A Lighthouse for the Lonely Heart: An Oregon Coast Mystery (Garrison Gage Series Book 5)

by Scott William Carter

  "He's gone to meet Nora, right?"

  "I'm not supposed to tell."

  "But it's true, right?"

  Denny gripped the counter with both hands and dropped his head.

  "You've got to stop asking questions," he said. "Elliott said if you keep asking questions I was to hit you a bunch in the face. But you been punched a lot already and you may not wake up if I punch you again. So I don't really want to punch you but I will if you make me."

  "I see," Gage said. "Sorry, then. I'd rather not be punched either. It does get old, to be honest."

  Denny turned around, his troubled expression so exaggerated that Gage would have thought Denny was mocking him if he didn't know that emoting like a mime was the usual for Denny.

  "I really have to take a leak," Gage said. "Any chance you can untie me just for a second so I can use the bathroom?"

  "I can't untie you," Denny said.

  "I really have to go, man."

  "I can't untie you."

  "If I don't get to take a leak, I'm going to wet my pants."

  Denny blushed and stared at the floor. Gage rocked back and forth for good measure.

  "Really, man, if I don't get to the can in the next thirty seconds—"

  "You just have to go where you are," Denny said, still looking down.

  "What?"

  "Elliott said you might ask to go to the bathroom. He said that would be a way you would try to trick me. He said to tell you to just go where you are." Denny had a pitying look in his eyes. "I'm sorry."

  "Even if I promise I won't try to trick you?"

  "Yeah. I mean, no, I can't. Elliott would be mad."

  Gage lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, speaking just loud enough to be heard over the storm. "I won't tell him, you know. When he comes back, I won't tell him. It will just be our little secret."

  "I can't."

  "All right, I don't know how long I can hold this."

  "Sorry."

  Gage nodded, making sure to look frustrated and glum. It wasn't hard. He was frustrated and glum.

  "I'm dying of thirst," he said. "Any chance I can get a glass of water?"

  "No."

  "Really? Not even water?"

  "Sorry."

  "So you're just supposed to stand there and stare at me? You can't do anything?"

  Irritation flashed across Denny's face. "I'm supposed to watch you. I'm supposed to make sure you don't get away. That's important."

  "Oh, I'm sure."

  "It is!"

  Gage fell silent. Denny's irritation was sliding into anger, and the last thing Gage wanted was an angry Denny. Or did he? Gage remembered how Denny had asked what Gage had meant when he mentioned the incident that led to Denny's condition, and how Elliott had quickly silenced him. It was a sensitive area, obviously, but Denny's curiosity might be the hook Gage could use to manipulate him.

  There was danger in flirting with a piece of Denny's past that might trigger all kinds of unpleasant emotions, but what other choice did Gage have?

  "I'm sorry," Gage said. "I didn't mean to upset you. I know you're just doing your job."

  "I am!"

  "I know. And I won't bug you anymore, I promise. No need for us to make this more difficult than this has to be, right?"

  Denny's lips were pursed so tightly that he could have crushed a walnut with them. Not looking at Gage, he took his jacket from the chair and slipped it on, buttoning with great care. Gage used the time to choose his words. They had to be just right.

  "I always wished I had a brother," Gage said.

  Denny looked at him. Just like that, the embarrassment of the previous moment was gone, curiosity rising in its place.

  "You don't have a brother?" he asked.

  "No, I'm an only child."

  "Oh."

  "And man, looking at you two, it really makes me jealous. I mean, you're so close. You're really there for each other."

  Denny beamed. "We're not just brothers, we're best friends. Elliott says so."

  "See, that's what I wished I had. And he's so lucky to have you. Especially …"

  Just as Gage had hoped, Denny's raised his eyebrows. If Denny was a dog, they would have had to rename him Pavlov.

  "What?"

  "Sorry?" Gage said.

  "You said, you said, 'specially. What were you going to say?"

  "I did? Oh, nothing. I shouldn't talk about it. It would upset you, and I'm sure Elliott is very sorry."

  Denny stared. Gage could almost see those broken gears in his head lurching and sputtering as he tried to process this information. The rain, which had been a steady drumbeat against the roof this entire time, picked up its pace.

  "We really shouldn't be talking," Gage said. "I know your brother doesn't want it. And you're a very good brother, doing what he wants … despite … you know …" He shrugged.

  "Despite what?" Denny asked.

  "Huh?"

  "You were going to say something."

  "I was? Oh, right. Well, like I said, better to let sleeping dogs lie. I wouldn't want you to think less of him. You're so loyal. And I know Elliott probably said that anything I say or do, I'm just trying to trick you, right?"

  Slowly, Denny nodded.

  "Right," Gage said. "So we better just let it go. You always do what he tells you, and that's good. It keeps things smooth between the two of you. I mean, I bet sometimes Elliott just does what he wants, and you're a grown man, too, and you know that you can also do what you want, but making sure things stay smooth between the two of you is more important, right? Sure it is."

  Gage nodded and turned his focus to the floor. All he could do now was wait and see if the lure would work. He took steady and easy breaths through his mouth—breathing through his nose was still impossible—and tried to look like he didn't care what happened next.

  Denny cleared his throat. "Maybe …" he began, then, like a toddler who'd reached for a forbidden candy and realized it at the last second, hesitated. When Gage looked up at him, Denny was chewing on his lip. "Maybe, if you tell me, it's okay. Elliott—he doesn't have to know."

  Gage tried not to show his glee. The door had opened. Denny had given him a way inside.

  "Oh, I don't know, Denny," Gage said, studying the cracks in the hardwood floor. "Probably not a good idea."

  "No, really. It's okay. I won't tell."

  Gage pretended to think about it. "No. I don't want to get either of us in trouble, and I don't think you'd believe me anyway. Let's just drop it."

  "Tell me."

  "No, Denny."

  "Tell me now."

  Gage looked up and saw the anger sliding over Denny's face. This was the most dangerous part, the part where he'd flagged down the bull and they were about to begin their risky dance. Yet it was critical that Gage didn't give in no matter what happened. He had leverage. If he didn't use that leverage to get what he wanted, none of it mattered.

  "No," he said firmly.

  Denny balled his fists. "You tell me now or I'm going to hurt you."

  "No."

  "I'm warning you—"

  "You could hurt me," Gage said. "It's true. But you remember what Elliott said? No amount of beating will get the truth out of me. You'd be so mad, you'd probably kill me, and then what? You'd never know the secret about the pool. Oh, man, I shouldn't have said that. I'm done talking."

  Denny, showing his teeth, advanced a step, but then Gage's words seemed to register. He stopped, blinking hard, his feeble mind trying to make sense of it all. Thank God there was still enough self-restraint in Denny to make this possible.

  "What pool?" Denny asked.

  Gage said nothing.

  "Please," Denny whined. "Just tell me. I want to know the secret."

  "No."

  "Please."

  "You'll just get mad. And then you'll tell Elliott, and we'll both be in trouble."

  "I won't get mad. I promise. And I won't tell. I won't."

  Gage sighed and looked a
t the floor again. He wasn't much of a thespian, but he knew he didn't have to be much of one in this case. Just scrunch the eyebrows, purse the lips, and give it time. Gage would have waited even longer, but there was Nora out there, and he just couldn't.

  "Well …" he began hesitantly.

  "Yes?" Denny said.

  "Look, I know you can't do much for me. I get it. But how about a trade? Something little? I really need to take a leak, man. I swear, I'm going to piss all over myself if I don't get to that bathroom in the next five minutes. No man wants to sit in his own piss. It's about having a little dignity. You get that, right, Denny?"

  Some confusion washed over Denny's face. The hook was coming loose. Easy now, Gage. Reel him in, nice and slow.

  "I tell you what," Gage said. "You take me to the bathroom. You can leave the door open. You can stand right behind me. You're a big guy. You know there's nothing I can do. And I'm in bad shape, anyway. Just look at me. Jesus. I just want you to untie my hands long enough that I can take a leak on my own. Is that too much to ask? I mean, Elliott wouldn't do it, but you're not Elliott, are you, Denny? You make your own decisions."

  Denny stared. It was good sign. He hadn't said no.

  "Tell me the secret first," he said.

  "If I tell you the secret first, you won't let me use the bathroom."

  "I will, I will!"

  "You say that," Gage said, "and I know you mean it. But this secret, it's going to upset you. You've got to trust me on this. I know you can handle it, Denny, or I wouldn't tell you, but let's do it my way. You can tie me right back up, and I'll tell you as soon as I'm done."

  Denny looked at the floor. Outside, the storm continued to rage. This was the moment of truth. What was stronger, Denny's desire to please his brother or his desire to find out a secret about his past? Gage was sure some part of Denny knew this secret history existed, which was why it gnawed at him.

  "You promise not to try something stupid?" Denny asked.

  "I just want to take a leak, man."

  "You won't tell Elliott?"

  "Of course not. We'd both be in trouble."

  Denny chewed on his bottom lip. "You gotta tell me a little piece of it."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Maybe you're just making this up. You gotta tell me a little piece of the secret, enough so I know it's real."

  Gage nodded. Denny may be slow, but he wasn't a complete idiot.

  "When you had your accident in the pool," Gage said, "there was a girl there. Do you remember? Elliott may have told you something about her, something that made you think that you two needed to … make sure she didn't talk. But what if I told you that what Elliott said about her wasn't the whole truth?"

  Judging by Denny's wide eyes and gaping mouth, this was exactly the piece of the secret that Denny needed to hear.

  "What's the whole truth?" he blurted.

  "Aw, not yet," Gage said. "You gotta hold up your end of the deal."

  Denny seemed to debate internally for another moment, then nodded solemnly. He approached Gage from behind, grabbed the chair, and tilted it backward. Then he slid Gage across the hardwood toward the little door next to the bed, stopping there. He opened the door and there was the bathroom: the toilet, the sink, and the tub all squeezed into a space not much bigger than a coffin.

  Maybe it would be Gage's coffin, if this didn't go well.

  Denny slid him right up to the toilet. The rain pounded against the glass, the yellow daisy curtains not quite covering the window completely and giving Gage a glimpse of the utter darkness outside. Caps from beer bottles lined the shelf above the sink, but there was nothing Gage could use as a weapon.

  It was just as well. Gage already had a weapon in mind, one Denny was already unfastening for him. The ropes binding his wrists loosened, freeing his arms from the chair. Because his ankles were bound with the same rope, that meant Gage would be able to completely free himself if he had the chance.

  Denny grabbed him under the armpits and lifted him into a standing position. It was an easy, effortless move, as if lifting a pillow, and Gage actually had second thoughts. He was going up against King Kong here. But what other choice did he have?

  "Go ahead," Denny said.

  Gage swayed on his feet.

  "What's wrong?" Denny said.

  "Just a bit dizzy," Gage said. "Don't feel all that well."

  "Oh. Can you go or not?"

  "Yeah, yeah. Just … give me a second." Making sure he seemed unsteady, he bent slowly to the lid and lifted it. "You know, it really is … really is a shame what happened at the pool when you had your accident. I'm sure if your brother … Well, if he could do it over, he wouldn't do it the same way."

  Except for the rain, there was silence. Gage couldn't see Denny's face, but he could imagine the surprise. He pretended to work on his zipper, swaying more.

  "What do you mean?" Denny asked.

  "Oh, I'll tell you … I'll tell you in a second. But you know, that girl saw it all. She saw him put your head under the water. But she can't see in your brother's mind. She doesn't know him like you do."

  "What?"

  "She says he looked like he was happy to do that to you, but she can't … she couldn't see in his mind. She doesn't know what he was thinking. I'm sure he hated himself even as he was doing it."

  "I don't …" Denny began, the anguish in his voice growing. "I don't understand. Are you … What are you …"

  Gage, who'd been swaying this whole time, realized this was it. Do or die—literally.

  He let himself crash into the tub, only bringing his arm up at the last second, as far as it would go with the rope, to soften the impact. His ankles were still bound to the legs of the chair, so the chair flipped with him. He put on quite a show. Maybe he had a future in theater after all.

  Denny grabbed him and hauled him back into his chair, scooting him out of the bathroom. Gage lolled his head side to side, groaning, eyes closed. His hands were in his lap, the rope pooled between them. Denny hustled around in front of him, gently shaking his shoulders.

  "Hey, man," he said. "Hey, you okay? You can't die now. You got to tell me everything. I want to know."

  Gage moaned, lifted his head a little, then let it slump back to his chest. "W-w-water," he said.

  "You want water? Okay, man. Okay, just a second, I'll get you a glass."

  When Gage heard Denny turn toward the kitchen, that was when Gage cracked open his eyes. Denny's expansive shoulders were like a receding stone wall. Gage's performance, with all the moaning, wasn't entirely an act. He was in pain. Getting himself to jump out of the chair took a lot more willpower than just pitching himself forward.

  But that was what he did: put every last ounce of strength he had to spring out of the chair.

  Denny, oblivious, was still walking away. The rope was up, extended taut between Gage's two extended fists.

  He slammed into Denny.

  Yet he couldn't quite get the rope over Denny's oversized cranium. It was going to fall just short.

  Fortunately, Gage the human cannonball did hit Denny with enough force to knock him off balance, and the two of them crashed to the floor. That allowed Gage to keep his focus on the prize: getting the rope over Denny's head.

  Which he did.

  Looped it over, then yanked back hard.

  There was a second when Denny didn't react, but then the bull jolted to life. First, a violent bucking. Gage held on even as Denny sprang to his knees. To let go meant certain death. He didn't want to kill Denny. He even felt a little sorry for him. But if only one of them could come out of the cabin alive, Gage intended on being the one.

  Denny gasped and choked, prying at the rope. He lurched to his feet. He was so tall that he actually pulled Gage—who was not a short man himself—right off the ground. The tips of Gage's tennis shoes brushed against the floor. He tightened the noose even as he hung on for dear life. There was not much strength left in his body, but dear God, he would use every las
t bit of it to keep that rope as tight as humanly possible.

  The storm howled against the thin walls, the wind whipping around the house and their own violent maelstrom inside. They might as well be a ship at sea, there was so much water washing against the windows. Denny flung himself left and right, but Gage held fast. The ropes encircling his wrists actually helped: even as his fingers slipped, the rope, clamped to him like a shackle, kept him from flying free.

  Denny charged toward the front door, turning at the last second and smashing Gage into it.

  It jarred Gage's whole body. His fingers slipped free for an instant, but the rope did not lose its hold, and he refastened his grip.

  Three, four, five times—Denny smashed into the door.

  With each jarring blow, Gage's determination was starting to crumble. His vision narrowed to the smooth black material of Denny's jacket. The muscles in his arms trembled. His back felt as if it had been run over by a tank.

  Denny staggered away from the door. Finally, he let go of the rope and clawed at Gage, managing to clutch Gage's hair with his right hand. He yanked hard, sending tremors of pain searing across Gage's scalp, but Gage did not let go.

  Tighter.

  Hold the rope even tighter.

  Denny's spasmodic movements began to slow. Was this it? Was Gage finally winning? Then, with a strange, gurgled cry that must have used up whatever oxygen Denny had left, he hurled himself backward toward the door with even more force.

  Gage felt as if he'd fallen from a ten-story building onto his back. All the air in his lungs wheezed out of him. The door, in an explosion of wood and plaster, finally surrendered to the onslaught. One moment they were slamming against it, the next they were toppling onto the deck.

  Hitting the door was bad enough, but having Denny land on top of Gage was even worse. With his lungs spasming for air, it was finally more than his chapped and bleeding fingers could handle.

  He let go of the rope.

  Gage's vision darkened. The rain and the wind, uninhibited by the cabin walls, rose to a guttural roar before suddenly falling silent. He slipped into a soundless, formless void. A second or two may have passed before he came back to himself, feeling first the massive weight on top of him, that sweaty bulk of flesh, then the rough wood boards beneath him.