The Lamplighters

by Frazer Lee

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  While his body lay deep inside his dirty hole, Vincent’s mind descended too, into a kind of coma dream enveloped entirely in the crashing of waves and the crackle of sediment and pebbles. The sounds were like a monstrous breath, an undulating tide intent on carrying him away from his physical self and further into freezing impenetrable black. As his mind drifted, he became aware of a separate force charging through these neural waters like the hulk of a great ship. The mass approached him, impossibly large and fast, sending him into a spin as it moved above silent and cloudlike. The churning waters lifted him in its wake and as his head broke the surface he saw that shape was indeed a ship. The sensation of daylight was licking at his heavy eyelids and Vincent struggled to get them open. The light was that of a lighthouse; his lighthouse right there on the rocks high above the stormy sea. Then the light blanked out—the lighthouse becoming, rather, the absence of light—and the ship was heading straight for the rocks. Vincent tried to cry out in warning but his voice was lost. His brain was smoke and his eyes were mirrors as he watched the beautiful sleek shape of the ship explode onto the rocks. It was a horrifying, awesome sight. Rigging and masts fell like tall trees onto the shattered hull as deckhands clung onto the failing structure like ants caught in a flood. A red mist descended over the water like a sick crust and Vincent was swallowed utterly by the deep once more. His neural pathways became reeds that folded around him, mummifying him in their fronds and folding him into the ocean’s depths.

  Jessie’s piercing scream echoed off the metal shutters and solid walls of the Big House like the wailing of a siren. Marla found herself a few steps from the kitchen at the back of the house. Instinct had led her to follow the clarion sound of Jessie’s shrill voice and she pushed on through the kitchen, through a utility area and into a shuttered conservatory at the rear of the house. The large room was furnished with a couple of sun loungers and a rustic dining table surrounded by heavy wooden chairs. It was the kind of room she’d dreamed about breakfasting in as a young girl, on imaginary holidays with imaginary real parents. This would be the perfect venue for birds to flutter in, singing Disney-style as Mother laid out fresh malt loaf and soft-boiled eggs on the table. But this was no bright and airy conservatory, at least not now. Shutters had come down to smother the glass in an impenetrable metal skin and the only light that came in was via natural gaps in the mechanism. Dust spiraled unsettlingly in the thin strips of light to reveal Jessie, who was backing away in terror from a dark figure standing with his back to the shutters—right where the rear door would have been a few moments ago. Heart pounding, Marla was about to shout or scream or something when the figure stepped forward into the scant light, urging them both to calm down. Adam.

  Vincent drifted up through the dirt like the stem of a thought. His eyes opened noisily, bombarded by glum light. He had the taste of the grave in his mouth and a violent whining sound, like a tuning fork, ringing in his inner ear. Above him, the mouth of the hole framed the sky darkly as a cool breeze flooded over the edge like vapor and down over the surface of his skin. The graying hairs on his forearms stood on end at the touch of the chill breeze. They were joined by pinpricks of gooseflesh as Vincent saw the pale little face staring down at him. His pulse lurched into palpitations as he squinted up at the face and realized he was looking straight at his son—his own dead son looking right back at him from over the lip of the hole. The old man was on his feet in seconds, a malformed word dying a death in his dry throat as he dug his ruined fingernails into the clay walls of his grave and began a desperate ascent. His fingers lost their purchase on the treacherous surface several times and each time he attacked the wall with new determination. It didn’t matter to him that he was leaving what was left of his fingernails embedded in the clay like fragmented communion wafers, he just had to get to the top and hold his son in his arms. They’d be warm together; there’d be a fire in the stove at the lighthouse for both of them and a pot of hot beef stock to warm their bellies. He still had the boy’s favorite mug, the one with the painting of the ship’s wheel and anchor on it, a crack in the handle with a ridge of dried superglue and twine holding it together. Sweat trickled down the old man’s neck and back, feeling like an army of cold insects beneath his shirt. His hands were a mess of grave dirt and finger blood as he reached out and grabbed hold of rough fistfuls of wild grass, pulling himself up and over the crumbling edge with all his might. His lungs felt fit to explode as he scrambled onto the grass and rolled over on his back, gasping for air because he had nothing left. Looking around frantically for the little pale face of his boy, expecting any moment to feel the weight of him on his chest, Vincent saw only the sky and the distant shape of the lighthouse. The cool breeze had become a harsh wind, moaning and mocking through the tall grass that he had bent and broken in his battle to escape the hole of his own making. Lost, lost, lost, the wind seemed to whisper and he felt the dead weight of the gun Fowler had tossed to him heavy in his pocket. He was a ghost, back from the dead and cast back into the limbo of existence without his son. Tears made ice in the hollows beneath his eyes as he folded his arms around his midriff and lumbered in the direction of the prison tower he knew as home.

  “Damn it, Adam, you scared the living crap out of me!”

  Jessie scowled at Adam as she picked herself up and dusted down her clothes. She glanced at Marla, unaware that she’d rushed in upon hearing her screams. Marla felt a hot blush coursing into her cheeks. She avoided his curious gaze and looked down at his sidearm. Flashes of her dream about him pointing his gun at her down on the jetty splintered into her head. Marla looked away as Jessie scowled on like a disgruntled school matron.

  Finally he spoke, apologizing quietly for startling Jessie and causing Marla any concern. He explained how Fowler was on the warpath with Anders missing. How he had sent Adam and his team up to the Big House to check it out as soon as Jessie’s security camera ruse had been discovered. Knowing they’d be heading for the house, Adam made sure to approach the building from the rear. The conservatory shutters, which stood firm behind him as he spoke, would give him the opportunity he required to slip inside unseen by his colleagues. They’d figure out he was missing pretty quickly, and after that it would be a small leap of the imagination to discern where he’d gotten to. But the security system was state of the art, built to order and designed to be nothing short of impenetrable. Jessie’s failsafe would make it impossible to achieve a computer override of the lockdown mechanism. Fowler’s crew would have no choice but to go back to the compound and pick up the cutting equipment stored there for emergency repair work. Then they’d have to lug it across rough open terrain and through dense foliage in order to use it to attack the house’s defenses. And all that would take time; hopefully time enough for someone out there to come to their aid.

  “But when…if help comes, won’t Fowler blow them out of the water like he did those poor people on that yacht?” Marla asked.

  The fear in her voice was unmistakable. Adam’s sudden broad smile did nothing to calm her nerves. Was this a joke to him, playing at being a secret agent, a superhero?

  “We just have to hope Jessie’s computer routine diverts Fowler’s resources. The more time he spends on us, the less he has to worry about keeping tabs on the ocean perimeter.”

  Marla was struck by how white his teeth looked, just like a shark’s. They reminded her of Welland, looking for all the world like he might devour her as he’d questioned her in his office. Your chariot awaits, he’d said on the quay before she boarded the Sentry Maiden, the same boat that killed those innocent people and crippled poor Pietro. The boat, of course, the bloody boat.

  “Why can’t we just take the boat! Sail her way from the island?”

  “We thought about it,” Adam replied, “but the jetty is so heavily guarded that it would mean involving a couple more of the guys. And frankly…”

  “Frankly, we’d be fucked over before we even pulled anchor,” finished
Jessie. “Not a trustworthy bunch, Fowler’s men. Present company excepted of course.”

  Adam smiled again, eyes twinkling. Marla channeled thoughts of cold winter days in a desperate attempt to prevent herself from blushing. It didn’t work.

  Jessie smirked at her and said, “Trust me, Fowler’s gonna be furious that we’re locked up in here. While he tries to bust us out, hopefully a few vessels will pick up our distress call—the bigger the better.”

  With that, Jessie returned to the kitchen and began rifling through Marla’s backpack in search of something edible.

  “Anyone hungry? Come on lovers, we can’t explore a big old house like this on empty stomachs.”

  The house was massive, with each room revealing another doorway and each hallway or landing giving access to yet more rooms. Twice now, Marla and Adam had to retrace their steps to avoid getting lost, such was the labyrinthine complexity of the structure. Jessie had set up shop in the kitchen, busily preparing a meal from the unbranded canned and dried goods Vincent had generously donated to their cause. Enough food to feed a small army, Jessie had remarked, and she wasn’t wrong. At this, Marla felt a sudden pang of guilt somewhere between her heart and her windpipe, thinking now of Vincent. She’d abandoned him, left him in his lighthouse to fend for himself and Pietro. Surely that made her as bad as those who’d forced him to stay there all these years—and surely she could’ve found a way to bring the old man along with them. If the island was as much of a threat as Jessie made it out to be, then Vincent was in danger too. As she clutched the cool hard surface of the carved wooden banister, Marla made a mental oath to help get Vincent away from this place just as soon as help reached them. Feeling invigorated from her new found determination, she began another ascent up the stairs and into the uncharted reaches of the Big House.

  When they reached the next landing, Adam stopped still. Marla assumed he was being gallant—her breathing was rather heavy as they scaled the stairs.

  “You don’t have to wait for me,” she said breathlessly, “I’m right behind you.”

  His hazel eyes twinkled in the half-light. “Listen. I just wanted to apologize…”

  Don’t make me do this, not now, not here, thought Marla but the only words that would come were, “Apologize? For what? You don’t have to…”

  “We… I shouldn’t have played you like that. I can tell you’re pissed about it, and I don’t blame you.”

  He winced a little, as if remembering the way she’d looked at him after her grilling in Fowler’s office. That harsh dressing down with her eyes. He’d known she meant it. And now, even with his face part obscured by shadows, Marla could see how very carefully he was choosing his words.

  “I just wanted to say I’m sorry, that’s all. We just couldn’t be sure… I mean the timing of your coming to the island; Jessie said we should play it careful like.”

  She was impressed. He was doing well.

  “And you do everything Jessie tells you to?”

  Adam smiled goofily. The flush on Marla’s neck and chest indicated she’d already forgiven him for whatever sins he’d visited upon her.

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  Their laughter broke the thin veil of remaining tension between them. Marla climbed the rest of the steps to the landing.

  “I don’t know, Adam. Think I’d prefer Fowler as a boss over Jessie any day. She’s such a bully.”

  Adam laughed again, an infectious sound, and nodded his agreement about Jessie, his harsh taskmistress.

  Drawing level with him on the landing, Marla said, “Can I just ask one thing. About you and Jessie?”

  His eyes darted from left to right as he re-read the question in his mind then found an answer.

  “Oh we’re not together if that’s what you mean…”

  “No, nothing like that,” Marla said matter of factly, giving him cause to flush this time. “I just wondered. Jessie’s conspiracy theories about this place, about people going missing, about what happened to Pietro and the boat…”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you believe her?”

  Those hazel eyes narrowed and Adam did not hesitate.

  “Oh I believe her. Implicitly. And so should you.”

  Marla felt a chill on the nape of her neck, then heard a distant banging noise echoing through the maze of nooks and crannies that made up the house. Jessie in the kitchen? No, that was on the other side of the building. This sound—and there it was again, bang, only louder this time—was coming from above. Fowler’s men, come to gun them down and throw their bodies into the sea? Her brain conjured a series of weak points in the structure of the house; an unprotected skylight rotting in its frame, a dry rot-infested nesting hole beneath the eaves, just large enough for a man to wriggle through…

  Peering up the stairs to see how high they’d climbed, Marla and Adam could see one last door ahead.

  “The attic. It’s coming from the attic,” he said.

  Slowly, and without further conversation, Marla followed Adam up the stairs, wincing painfully as the old wood of the steps near the top creaked loudly beneath their feet.

  As the banging sound continued from behind the door, Adam carefully tried the door handle. Locked. He crouched down by the door to examine the mechanism; it was a sturdy security lock, with no keyhole for him to pick at in order to gain access. He weighed up the options; on the one hand if the banging noise was that of an intruder, this locked door provided a useful obstacle. On the other, if the banging were the result of a faulty shutter or unsecured part of the building he’d be better off checking it out and remedying the problem. Relaying his thoughts to Marla in quiet whispers, they quickly agreed it would be better for them to find out either way. It was important to keep the door intact so they could barricade it safely after locating the source of the banging. Rather than kicking the door down, Adam took a penknife from his pocket and set to work on dismantling the door handle. Marla watched intently as he set about his work. Adam gritted his teeth as he tried to work the point of the blade into the rear of the door handle housing. The blade skidded away, almost snapping shut on his fingers. It was fiddly work and looked like it might take him all night. His grunting escalated, echoing off the walls as the metal plate behind the door handle refused to yield to his advances. Then, Marla’s breathing stopped as she heard the sharp creak of the step behind her. At the sudden touch of a hand on her shoulder she squealed in surprise, causing Adam to drop his knife and damn near jump right out of his skin.

  “Jessie! Don’t sneak up on me like that, Christ!”

  Panic over, Marla noticed the flecks of tomato sauce on Jessie’s clothes and caught the first whiff of something edible from downstairs.

  “Didn’t mean to startle you girl. Chill out. I called to you guys—you didn’t hear me?”

  Adam and Marla both shook their heads at Jessie, who stood looking matronly surrounded by the scent of hot food, which had followed her up the stairs and onto the landing.

  “Well, I made some food if you’re hungry. It’s not much but it’ll keep us going ’til some help arrives.”

  “You go ahead,” Adam said, “I’ll join you guys just as soon as I’ve figured out this damn lock.”

  Jessie looked puzzled, only now noticing that Adam was crouched by the door with a penknife in his hand.

  “What’s with the door?”

  A sharp bang replied in place of Adam, coming from somewhere behind the door.

  Jessie’s face frowned a question. “What the hell is that?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out. Go on, get something to eat. I don’t know how long this is going to take me.”

  “Okay. You holler if you need any help. And holler loud; this house seems to devour sounds,” Jessie replied.

  “Hey, just make sure it doesn’t eat all the food. You save me some,” Adam said, as the girls began their descent down the creaking stair.

  Jessie winked at Marla in mock-conspiracy. Marla could barely hea
r the creaks of the old wood above the manic rumbling of her stomach. She was starving. Only Jessie could think of preparing food at a time like this, locked in a mansion house together while (she was sure of it) all hell was breaking loose outside. But as they approached the kitchen together, Marla’s saliva glands took over and her mouth flooded with the thankful expectation of her first hot meal in hours.

  They sat in silence, wolfing down the food hungrily. The pasta was delicious, even though the spaghetti was overcooked and burned molasses-brown in places where it had escaped over the edge of the pan. Marla wiped a glob of orange-red sauce from the surface of the table next to her bowl, enjoying the feel of the smooth textured wood beneath her fingers. The table, like almost everything else in this vast house, gave the impression that it was constructed entirely from driftwood rescued from the sea. Wood paneling, formed of gnarled and mottled beams that looked like they’d been plundered from the deck of some ancient sailing ship, lined the walls all around them, adding to the strange nautical effect. Marla sucked the spilled sauce from her fingertips and returned her attention entirely to the last morsels of her meal.

  “There’s more in the pan if you want it,” Jessie offered.

  “Better save it for Adam,” Marla replied. “That was great though, thanks, just what the doctor ordered.”

  Jessie smiled, her eyes narrowing. “You Brits are so polite. It was awful, I know, but we had to eat something. Plenty of supplies with us. Good job too, all things considered.” She paused, slurping up a long strand of spaghetti through pursed lips. “Your turn to cook next time, toots.”

  “I wouldn’t advise it. Not if you don’t want food poisoning.”

  “That bad huh?”

  “That bad.”

  “Ah, well, I guess then we’ll manage,” Jessie rose from the table, chair legs rumbling across the kitchen’s rust-red stone floor, “Let’s go explore the rest of the house.”