The Lighthouse (Berkley Street Series Book 2)

by Ron Ripley

“Okay,” Courtney said. She looked over at George. The man was looking listlessly at the floor. To Shane, she said, “You’ll be careful?”

  “As careful as I can be,” Shane said. He leaned in and gave her a soft kiss. “I’ll be back.”

  Courtney nodded, her back cold after he took his hand away and left the lighthouse. She glanced at George, saw the man was still concerned with the floor, and sat down inside the doorway. The ocean stretched out beyond the island, but in the distance, she saw a boat.

  It was heading toward the island.

  Chapter 49: Terminal Fleet

  “There’s a boat,” Courtney said.

  George looked up past the girl, out the doorway and onto the Atlantic.

  She’s right, George realized. A boat was steadily making its way to the island. The closer the boat came, the more familiar it looked.

  “Oh my God,” George whispered.

  “What?” Courtney asked.

  “That’s my boat,” George said, recognizing the antennae array and the Gadsden flag snapping proudly off the aft of Terminal Fleet. “That’s my boat!”

  He got to his feet, his heart beating excitedly.

  “George,” Courtney said, standing up. “Didn’t she steal the boat? The woman who dumped you here?”

  A chill raced through him as he realized the girl was right. He was nodding when the boat got close enough for him to see the one piloting it.

  “But that’s not her,” George said excitedly. “That’s Dell! That’s Dell! He’s the gatekeeper at the marina!”

  George raced out of the lighthouse, pushing past Courtney. He stumbled, nearly fell, but caught himself. He hurried down the path to the pier, his feet hitting the wood at the same time as Dell pulled the Boston Whaler in alongside.

  “Dell!” George shouted.

  Dell raised his hand in greeting, a smile of relief on his face.

  Then a shot was fired, and George watched as the top half of Dell’s face exploded outwards. Blood, bone, and brain sprayed outward.

  Someone was screaming, and George realized he was the one making the noise.

  The smile never left the ruins of Dell’s face, even as he collapsed to the deck. From one of the seats, the woman who had marooned George on Squirrel Island stood up. In her hand was a small, black, semi-automatic pistol. She shook ever so slightly as the boat ran aground slightly and came to a sharp stop.

  A broad, happy smile was plastered on her face, and she waved cheerfully to him.

  “Hello, George!” she said, stepping onto the pier and keeping the pistol on him. She quickly made the boat fast, stretched, and said, “You have an appointment to keep with my great-grandmother. She’s not one you want to anger, I might add. No, she’s worse than Bruce Banner when she’s angry.”

  She raised the pistol a little, so George was staring at it rather than her.

  “No,” the woman said, “let’s find her, shall we? We don’t want you being any later than you already are. She wants one of her newly dead to kill you, George. The dear woman enjoys watching their initiations. Tremendously.”

  George went to speak, but only a moan came out. A warm liquid rushed down his pants and he realized he had wet himself.

  Chapter 50: Interrupted

  Shane had only left Courtney a few minutes earlier when he heard the gunshot, followed by a brief, horrified scream.

  All plans to meet with the dead were cast aside as he turned and ran back towards the pier. When he reached the edge of the lighthouse he paused, crept around the building, and looked down at the pier.

  A boat, whose engine he had never heard, was tied up to the pier. George was there, his shoulders slumped as Amy pointed a handgun at him. A quick glance at the boat showed a body near the helm.

  Shane pulled his knuckledusters off, stuffed them into his back pocket, looked around, and saw a fist-sized rock on the ground. He picked it up, found the weight to be good, and took a long look at Amy.

  She and George were talking, but the wind carried their words away.

  When she brought the pistol up a little higher, Shane stepped out and threw the stone. It raced through the air, a perfect, elongated arc.

  With a flat crack, it smashed into the side of Amy’s head. Her legs collapsed beneath her, and she fell with a thud to the pier. Her hand let go of the pistol, and the weapon slid off the wood and into the ocean.

  George sat down, his shoulders shaking.

  Christ, Shane thought as he walked back to the path, he’s absolutely worthless.

  Courtney came out of the lighthouse and joined Shane.

  “Did you just hit her with a rock?” she asked.

  “Yup,” Shane said.

  “That was an awesome throw!”

  Shane grinned. “Thanks. I was trying to hit her in the chest, though.”

  “Whatever works,” Courtney said. “We’ve got a boat now.”

  “Oh damn,” Shane said, surprised. “We do!”

  The two of them walked quickly down onto the pier. George was staring at the boat.

  “What’s wrong?” Shane asked, dropping to a knee and checking Amy’s pulse. She had a welt on the side of her head, and blood trickled from her nose.

  “She killed Dell,” George said, his voice low and hoarse.

  “She didn’t kill you,” Shane said harshly, “and she didn’t kill us. That your boat?”

  George nodded.

  “Well let’s get the hell out of here,” Shane said. He picked up Amy and draped her over his shoulder.

  “Okay,” George agreed. Courtney helped him to his feet.

  “You won’t be using this little boat,” a voice said from the Boston Whaler.

  Shane looked for the owner, and he saw the young boy with the pipe who had killed George’s friends. The boy stood on the deck, pipe in his mouth as he grinned.

  “And why won’t we?” Shane asked.

  “She’s sinking, she is,” the boy said. “When your bonnie lass there shot the pilot, well, the boat ran aground. She sprang a good and healthy leak, and not one to be fixed without a dry dock.”

  Shane looked at the boat and saw the boy was right.

  It is sinking, Shane thought. As he watched, it had sank perhaps half an inch, and then half an inch more. In silence, they all stood where they were and after several minutes the boat had settled down as far as she would go.

  “That’s a little bit of a disappointment, is it not?” the boy asked gleefully.

  Shane wanted to strangle him.

  “It is,” Shane agreed, his voice tight. “But that’s alright. It’s better to finish the job myself than leave it to another.”

  The boy took the pipe out of his mouth, laughed pleasantly, and pointed the stem at Shane. “That, my fine bucko, is an excellent way to look at this particular situation. You’ve no love for Dorothy?”

  Shane shook his head.

  “Aye,” the boy said, and then he winked. “Neither do I. She’s a right foul beast, she is. I heard your little talk with Clark Noyes. You mean to do her in.”

  “I do,” Shane said.

  “Good,” the boy said, returning his pipe to his mouth. “Good. I’ll see you at the end, then.”

  The boy vanished.

  “I am more than a little upset,” Courtney said.

  Shane nodded. “Same here.”

  George began to cry.

  Chapter 51: George Makes a Move

  George spat on the ground outside of the lighthouse, his back against the brick wall. Behind him, inside the building, Shane and Courtney sat with the woman, Amy. The one who had tried to kill him.

  Not once, George thought miserably, but twice. How would Shane like it? George thought. If someone was trying to kill him?

  He felt ashamed at having cried in front of them, but at least Amy hadn’t seen it.

  The sun was sinking rapidly on the horizon, the waves of the Atlantic reflecting the day’s last light. The chrome and steel of his boat shining as well.

 
George straightened up as he looked at Terminal Fleet.

  The antennae which still stood tall in the evening light.

  The radios! he thought excitedly. George glanced back into the lighthouse. Shane and Courtney sat close together. Against the back wall, her hands bound behind her back, Amy was still unconscious.

  I’ll check the radios, George decided. Maybe then Baldy won’t sneer at me.

  George nodded to himself and quickly walked away from the building. He hurried down the path, moved as quietly as he could across the pier, and reached his Boston Whaler. He paused and looked at it, wincing at the sight of it.

  Christ, he thought, sighing, I’ll have to have a salvage crew come out, lift her, and tow her back in.

  He scrambled aboard and came to a sharp stop.

  Dell’s body was on the deck. Mercifully, the man was face down, but the remnants of his skull and brain were splattered over the helm. Hundreds of flies crawled about the exposed flesh while what looked like thousands had already begun to feast and lay eggs on Dell. The entire boat stank of death. George turned and vomited onto the pier, clutching the side of the Whaler.

  With bile dripping down his chin and clinging to the corners of his mouth, George turned back to the wreckage of Dell and the radios.

  “Oh Christ, Dell,” George whispered, “I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

  Gingerly, he stepped over the body and threw up on the deck as he tried to wipe dried brains off of the two-way radio.

  “It won’t work,” a woman said from behind him.

  George twisted around, his sneakers slipping in the blood and bile, and he sat down on Dell’s head. Bone cracked loudly, and the flies took to the air, buzzing around him angrily.

  Fresh tears sprang into George’s eyes, and he scrambled away, his pants wet with blood and urine.

  A young woman stood near the port side. She was pretty, but her eyes were closed, and it looked as though she had been crying as well.

  Something’s wrong, George thought, squinting.

  Oh, he realized, I can see through her.

  Right through her.

  She took a step forward and he crab-walked backward until he bumped into the starboard side.

  Her eyes looked deflated, and her neck was bent oddly to one side.

  “There’s no service here,” the young woman said. “None. It’s why we couldn’t get any help. There’s no way to get in touch with anyone.”

  “What happened to you?” George whispered.

  “Me?” she asked, smiling. “Oh, Dorothy happened to me. She put out my eyes and broke my neck.”

  “Why?” George asked, his voice barely audible.

  “Why not?” the young woman asked, shrugging. She stopped a foot away from him and said confidently, “I will tell you this, though.”

  “What?”

  “This is how it felt,” she whispered, and before George could move she grabbed hold of his head.

  Frozen thumbs worked their way up to his eyes and pushed.

  George screamed.

  Chapter 52: Then There Were Two

  A loud, horrified scream jerked Shane’s attention away from the unconscious Amy. As he and Courtney looked to the door, he said angrily, “Damn it!”

  Courtney didn’t ask why.

  Both of them could see George was gone.

  Shane kept a tight grip on his temper, and he stood up and went to the door. He glanced around and saw movement on the defunct boat.

  Eileen stood over George, her hands on his head.

  “What’s she doing?” Courtney asked, fear thick in her voice.

  “Killing him,” Shane said. He put his hands gently on Courtney and turned her away. George’s screams ended abruptly. Shane shook his head.

  “It’s too late,” Shane said softly. He and Courtney sat down slowly.

  For several long minutes, they were silent.

  And then Amy let out a grunt, rolled from her side onto her back, and opened her eyes. She blinked several times, the camping light close to her and shining brightly.

  “Hello, Sunshine,” Shane said softly.

  Amy’s eyes focused on him, and her face paled. She went to move her arms and couldn’t. Shane watched the color drain from her lips as she pressed them tightly together. The dark, dried blood on the side of her face stood out boldly.

  Amy looked at him, wet her lips and said, “Hi Shane.”

  “Courtney,” Shane said, “this is Amy. Amy, this is Courtney.”

  “A pleasure,” Amy said, forcing a smile. “I don’t suppose you’d do a girl a favor and untie me?”

  “No,” Shane said. “You’re all trussed up, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “Why?” she asked, feigning ignorance. “Why would you keep me tied up?”

  “Who do you think hit you with a rock?” Courtney snapped.

  “You did?” Amy asked, glaring at Courtney.

  “I did,” Shane said, correcting her. “I have more than half a mind to drown you, Amy, but I don’t want to add another body to this damned place.”

  “That would be murder,” Amy said. She focused her attention on him.

  “And so it would,” Shane agreed. “I’d sleep alright. You, Courtney?”

  Courtney nodded.

  “So, you know where we stand on the whole murder issue, Amy,” Shane said. “I know where you stand on it, too.”

  “Shane,” she said, her voice low and seductive. “You don’t think I could have had anything to do with murder, do you?”

  “Amy,” Shane said, leaning closer. “I have something I want to tell you.”

  “What?” she asked, smiling at him.

  “I guarantee you I will beat the brains right out of your head,” Shane said coldly, “if I think, even for an instant, that Courtney is going to die here.”

  Amy sat back sharply. “She’s going to kill all of us.”

  “Dorothy?” Shane asked.

  Amy nodded.

  “I think you’re mistaken,” Shane said sincerely.

  Amy looked at him, confusion on her face.

  “I already told you,” Shane said, “I’ll kill you. Not Dorothy.”

  “You don’t understand!” Amy shouted.

  The sudden violence in her voice caused Shane to recoil briefly.

  “What don’t we understand?” Courtney asked, her knuckles whitening as she tightened her grip on her cudgel.

  “My family,” Amy said, a mad gleam creeping into her eyes. “This island is ours. This lighthouse, it is ours. All of it. Even the dead. It is our purpose, our divine mission, to ensure the light forever shines. By controlling the light, we decide who lives, who dies upon the seas, and who will drown within the depths.”

  “Each death grants Dorothy strength. With each soul trapped on the island, her power grows. And the more dead upon the island,” Amy continued, grinning, “the stronger my great-grandmother becomes. Soon, she shall be able to leave the island, to travel freely to the land, where her power will grow ten-fold. Thus, we ensure the safety of the light.”

  “And what about me breaking it?” Shane asked, taking out a cigarette.

  Amy sneered. “A mere speed bump in our goal. The Coast Guard will come out. They will fix it. We will guard it. Dorothy will see to it.”

  Shane blew streams of smoke out of his nose, grinned at her, and said, “Are you planning on being alive for this whole deal, or are you expendable, too?”

  “She won’t sacrifice me,” Amy spat. “I brought the lighthouse back into our family. I returned her children to her.”

  “Her children?” Courtney asked, looking at Shane. “Dorothy had children?”

  Shane nodded.

  Courtney switched her attention to Amy. “Why does she need her children?”

  Amy smiled and remained quiet.

  “Now, you decide to shut up?” Shane asked. “No. I don’t like that.”

  “And what will you do about it, Shane?” Amy asked softly, laughing. “
Will you torture it out of me?”

  “Yup,” Shane said, nodding. “I hate how sweaty I get, but I’ll deal with it.”

  Amy’s eyes widened. “You’re joking.”

  He shook his head. “Not in the least little bit. Courtney?”

  “Yes?” Courtney asked.

  “I’m going to ask you to turn around and watch the doorway for me. I’ll gag the murderer here, but you’re still going to hear some things,” Shane said apologetically.

  Courtney looked hard at him, hesitated, and then nodded. “Alright.”

  She turned around and faced the doorway.

  Shane took his cigarette out of his mouth, slipped his shirt off, and smiled at Amy. He returned his cigarette to its proper place, twisted the shirt into a tight length and got to his feet.

  Amy pushed herself backward as far as she could go.

  “Stay away from me!” she snarled, jerking her head from side to side as he got closer. She kicked at him, but the blows were weak, bouncing impotently off of his shins and knees.

  He extended his arms, and as the shirt neared her mouth Amy screamed, “Wait!”

  Shane stopped. The shirt was only a few inches from her head.

  Panting, Amy glared at him.

  “Is there something you want to tell me?” Shane asked softly.

  She nodded.

  “Well?” he said.

  Amy closed her eyes and whispered, “She needs to have the children placed at the cardinal points.”

  “Of the compass?” Shane asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” Shane said.

  “It locks the power in,” Amy replied. “All of the strength Dorothy’s gathered over the years. All of the deaths. The fear and horror. It feeds her. With it, she’ll be able to power the lighthouse’s lantern even if there’s no power in the solar batteries. Even if the backup generator has been run dry. She’ll be able to keep the light shining.

  “She’ll be able to save the ships,” Amy whispered, finally opening her eyes again.

  “Well,” Shane said, unraveling his shirt. “She’s more civic-minded than I thought.”

  “God told her what to do,” Amy said, the fervent gleam returning to her eyes. “It is our mission, Shane. You can’t stop it. You mustn’t.”