,” Clark said, his voice thick with anger. “A soul to keep the lighthouse working true. Nothing more than a slave.”
“And what of her?” Shane asked. “Did she work the light after your death?”
“Not for long,” Clark spat. “The coastal watch, they found her out. And she killed herself, damn her! She bound herself to the island, made sure she would be here.”
“And you never were able to care for the lighthouse again?” Shane asked.
Clark shook his head. “Even with the binding of the man, Dane, she hasn’t let me back in! And then you went and broke the thrice-damned light.”
“I did,” Shane agreed, keeping an eye on the ghost. “I did. But I’ve already told you, in order to be rescued. They’ll be coming today, tonight the latest, to repair the lantern. And if you help me, Clark, I’ll be able to shatter Dorothy the way I did the light.”
Clark looked at him warily. “How?”
“You feel that anger inside of you? That hate?” Shane asked.
Clark nodded.
“I’ll need some of it, the part you hold against her,” Shane said softly. “The part all of you hold against her.”
“And what will happen?” Clark said. “When you have this?”
“I’ll break her,” Shane replied grimly. “I will pull her apart and drive each piece like a nail into Hell.”
Clark stared at Shane for several long minutes. Shane tightened his grip on the knuckledusters, readied his makeshift weapon, and waited.
“Can you do it?” Clark asked finally.
“I can,” Shane answered.
“Have you done it before?” The skepticism in Clark’s voice was thick.
“Once,” Shane said, “and that little girl was a hell of a lot worse than Dorothy could ever think to be.”
Clark raised an eyebrow, then a cold, hard smile crept onto his face. “The lighthouse will be mine?”
“The lighthouse and the whole damned island for all I care,” Shane said truthfully. “I’ll not chase you from it. I only want Dorothy, she’s the one pulling the strings here.”
“Aye,” Clark said softly, “that she is. A mad witch playing at Fate.”
In a louder voice, Clark said, “You’ll have my help, Shane. For my lighthouse, and more than a bit of revenge.”
“Fair enough,” Shane said. He stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, I have others to speak to about Dorothy.”
“There are those you don’t know,” Clark said, standing. “They won’t heed your call, nor believe you.”
“Will you help?”
“To put my bride in Hell?” Clark asked, then with a wicked grin he said, “Of course I will.”
The ghost vanished, and Shane was alone on the pier. He looked out at the Atlantic, saw the sun moving steadily towards the western horizon and thought, Will they come tonight for the light? Will it even matter in the end?
He shrugged, unable to answer his own questions, and turned to walk back to the lighthouse.
Chapter 48: An Uneasy Alliance
Courtney stood in the doorway of the lighthouse, watching Shane. The man was walking slowly along the pier, his head bent down. She had seen him speak to the ghost, and while she knew Shane would tell her what was said, she still burned with curiosity.
A grumble behind her caused her to take her attention away from Shane and to George Fallon.
The man was sitting up, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. When he lowered his hands, he nodded to her and looked dejectedly at the doorway.
“What’s going on out there?” George asked tiredly.
“Shane’s on his way back,” she answered.
George nodded. He sighed and said, “I wish I’d never come out here.”
Courtney didn’t reply.
“How’d you get on the island?” he asked.
“Bad decisions,” she answered. “Ones that seemed like they were good ideas at the time.”
“Same here,” George said.
“Hello,” Shane said, stepping into the doorway and resting a hand on the small of Courtney’s back.
The touch was gentle, but firm, and sent a thrill of excitement through her.
“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice steady.
Shane quickly explained how Clark had agreed to help.
“I’ll need to try and find some of the others,” he continued. “Dane and Eileen, even Scott, if he’ll listen to me.”
“Will it work?” George asked, his tone one of disbelief.
Shane nodded. “What are the names of your friends?”
“Vic and Eric,” George said. “But how is it going to work?”
“You’re in construction, right?” Shane asked.
George nodded.
“So you know what a power converter is, AC to DC when you need the electricity in a pinch?” Shane said.
“Sure,” George said. “What’s that got to do with this place?”
“I think that I’m some kind of a power converter,” Shane said. “Before, when I had enough information, when I had the backing of other ghosts, I was able to channel it. And that power, well it forces the dead, like Dorothy, into a somewhat physical form I can handle.”
George shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense at all.”
“Do ghosts?” Courtney asked. “I mean, seriously, do ghosts make any sense to you whatsoever? They shouldn’t even be here, let alone be capable of hurting someone. But they are, and they do.”
George didn’t respond.
“Whether it makes sense or not,” Shane said. “It’s what happened.”
“
And you’ve done it before?” George said doubtfully.
“Once,” Shane replied.
“You managed to get rid of the ghost?” George said.
“If I hadn’t,” Shane said coldly, “I wouldn’t be here.”
“How can you do something like that?” Courtney asked. She looked at the man before her as he hesitated before answering her.
“I think it has something to do with my house,” Shane said slowly, seeming to pick each word with care. “I never had a great knack for languages before we moved to Berkley Street. I could speak English, of course, but nothing else. Then, the more time I spent at the house, and the older I got, the more I understood. The more I could speak the different languages. It felt like something was unlocked in my head.”
“I’ve done research on what I did at my house,” Shane continued. “There are skills, like mine, which have been recorded. Others who can channel energy. There are a few accounts online. Usually they pass along a family line. My parents didn’t say anything about it, and my grandparents on both sides were dead.”
“So maybe this is genetic?” Courtney asked.
“That’s what it looks like,” Shane said, nodding. “The stories I read talked about how most benevolent ghosts don’t have a problem with people who possess my ability. It’s the bad ones, like Dorothy, who really don’t care for us. I don’t think she’s realized what I can do. I don’t think she would leave me be.”
“So what are you going to do?” George asked, skepticism still in his voice.
“I’m going to learn more about Dorothy,” Shane said, looking at Courtney, “if I can really know her, then I’m almost positive I can do it again. Make her, well, touchable.”
Courtney moved closer to Shane, tilting her head slightly to look at him. “You’re going to go speak with more?”
Shane nodded.
“Do you need help?” she asked.
Shane smiled at her, teeth stained by coffee, but the smile was genuine.
“No, thank you,” he said gently. “I’d rather you were here. They seem to avoid the lighthouse, although I’m not quite sure why.”