The Lamplighters

by Frazer Lee

  “Seems okay to me.”

  “Like I said before, I don’t wanna piss on your parade. But remember it’s only your second day. After a couple of weeks, the monotony starts to set in, and when the weeks turn into months… Let’s just say the shine gets taken off it, okay?”

  “And then what happens?”

  “Oh, nothing much. Personally, I just find little ways of dealing. But even the joints and the alcohol get a bit tired sometimes. Hell I’m sorry Marla, I don’t want to bring you down. It’s the booze talking,” she raised her glass in a toast, “So here’s to more booze!”

  “I’ll drink to that.” Marla clinked her glass against Jessie’s.

  They had almost drained the jug completely. “Looks like it’s gonna be a good night my dear,” said Jessie drunkenly before swaggering off to the kitchen to fill it up again.

  Marla took another sip and remembered her dingy bed-sit, all the unpaid bills and hassle from her landlady. It was easy to complain when you’d had too much of a good thing, she supposed, but she meant to enjoy every minute.

  A sound like gravel being sucked through an echoing tube woke Marla. Her brain throbbed inside her skull as she struggled to open her eyes. For a moment she couldn’t open her mouth, it felt so dry. Slowly and painfully sitting up, she realized she’d passed out on Jessie’s bed. Focusing on the form lying next to her, Marla realized her head had been right next to Jessie’s feet. The violent gravelly sound continued from the vicinity of Jessie’s head. She was snoring as loud as a freight train.

  Marla managed to stand up, staggering backwards and steadying herself against the doorframe. Holding her pounding forehead with one shaky hand, she made her way out of the bedroom, through the living area and into the kitchen. She could just make out a few trees in the moonlight outside the window—it was the middle of the night. Grabbing a glass from the worktop, Marla opened the faucet and filled it with cool, clear water. She gulped the water down in one go, and filled the glass again. Then, a dull wave of nausea hit her stomach and bile rose in her throat. The glass wasn’t properly clean. It still stank of mojito. Marla lurched over the sink and vomited, the entire contents of her stomach emptying into the sink, echoing off the unsympathetic steel interior. The water still ran mockingly. If only she’d drunk her fill of that tonight instead of all those mojitos. Jesus, she suddenly realized, trying not to heave again, we put away three jugs of the stuff. The mere thought was enough to send her stomach muscles into involuntary spasm again and, horribly, she retched up what was left in her poor aching belly. Splashing some water on her face, Marla steadied herself against the worktop and peered at her reflection in the kitchen window. She looked like death, her pale skin and sunken eyes all the more pronounced in the silvery light of the moon. I’ll never drink again, she tried to promise herself. I know I’ve said it before, but I mean it this time. Never again.

  Then she saw the other face, looking back at her from the trees.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jessie was wrapped up in the kind of warm candyfloss dreams that only snoring drunks can access. Languid waves lapped at her feet, gently tickling her toes. A tropical breeze massaged her naked body. Then the sound of Marla screaming penetrated her skull.

  She kicked off the bedcovers instinctively and lurched towards the door. The scream had come from the kitchen—Jessie hoped the cockroaches hadn’t come back. Turning the corner, she found Marla lying on the floor, surrounded by broken glass. Stepping carefully through the shards, Jessie crouched and tried to rouse Marla. Good, she was still breathing. She shook Marla’s body a little harder.

  Marla groaned and looked up at Jessie’s worried face, a welcome sight after the face she’d seen at the window. There’d been something wrong with its eyes, she remembered that clearly. But what had happened next, how she’d come to be in a crumpled heap on the kitchen tiles amidst all this broken glass, was a complete blur.

  “What happened? You okay?”

  “I’m sorry. I was sick. Then I saw… I thought I saw…”

  “Man, I’m the one who’s sorry,” said Jessie earnestly. “I mixed those drinks a little strong. Come on, let me help you up.”

  Groaning again as the room span, Marla struggled to her feet with Jessie’s help. She half-fell, half-sat on a stool and leaned on the counter to steady herself, watching as Jessie filled the kettle with water and switched it on.

  “Hot, sweet coffee. This will save your life,” Jessie said cheerily.

  Marla watched almost incredulously as Jessie made the drinks, a superhuman feat considering the amount of booze they’d put away only a few hours ago. As the steam from the kettle rose, fogging the windows, Marla tried to picture the face she’d seen—or thought she’d seen—on the other side of the glass. Hollow eyes, that’s all she could remember. But even that small fragment was enough to give her the chills. She shuddered, and pulled a small shard of glass from her hair.

  “I only came in here for some water. Must’ve dropped the glass. Sorry.”

  “No harm done. Here you go.”

  Jessie placed a welcome mug of coffee in front of her. Marla wrapped her hands around it, the warmth comforting her.

  “You must think I’m such a lightweight…”

  Jessie laughed as she swept up the pieces of broken glass in a plastic dustpan.

  “I’m just glad you’re okay. Nearest hospital is quite a boat ride from here. On second thought, you could’ve hurt yourself at least a little bit—we might’ve gotten ourselves some quality shore leave.”

  Marla’s eyes drifted to the window again. She took a sip of the hot, sweet coffee.

  “Could’ve sworn I saw a face at the window. A man, watching me. Scared me half to death, let me tell you.”

  “Who was it? What did he look like?”

  “I don’t know. All I remember is his eyes—he had weird eyes.”

  Jessie peered out through the window, leaning as close as she could to the glass.

  “Well, there’s no one there now. I’ve scared myself a couple of times with my own reflection. Happens from time to time, being so isolated up here. And you did drink quite a bit.”

  “I suppose so,” sighed Marla, feeling a little foolish. “I’m too used to being surrounded by noisy neighbors, TV sets, stereos. And bawling children.”

  “It’s only been a couple of days, you’ll get used to the quiet,” replied Jessie, upbeat. “And if not, we’ll throw a party.”

  “No mojitos this time?”

  “No mojitos. I promise. Come on, you should get some shut-eye. You can have my bed, I’ll take the couch.”

  Marla tried her best to protest but Jessie was having none of it. Leaning on Jessie for support, she sloped into the bedroom and under the covers.

  As her head sank slowly into the soft pillow, Marla closed her eyes. The image of the face at the window and those desolate, empty eyes returned to her, keeping her from sleep. Finally her body surrendered to fatigue and she drifted off, her breathing troubled in the still, silent night.

  In the other room Jessie sat awake on the couch, watching the window and waiting for the sun to rise.

  Security Operative Anders felt the chill from the night crosswind in his knuckles as he walked, clutching the flashlight in his right hand. The thing was switched off as per the chief’s instructions, but the weight of it in his hand was reassuring somehow. His radio was silenced too, again Fowler’s call, for fear of alerting his quarry to the presence of him and his men. Anders pictured them fanning out as they’d been instructed, slowly crossing the dark side’s craggy terrain. His hearing seemed enhanced in the gloom and he turned at the sound of breath whistling through teeth, his fingers clenching tighter around the flashlight. He froze, eyes searching out movement but none was there. Not breath, just the wind. He breathed now, a slow and heavy exhalation of compacted tension, and made his way down a crude stairwell of sharp rocks. The biting crosswind diminished as he descended into the natural shelter of a steep-walled cove, t
he whistling of the wind giving way to stone cold silence. He listened to the echoes of his own gravelly footfalls, almost deafeningly loud in the still calm, and hurried on down to the cove in order to be rid of them.

  Tidal erosion had turned area at the back of the cove into a steep bank the waves couldn’t quite reach. As he worked his way down the last of the rocks and onto the cove’s sloping surface, Anders stopped dead in his tracks. Not a sound this time, but a real honest-to-goodness movement. It had flickered at the periphery of his vision where the sand of the cove met the sheer rock wall. He stooped, strafing the line of the rocks behind him, in order to get a better look at where the movement had occurred. His eyes darted across the rocky surfaces, which held shadows as deep as the folds of great velvet curtains. There. There it was again, a movement at the rear of the cove—too big to be an animal, he felt sure of that.

  He felt his heartbeat quicken as he crept up the incline, stealing closer to the source of the movement. Here, the rock face folded in on itself forming a deep fissure as large as the prow of the Sentry Maiden, and just as black as her hull. Had his eyes tricked him, mistaking the great dark shape for that of an intruder? He took a few steps nearer the maw-like mouth in the wall, phasing out the distant crashing of waves and listening intently for a sound that might betray the interloper. But he was the interloper here. Anders felt it just as surely as the nervous breath that hissed from his lips, just as acutely as the chill that kissed the back of his neck. It was a mistake to come down here all alone, following ghosts and shadows. It was a mistake to be out of radio contact, facing a dark impenetrable black crevice with the tide at his back desperate to sweep him off his feet and beneath.

  Anders, the interloper, clutched the flashlight like a weapon and turned. His terror-filled eyes gaped wide as a child’s, imagining dark things and their violent greetings.

  He saw only the sky, midnight blue, and the vague froth of white waves and laughed in relief. Nothing there except his paranoia. Time to declare the area secure and move to higher ground where he could no longer do such a good job of scaring himself silly.

  He was about to begin his ascent when he felt great hands bear down on him, then lift him from his feet. The world tilted, spiraled. His fingers lost the flashlight, clawing desperately for his belt, his radio. Everything turned to white noise as Anders felt his face slam into the wall of rocks. He tried to cry out as this huge something broke his mouth over the jagged stones and put out his eyes.

  And when pain finally found his voice, the sea swallowed his cries.

  Dawn and the fresh perspective of a new day left Marla a little embarrassed about the night before. Jessie had spared her the humiliation of morning small talk by leaving the summerhouse before Marla had awoken. Not only that, but she’d left a fresh pot of coffee on the simmer and a breakfast of eggs and ham in the kitchen for her.

  Marla ate a little, memories of throwing up still swirling in her gut. But the food and coffee put the color back into her cheeks and gave the acidity in her stomach something to chew on. She gazed out the window, sipping from a glass of cool water. Sunlight flickered through the trees where last night she’d seen those eyes looking at her. She chuckled to herself as she washed her cup and plate. Damned mojitos.

  She made her way over to the main house, looking for Jessie so she could say her goodbyes and go do her chores. As she called Jessie’s name, birds and insects seemed to chirrup back at her jokingly. The house was empty, as was the pool. Maybe Jessie had gone for a stroll—Marla made a mental note to do the very same after her work was done.

  The power shower was a novelty that was never going to wear off for Marla. The steaming blast of hot water and suds almost had her hangover begging for mercy. Feeling considerably brighter, Marla threw on some clothes and walked across to the house. There, she scrubbed and cleaned the bathrooms, watered the plants and tidied up the patio outside the kitchen. Her exertions felt good and it had been too long since she’d indulged in the simple labor of household duties. Any kind of cleaning at her bed-sit had felt like a betrayal to what was left of her self-worth, especially with the rent that witch the landlady had been charging. This was different though—an honest day’s work.

  Afternoon had set in by the time she felt she’d done enough to deserve a swim and Marla donned her bikini and slid into the pool. The water was warm and welcoming on her skin and she spent a blissful hour swimming, splashing and floating in its depths. Relaxing on a sun lounger for a while, Marla realized there was only one thing missing from her perfect day—a book. She cursed herself for not packing one. Reading by the pool in the glorious sunshine would be the icing on the cake she decided and, pulling her clothes on, headed inside the house to find something to read.

  “This is fucking crazy,” she said out loud to herself as she ducked under the bed to continue her search.

  No books, magazines, in fact nothing to read in the entire house. Even the cleaning products had no labels—if they had, she’d make do with reading one of those at this point. Frustrated by her fruitless search Marla scanned the children’s bedrooms once again, fantasizing that a well-thumbed copy of Doctor Seuss or The Little Prince would peek out from an open drawer. No such luck—finding nothing, Marla conceded defeat and walked heavily back downstairs. Filling a plastic bottle with water from the kitchen faucet, she stepped outside into the afternoon sun.

  Walking through the garden and onto the path leading away from the house, Marla suddenly felt a chill on the nape of her neck, like a shadow had kissed her. She turned and looked back at the house, scanning the treeline beyond. There was nothing there, no phantom stranger. She shrugged off the chill, which had now spread throughout her body and walked on down the path. As she blinked the sunlight made a red void behind her eyelids, and the memory of those dark empty eyes returned to her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Marla was panting by the time she reached the top of the hill. Her walk had taken her to higher ground, and air fresher than any she had ever breathed before. The trees had thinned out long ago, leaving her atop a gorgeous expanse of scrubland at the edge of the island. Pausing for breath, she saw a white building about a quarter of a mile away, its windows looking out to sea. She took a drink of already tepid water from the plastic bottle and began plodding down the sandy track towards the building.

  As she drew closer to it, she saw that the building was a mansion house, constructed in the same luxurious style as the one she’d been assigned to take care of. Nearing the gate, she squinted up at the glimmering glass and white stucco through narrowed eyes. This house was much larger than “hers”—whoever the hell owned this place, they were a damn sight wealthier than she’d ever be, that was for sure.

  Marla paused at the gate, feeling all of a sudden like an intruder on someone else’s property. By definition that’s exactly what I am, she was she thought—an intruder. Avoiding the gate, she opted instead to follow the perimeter white picket fence round back and take a peek at the garden. Verdant grass and simple hardy planting made the space look more like a bowling green than a garden. The lawn had been extremely well-tended, and was currently being nourished by the gentle rhythmic drizzle from dozens of sprinklers. Marla kicked off her shoes instinctively. Her hot feet demanded this pleasure of her, and carried the rest of her body forward before her brain could resist. The wet grass beneath her feet was actual heaven, and she padded across the grass with a saintly look on her face, laughing as the sprinklers suddenly spurted a cool cloud of summer rain on her face. Lost in the droplets, she spun and laughed and danced between the jets.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  The voice was male, hard and just a little Latin-sounding. Marla stood still and opened her eyes, suddenly feeling like a complete idiot. Dancing in the sprinklers. In someone else’s garden. Idiot.

  “I’m Marla,” she replied. “The new girl.”

  “Ah, the new girl. I should have known. I’m Pietro.”

  Marla reached out and sh
ook the hand that he’d offered. His grip was firm but his skin was very soft, almost feminine. Only premium cleaning products could soften a guy’s skin like this—that, and never working an honest day in a lifetime. This guy has to be a Lamplighter, thought Marla, trying and failing to remember what Jessie had said about Pietro. She looked up from his hand to his face. Dark hazel eyes peered back at her from within the frame of his olive skinned face.

  “Let me fix you a drink,” he said as he turned and headed for the house.

  Here we go again, she thought as she followed him.

  Still giddy from her dance, Marla’s eyes wandered. Whoever this guy was, his ass was as pretty as his face.

  The drink turned out to be a smoothie. An evil voice in the back of Marla’s head seemed to be crying out for an alcoholic hair of the dog. It would certainly help take the edge off her embarrassment at being found dancing in the garden. Marla managed to ignore the evil voice, instead watching Pietro intently as he chopped bananas and juicy berries and transferred them to a blender. Marla watched as he added a little cream and a handful of ice and hit the button. The blades whizzed loudly and made little purple and yellow waves on the inside of the clear plastic jug. Pietro then poured the concoction over some more ice into a tall glass, added a straw from the cupboard and placed it triumphantly on the work surface.

  Flavors exploded on Marla’s parched tongue and she felt her shoulders relax instantly. She beamed at Pietro with the straw still between her teeth.

  “You like?”

  “I like,” she replied. “Better than chocolate. You’ve mixed those before.”

  “I was a bartender back home for a while. Then I opened a little smoothie bar, but the local gangsters didn’t like me doing business on their patch.”