by Donna Ball
The last time Carol had been here, there had been a small sandy beach, tall sea grasses, and twisted pines. Pink and white flowers had bloomed in the spring, and deep orange ones in the fall. Now all that remained of the land upon which the lighthouse sat was covered with broken rocks from the dredging. It was ugly, barren, deserted.
Carol drew an arm across her face to clear her vision of sea spray and rain, and it was only then that she realized the distant wheezing sound in her ears was not the wind at all but her own desperate, chopping sobs.
The rain turned into a dampening mist as she scrambled over the rocks, slipping and sometimes falling hard on her hands and knees. Her hair clung limply to her scalp, and rainwater mixed with the sea spray and tears that trickled down her face and into her mouth. She could no longer feel the fingers of her left hand, and when she tried to move that arm, the response was slow and clumsy.
She reached the lighthouse in a state of shock and exhaustion, and for a moment, simply pressed against the rough tabby with both hands, unable to understand why she couldn't get inside. Then she realized that she had come upon the lighthouse from the backside, and she followed the circular wall around until she came upon a boarded-up entrance.
The barricaded doorway was mere yards from the ocean. Surf splashed against the boulders below and spray blew through Carol's clothes and hair. She pounded a fist against the barricade in a gesture of helplessness and frustration, and then stepped back, gasping for breath, to examine the situation.
The entrance was covered with a thick sheet of plywood reinforced by several crossed two-by- fours. She didn't see any opening or weakness in the barricade and she wondered for a moment— just a moment—whether Carlton had been lying after all, whether anyone had been here in years, whether it was all some trick.
Furiously, she pounded the door again with her closed fist. “Kelly!” she screamed.
She heard nothing in reply, but she hadn't expected to. The rumble and crash of the surf drowned out everything except her own gasping breath. She tugged at one of the two-by-fours, knowing it was useless, and met nothing but resistance. Carlton was lying—no one had been here since the Coast Guard had boarded up the place.
And then she noticed one of the nails in the topmost board was protruding a little. It was still new looking, not rust-covered like the others that had been driven, deeper. In fact, the wood itself had not yet weathered to gray, and if it had remained undisturbed since the Coast Guard closed down the lighthouse, the entire barricade would have rotted away by now.
Frantically, Carol looked around for something with which to pry away the boards. What would Carlton have used? He had to have a way of getting in and out.
The boat. He had planned on bringing her here; of course, he would have whatever tools he needed in the boat.
Half running, half crawling, Carol made her way back to the boat. All the while she was expecting that when she reached the pier, the boat would have disappeared, pulled loose from its moorings or swallowed up by the sea and she would be stranded, helpless to find Kelly, powerless to save even herself.
But the boat was there. She climbed over the rocking, swaying deck and half leapt, half tumbled into the cockpit. She threw open the hatch that led below decks and left it open to the meager light that seeped in from outside. She stood for a moment, bracing herself against the bulkhead as she tried to get her bearings, gasping with exertion and desperation. She could see nothing but shadows. Shadowed bunks, shadowed lockers...
She dropped to her knees and jerked on the handle of the locker beneath the nearest bunk, expecting it to be locked. But why should it be? There was no law against carrying ordinary marine tools.
And that was exactly what she found, in a gray watertight pouch in the second locker—a neat and organized assortment of hand tools. Two screwdrivers, a plastic box of heavyduty nails and screws, a sharp-pointed awl, a set of wrenches, pliers, a hammer.
She zipped the pouch closed when she saw the hammer and spun to her feet. “Thank you,” she whispered, and lurched toward the square of light that was the open door.
Then the light disappeared and at first she didn't understand why. Slowly a figure straightened in the doorway, moving toward her, filling up the space, blocking out the light.
Ken Carlton was dripping seawater and rivulets of blood from half a dozen small injuries. His hair was slick against his scalp and his clothes molded to his body. His smile was stiff and cold.
“Well now,” he said, “this is going to be more interesting than I thought.”
~
Chapter Forty-eight
Carol's hands were tied behind her back with a length of marine rope, and the position turned her spinal column into a pillar of fire. Carlton had to drag her the last few dozen yards over the rocks because her knees kept buckling with the pain. She couldn't have escaped from him, even if he had not taken the keys to the boat.
He used the hammer to pry out the nails on one side of the barricade, creating an opening large enough to crawl through. He pushed Carol through first and, unbalanced, she fell facedown onto the hard floor. He was close behind her, jerking her upright, but not before she noticed the dark, splattered stains on the floor in front of her eyes. She refused to look at the floor again, but she couldn't get the stains out of her mind.
The narrow windows that climbed the height of the structure had not been boarded up, and they admitted enough light to dispel most of the shadows and give substance to shapes. Carol saw some concrete blocks and cardboard boxes, a couple of five-gallon buckets, and a tray and trowel encrusted with mortar. In the center of the room, where the metal spiral staircase climbed to the top of the lighthouse, an enclosure had been built of concrete blocks. It had a narrow wooden door with a brass padlock. Carol's heart began to pound when she saw it, seeming to shake her ribcage.
Noticing the direction of her gaze, Ken said in a tone that was almost conversational, “It was a stroke of luck, really. Most of the supplies I needed—the wood and the concrete blocks and a lot of the hardware—were mine for the taking with what was left of the old lighthouse keeper's cabin. It would have been a perfect setup.” He looked around almost wistfully. “Almost inaccessible, completely sound proof ... but you've spoiled all that, haven't you?”
He did not sound angry over the fact, however, merely stressed and distracted. He glanced at Carol as he thrust a hand into his pocket. He brought out the ring that contained the boat keys and separated one of them from the others. “Now that you've gone to all this trouble,” he said, “you may as well see what you've come for.”
He went over to the concrete-block room and unlocked the padlock on the door. She heard sounds inside, scraping metal and his low voice, and in another moment he came out.
The girl was wearing a soiled white dress that came to her ankles, and a pewter figurine on a leather thong around her neck. Her feet were bare and manacled with a heavy chain no more than eighteen inches long. One wrist was enclosed in a handcuff that was attached to another, slightly longer chain that ended in a second handcuff. Carlton held the chain in the middle as he led her out of the room, although he did so almost casually, as though knowing she had long since passed the point of resistance.
Her dark hair was tangled and her face was pale and pinched. There was a discolored line around her throat where the leather thong of the necklace had been drawn tight so often it had created an almost permanent bruise. Her arms and shoulders were tiny, birdlike, painfully thin. Her eyes were sunken and dull. But it was Kelly.
Carol sobbed her name and took a stumbling step toward her. Needles of ice twisted through her spine and shot down her leg. She fell to her knees, sobbing, struggling against the rope that bound her hands. “Kelly! Oh, God, what has he done to you? Kelly, honey, it's all right. It's Mama. Kelly!”
Nothing registered in the girl's eyes.
Ken came over to her, jerking on the chain to which Kelly was handcuffed so that she was forced to follow. She did s
o with dragging, uncertain steps. He said, “A touching scene. But ineffective without the embrace, I think.”
He knelt behind her and Carol felt the sawing, slicing motions of a blade against her ropes. The ropes fell away, but before Carol could free herself, he grabbed her right wrist and fastened the other handcuff at the end of the chain around it. At that moment, Carol didn't care. She flung her arm around Kelly and held her tightly, weeping, caressing her hair, kissing her cold cheek.
“Kelly, sweetheart, oh, baby, I'm here, I'm here...” Words of joy, words of relief, words of welcome and comfort—nonsense words. “Kelly, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I love you. Thank God, I found you, thank God...”
Nonsense words.
Carol lifted a shaking hand to Kelly's face, smoothing back the tangled hair, greedily examining the adored familiar face with all its ravages, the face she had feared she would never see again, Kelly's face. “Kelly,” she whispered, searching those eyes in love and fear, hoping and daring not to hope that, having found Kelly alive, she might also find her sane and sound. “Kelly, it's Mama. I'm here. Baby, talk to me.”
She said, quite clearly, “I'm not Kelly. My name is Tanya. Kelly is dead.”
Carol's heart stopped.
For those few intense moments since she had flung herself against Kelly, the world had ceased its forward motion. This cold and ugly tower with its terrifying stains on the floor, the chains on their wrists and the madman who had put them there—all of it had faded beneath the joy of finding her daughter again. But now it all came tumbling back.
Carol twisted around to look at Carlton. He was smiling. “Tanya and Kelly were companions, you know, for almost a year,” he explained. “They became quite close, which worked out well for all of us. The girls had someone to keep them company, I had someone to use to keep the other one in line when it was necessary. I wanted a matched set, and they were perfect—until, of course....” And his face darkened with the memory. “Well, you know what happened. Kelly took it quite badly, I'm afraid. Sometimes she becomes a little deranged on the subject, pretending to be Tanya, as though that might bring her back or some such nonsense.” He shrugged. “I really don't mind. We all have our little games, don't we, lover?”
He bent as though to reach for Kelly and Carol flung herself between them, drawing Kelly's face against her shoulder and holding her tightly. “Get away from her, you bastard!”
Ken Carlton laughed. “Like mother, like daughter. Looks as though I have my matched set after all. Too bad it can't last.”
Carol ignored him, stroking her daughter's hair. “Kelly, honey, it's okay, don't be afraid. I'm here, I'll take care of you now.”
And this time when she held Kelly's face, and looked into her eyes, she saw confusion there, and uncertainty. Kelly said in a small voice, “Mama?”
Hot tears scalded Carol's eyes, tightened her chest. “Yes!”
She clasped Kelly to her, and in a moment Kelly's arms went hesitantly, slowly around Carol's neck. Carol sobbed with joy, and the tentative embrace tightened, became more certain.
“Don't cry, Mama,” Kelly said. Her voice was husky and tremulous. “It wasn't so bad.”
But then Carol couldn't stop crying. She held her daughter and she felt those small strong arms tighten around her, and tears soaked her face and choked off her breath and once again the world stopped. She was holding her daughter, and the moment was complete unto itself.
Ken's hand came down hard on her shoulder, pulling her away. “All right, that's enough. The storm's passing and we've got to get moving.”
Kelly clutched at Carol when Ken tried to pull her to her feet, and Carol grasped her hand. “Ken, listen to me,” she said, gasping on the last of her tears, “this isn't going to work. You know it isn't. My husband and my partner both know I'm with you. Walt Marshall saw me leave with you! They know we wouldn't stay out in the storm. They probably have the Coast Guard looking for us now. You're not going to get away with this one, Ken. In your heart you know that. I don't care what you've done in the past, it's over now. Just let us go. There's no point in going further.”
Ken just smiled. “You still don't get it, do you? The beauty of being me is that I can get away with anything. I have a passport, I have a boat, I have bank accounts in ports all around the world. Do you think I'm afraid of your husband or the Coast Guard or the police? I'll be out of their jurisdiction long before they find your body, and you'd be surprised how many countries do not have extradition treaties with the U.S.”
He walked across the room and picked up his tool pouch, bringing it back to where they huddled together. He leaned down again, but this time it was not to reach for Kelly. He took Carol's chin in his hand and tilted her face upward toward his. He said, in a soft and pleasant tone, “Have you figured it out yet, Carol? Why it was so important for me to bring you here? I'm going to kill you, yes, but only because I have to. Perhaps it will comfort you to know that you will be a better mother to Kelly in death than you ever were in life. You will teach her her finest lesson, as she watches you die.”
He unzipped the pouch and reached inside, bringing out another pewter necklace on a leather thong. He dropped it over Carol's head.
Carol's right hand was handcuffed and held tightly by Kelly's. Her left arm, as desperately as she tried to lift it, would move only a few inches. She couldn't have wrenched away from Ken, even if she had known what he was about to do, and she didn't.
He took hold of her blouse with both hands and ripped it open. Kelly screamed. Carol was too shocked to make a sound.
Carlton said, in a tone that was most polite, “You belong to me now, and clothes are not allowed unless I say so. I don't say so.”
He reached for her again, hands pulling roughly at her bra, and suddenly the small, breathless sounds Kelly had been making at her mother's side became a roar. The roar was a word and it reverberated throughout the enclosure: “NOOO!”
She lunged to her feet, swinging upward with her chained hand. Carol was flung backward but carried by the momentum, both emotional and physical, and she scrambled to her feet as the chain tightened between them. Startled, Ken stepped back. The tool pouch fell and scattered its contents at their feet. In a single motion, Carol and Kelly swung forward. Ken threw up his hands to stop them but too late. The chain caught him across the throat and the three of them tumbled to the floor in a heap.
Ken was stunned, groaning and gasping for breath, as Carol and Kelly scrambled quickly away from him. Carol gasped, “Kelly! Hurry, baby, we've got to—”
But Kelly was scrambling on the ground for something and she didn't turn when Carol cried out. Carol was on one side of Ken; the three-foot chain stretched across him to Kelly. Any moment now he would regain enough consciousness to grab that chain and bring them both down. Carol screamed, “Kelly!” and pulled on the chain.
Kelly spun around on her knees. She had the awl in both hands.
Carol cried, “Kelly, no!”
Kelly raised the awl in the air above Carlton's throat. Her eyes were fastened on the soft tissue below that was her goal. She said breathlessly, “I'm going to kill him. I have to kill him. You know I do, so he won't hurt anyone else. You know I have to, Mama, I have to!”
Carol knew that if she jerked on the chain Kelly would drop the awl. She would drop the awl, but she might not move fast enough and Ken would have them both. Awareness was beginning to congeal in his eyes. Kelly was the only defense they had, and even that might not be enough.
Ken's eyes moved from the ice-pick-sharp tool poised just inches above his throat to the eyes of the girl who held it. Carol saw him swallow. Carol dared not speak, or even breathe. Her eyes were riveted on Kelly.
Kelly's knuckles were white on the handle of the awl. The set to her jaw was sharp and square, like her father's. Her eyes were enormous and dark and on fire, but it was a cold fire, the fire of a long dark dream finally brought to life, the fire of justice served, of grim and desperate certainty. Carol though
t she had known heartbreak. But until she saw that look in her daughter's eyes, she had not begun to understand what heartbreak was.
Carlton met that look in Kelly's eyes without fear. He said quietly, “You're not going to hurt me, precious. Put it down.”
Kelly's hands tightened on the handle of the awl. “I'm going to kill you,” she said, with equal quietness, equal certainty.
“No, you won't. You need me. You depend on me. You can't hurt me.”
For a moment, Kelly seemed to falter. Carol thought desperately, No, Kelly, don't, but she did not know whether she meant don't kill him or don't back away.
And in the next moment it didn't matter because Kelly arched her back and raised the awl for its downward plunge before Carol could react, before she could stop her, even if she had wanted to, had intended to.
“Kelly!”
The voice was male, and it came from behind them, and it was as dear to Carol as her own life. She knew it, her breath caught in her chest for the love of it, but she dared not take her eyes off Kelly. Kelly stopped her motion in midair, a confused hesitation crossing her face.
Carlton saw his chance and tensed to take it, but the next sound from the doorway was equally as identifiable, though less familiar. It was the sound of a round being loaded into a chamber, ready to fire. The low rough drawl commanded, “Freeze, you son of a bitch.” John Case's footsteps, slow and measured, approached.
Sweat began to bead on Ken Carlton's upper lip. His eyes were locked on Kelly's. Kelly's eyes were locked on his. The muscles in her small arms trembled with the effort to hold the deadly weapon steady—or perhaps to prevent herself from driving it home.
Behind her, Guy's voice said, “It's okay, honey. Daddy's here. I'll take care of you now.”
Kelly dropped her head, and then her arms. A sob broke from her throat.
In two swift steps, Guy was upon them, sweeping them both out of the path of danger and into his arms.