The Lamplighters

by Frazer Lee

“Don’t worry,” he said, “Just agree with everything he says, then you can get on with enjoying your cushy new job.”

  Marla laughed again, a little less shrilly this time.

  Fowler remained seated behind the desk for a moment as Adam showed Marla into his office. The shadowy room was situated deep inside the red brick Security Headquarters, built on a flat promontory overlooking the jetty. Behind Fowler, a wide wall-to-wall window the size of a movie screen gave an impressive view of the ocean.

  “Our new arrival. Miss Neuborn, Chief.” Adam’s voice was now stiff, formal.

  “Thank you Hudson,” Fowler said, “And tell Anders I want to see him just as soon as I’m done here.”

  Hudson. Well it sounds a bit like Handsome, Marla thought.

  Adam nodded, dismissed, quietly closing the door after him. Fowler gave Marla the once over before standing up and offering his hand.

  “Welcome to Meditrine Island, Miss Neuborn. I’m Chief of Security Fowler.”

  She shook Fowler’s hand. Christ, he had an iron grip. And long sharp fingernails for a guy.

  “Please. Take a seat, Miss Neuborn.”

  She did so. Fowler remained standing. He wasn’t an especially tall man and he evidently knew it. But now he was towering over her, the interrogator and his suspect. He pulled a series of documents from his desk drawer and placed them in front of her, not taking his eyes off her for one second.

  “This is the new New Testament,” he said dryly.

  Marla picked up the first document, emblazoned with a “Consortium Inc.” corporate logo. It depicted a world bisected by a flaming sword, around which was curled an angry looking snake. Subtle.

  “Rules and regs. The only things that make my world go round. I need you to absorb these to the letter, Miss Neuborn. If you can do that for me, I’ll be most grateful.”

  She couldn’t quite place his accent. He sounded like a Scotsman who’d spent most of his life on a Texan ranch.

  “I’ll do my best,” she replied.

  Fowler’s features dropped for a moment, then adjusted themselves into something resembling a friendly smile. Marla was suddenly finding it hard to keep eye contact.

  “Music to my ears.”

  Finally, he sat down, stiff as a board in his swivel chair. Fowler truly looked like a man for whom relaxation meant a ten-mile jog through enemy territory, a heavy pack of incendiary devices on his back.

  “Talking of which, music is not allowed on the island. Neither is liquor, or drugs. Especially drugs. Gatherings of more than two persons are also strictly prohibited. All these regulations, plus the rest, are in your dockets there.”

  “Gatherings…” began Marla. This was all beginning to sound a bit extreme.

  “It may sound strict,” Fowler interjected, “But security’s responsibility to The Consortium Inc. is paramount. Your position here as a Lamplighter is built upon a set of values that we’ve worked hard to maintain ever since this community was created. Our contract with each other is one of trust. We trust you to abide by the rules—and you trust us to let you get on with your job.”

  He gestured at the documents on the desk. “Talking of such, your job specs are also in there. They detail your daily task rota, working hours, break allocation and so forth. I already have a hard copy of your contract on file here, so that’s all good.”

  At least I get to take breaks, Marla thought. She’d begun to think detention centers had fewer rules than this gig.

  Fowler stood up again, offering his hand once more.

  “Welcome on board, Miss Neuborn.”

  She looked nonplussed and really couldn’t hide it.

  “You’ll get used to it in no time, have no fear,” he continued.

  “Thanks,” she said as she shook his hand, already feeling a little wary of Fowler—afraid of him, even.

  “Splendid. Now, exit this building, take a left and head up the path to the residential area. One of your fellow Lamplighters will be waiting for you there to show you the ropes. Ah, and don’t forget your documents.”

  Marla picked them up quickly. The truth was she couldn’t get out of Fowler’s office fast enough. The air in there was just a little too close.

  In stark contrast, the fresh island air outside was lovely. Marla made her way up the steep dusty path with Fowler’s directions echoing in her ears. Bright mimosa flowers and wide carob trees lined the path, watched over by towering palms and massive euphorbia. The largest plants must have grown here for years, long before people had come to this island. And now she was here too. All around her, crickets chirped and birds sang their welcome to her over the soft whisper of a welcomingly warm sea breeze. Taking a deep lungful of fresh, clean air, Marla closed her eyes and paused for a moment before pressing on up the slope.

  Reaching the summit, she got her first look at how The Consortium Inc. members had spent their millions. Lush gardens framed by intricate walkways gave way to a huge swimming pool and beyond that, a building. Not so much a house, but rather a palace, this fantastical construction of glass, steel and white stucco caused Marla to gasp. She strolled into the gardens, turning this way and that to take in the elegantly informal planting, smiling at the way the afternoon sunlight danced through the trees and onto the winding stone path. As she neared the swimming pool, Marla heard faint splashing sounds.

  The swimmer was doing a lazy backstroke, slowly making her way across the length of the pool. Reaching the end, she flipped over and pushed her way up and onto the little metal ladder that gave access to the poolside. Leaving wet footprints on the warm slabs, she walked over to a sun lounger and grabbed an oversized fluffy white towel. As she dried off her hair, she saw Marla approaching from the garden.

  “Hey! You must be the new girl!”

  Her voice matched her looks, American, sunny and deeply curvaceous. A year or two older than Marla, perhaps. The yellow of her bikini suited her tanned complexion and infectious white smile. Marla felt as though a talking sunflower was greeting her.

  “I’m Marla.”

  “Good to meet you. I’m Jessie. I guess you’ve already met Scowler?”

  She gestured to a vacant sun lounger next to hers. Marla sat down opposite her as Jessie continued drying her hair.

  “Scowler…?” Marla laughed, suddenly getting the joke. She was a little disoriented by Jessie’s good humor, especially after Fowler’s boot camp-style induction.

  “I can see he’s got you good and spooked with his induction crap. Don’t worry, he’s harmless really, just doesn’t like us having too much fun. He’s what you Brits would call a ‘little Hitler’ y’know? Hey, I’ll throw some clothes on and show you around, okay?”

  “Cool. Thanks for doing this on your day off.”

  “Day off?” Jessie cackled, “Honey, this is a work day.”

  She shimmied away to get changed, singing to herself. Marla looked at the clear inviting depths of the swimming pool and marveled at what Jessie had just said. This was a work day.

  Chapter Nine

  Chief of Security Fowler shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His hemorrhoids had been giving him absolute murder for the last few days. Fowler winced as he tried to balance his buttocks on the support cushion above the vengeful assault being visited below. Admitting defeat with an exasperated groan, he decided instead to stand and look out the window. Watching a seagull riding the breeze above the perimeter fence, he caught sight of Adam, patrolling the pathway.

  He hadn’t been too sure what to make of the lad at first, a little too polite perhaps, a little too efficient. It made him suspicious. But Fowler had to admit Adam was much better than the last fellow they’d assigned from the mainland. Crossing the room, Fowler remembered how defiant the last one had been when his contract had been terminated. Things could have gotten messy, and he didn’t pay kindly to mess. He wasn’t the worrying kind, but he made a mental note to keep a careful eye on Adam all the same. A blind man could have noticed the way the boy had looked at Marla Neuborn.
Pussy, the weakness of every single goddamn soldier in Christendom. Doubly so on a hot island with strict no-swim regulations. Nope, one could never be too careful, and the security of the island was always at stake.

  A knock at the door—three raps, rapid.

  “Enter.”

  Anders stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He stood, staring at the back of Fowler’s head, awaiting his orders.

  “I understand there was another sighting?” The Chief spoke without taking his eyes off the view out the window, his back still to Anders.

  “Yes sir. In the early hours. 04:00. On the dark side of the island again.”

  The dark side, that was what they called the steep rocky side of the island, all hidden coves and treacherous drops.

  “And I suppose when you got there…”

  “Gone, sir. Not a trace.”

  Fowler made a sharp smacking sound with his teeth. This wouldn’t do. Would not do at all.

  “Someone is breaking curfew on this island. You are to bring them in. It’s your job. Are we clear?”

  “Yes sir.”

  A hesitant intake of breath. Fowler could tell that Anders wanted to say more.

  “Go on Anders, speak your mind.”

  “It’s just, by the time we get there to scope it out on foot it’s like whoever it is out there sees or hears us coming.”

  Now Fowler turned to face Anders. Not amused.

  “Stealth, Anders. That is the singular solution to your problem. Instruct your men to kill their flashlights, cut the damn chatter and split up so they are patrolling singly. Then you might get somewhere.”

  His eyes burrowed into Anders’ discomfort like dark little hooks.

  “Is that helpful?”

  “Sir.”

  “Double your efforts tonight. Get your men to spread out across the ridge bordering the dark side. I expect results. Dismissed.”

  The door clicked shut, leaving the chief alone with his sour thoughts once more. Sighing, he returned to his desk to conquer his piles and sharpen some pencils.

  Marla struggled to keep up as Jessie flitted into the kitchen, looking fantastic in her loose summer dress.

  “And this is the kitchen.” Jessie gestured around her with arms flailing.

  She performed each task gleefully as she reeled them off, “Here you’ll be expected to switch on the lights, switch off the lights, turn on and ignite the gas, turn off the gas, open the faucet, close the faucet…”

  Marla giggled as she watched Jessie’s performance from the doorway.

  “It’s not all fun and games though,” said Jessie, beckoning Marla to join her over by the sink. She crouched down by the cupboard beneath it and opened the door. “The job’s not over ’til the cleaning work is done,” whispered Jessie remorsefully, “Make sure the place is spotless and old Scowler won’t have anything to bug you with. I usually clean a couple different areas each day. Variety is the spice of life.”

  Marla peered inside and saw a collection of white, unbranded plastic bottles and dispensers standing to attention aside cleaning cloths and sponges.

  “Strange—to see products without logos and wild claims on the packaging, I mean.”

  “Yeah, you’d think these guys would have enough cash to buy the premium brands wouldn’t you?”

  “Maybe that’s why they’re rich. They accumulated the savings.”

  “Think you’re onto something there.”

  They stood up again.

  “Well, that’s about it, really. Just use the gas, water, electric each day. Keep the place clean. Water the plants and keep the lawn trimmed back. Any questions?”

  “Just one,” said Marla, “Which room do I sleep in?”

  Jessie roared with laughter.

  “Oh boy, they did a job on you didn’t they?” She took pity, sensing Marla’s genuine bewilderment. “It’s okay, I thought I was gonna be lady of the manor when I first got here too.”

  “I don’t understand…”

  “They kind of exaggerate the job spec before they hire you. We don’t sleep in the main houses, but don’t worry, there’s a little summerhouse out back just for you. Kind of like servant’s quarters, I guess…”

  “Servant’s quarters?”

  “Yeah, kinda. But nicer…”

  Servant’s quarters. What century was this?

  Suddenly, Jessie stopped still and peered out through the kitchen window.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Marla.

  “Did you see him? Thought I saw someone standing out in the garden.”

  They both focused on the garden path, scanning the trees in the mid-distance.

  “Can’t see anyone. Weird…” Jessie’s frown turned into her infectious smile again. “Hey, sorry if I spooked you Marla. Come on, let me show you where you’re gonna be crashing.” Jessie crossed to the back door and opened it.

  As she crossed the threshold, Marla glanced at the trees again nervously. Maybe she had seen someone standing there, just for a split second, watching silently. Stepping out into the warm summer air, she realized her arms were covered in goose bumps.

  “Come on, toots.”

  Jessie was already halfway across the lawn. Marla followed her.

  The summerhouse was nestled in an alcove of tall trees, separated from the side of the main building by thick hedgerows. Either side of the path leading to the front door was lined with pungent herbs. Marla’s nostrils drank in the piquant aromas of mint and sage, rosemary and camphor. Jessie reached above the door, feeling along the frame until she located the key. She handed it over and stepped back so Marla could open the door herself.

  “Welcome home, Marla.”

  Marla stepped inside as if she was entering a dream. The summerhouse was decked out like a fairytale cottage in a movie. Summerhouse. That made Marla giggle; surely every dwelling place on Meditrine Island was a summerhouse? This place was bliss.

  Jessie grinned in recognition at Marla’s happy silence. “Pretty neat, huh? I’ll let you get settled in and drop by again later, okay?”

  “Thanks. Thanks for everything.”

  Leaning in close, Jessie whispered in her ear, “We can smoke a joint together later. You smoke, right? I can always spot a fellow stoner…”

  “But I thought…”

  Jessie raised a finger to her lips, “Shhh…” She gave Marla a cheeky wink and left, closing the door behind her.

  Marla set about exploring her new home right away. The comfortable living space was complete with a little wicker sofa, piled high with cushions. This led into a small galley kitchen, with bedroom and bathroom tucked away at the back under the protective shade of the tall trees. Unpacking her rucksack, Marla put her clothes into drawers and onto hangers then investigated the kitchen cupboards. She found them well stocked with tinned and dried food, preserves and snacks. Curiously, the food packaging was similar to the cleaning products she’d seen at the main house—plain white labels with the name of the contents, a use by date and nothing more. A little refrigerator was sandwiched in between the doorway and stove and contained dairy items and an icebox filled with frozen bread and bagels. Marla stood in the kitchen and gorged herself on cheese, crackers, olives and sun-dried tomatoes. This was more food than she’d seen in days and the tomatoes were the best she’d ever tasted, drenched in rich peppery olive oil. She sat down on the wicker sofa to digest her food for a while. Sadly, the sofa wasn’t as comfortable as it had first looked even with all the cushions piled high. Still, she wouldn’t swap this for all the soft furnishings in London.

  Waking up with a crick in her neck, Marla realized she must’ve dozed off for quite some time. The sky outside had darkened to an almost green-blue color as the birds chirruped at the sun’s descent. Stretching her arms and back until her neck clicked, she made her way through to the shower room. This too was well stocked, with fresh, fluffy towels and toiletries to replace the ones that security had confiscated. The little bottles were similar to the containers of cl
eaning products at the main house, plain white plastic with no branding, just some simple text to describe the contents. She opened the container marked “shower gel” and sniffed at it. There was no discernable fragrance to the stuff at all. Oh well, better no fragrance at all than some horrid floral scent she didn’t like, although the latter might help mask the remnants of bleach she could still smell on her skin. Marla turned on the shower and tested the stream with her hand. It warmed up in no time. Naught to toasty in ten seconds. She climbed in and water pummeled her body like a powerful masseuse; this shower was a million times better than the one she’d suffered every day back at the bed-sit. She let the water run down her face as she blinked away embarrassing memories of climbing out the bathroom window and shimmying along the ledge while perverts wolf whistled at her from the street below. Best not think about that one. Marla turned, arched her back and let the warm jet travel up and down her spine. She could really feel the tension being driven out of her now. Another half hour in here ought to do it. Then she heard the whisper.

  “Marla.”

  The voice was urgent and shocking to her. Again, goose bumps erupted all over her skin. She felt suddenly vulnerable, naked and afraid.

  “Marla.”

  She turned the shower off and stepped gingerly out onto the tiled floor, grabbing the biggest, fluffiest towel and wrapping it round her body tightly.

  “Who’s there?”

  Her heart leapt into her mouth as a loud knock resounded on the door. She looked around for something with which to defend herself, the sudden mad image of her brandishing a toilet brush like a weapon flashing into her head.

  “It’s me—Jessie.”

  Marla opened the door, “Jessie! Christ, you shared the shit out of me!”

  “I’m sorry, toots. I’ll wait for you on the porch,” she held up a freshly rolled joint. “Okay?”

  Minutes later, dressed in clean jeans and t-shirt, Marla stepped out into the evening air and sat down next to Jessie on the porch. The joint was already lit, the fiery orange tip dancing like a firefly as Jessie passed it to her. Marla inhaled the smoke gently—it smelled pretty potent. She coughed, hard. This was the strongest skunk she’d ever tasted. Jessie laughed at her joyously. Marla started to giggle too, through her coughing rasps.