Dreaming Darkly

by Caitlin Kittredge

  “You’re just the soul of compassion, huh?” I said.

  Simon laughed. “Ivy, trust me, the woman was a terror when she was lucid, and twice as bad when she was psychotic,” he said. “I did the world a favor scrambling her brain and locking her up.”

  “So nothing is your fault,” I said. “It was your brother and my mom rejecting you, or my grandmother’s attitude, or anything except you being a cold-blooded killer.”

  “I know you’re trying to get at me,” Simon purred. “But yes. I have no problem saying Simone brought this on herself. Now, though, it doesn’t matter. I have her power of attorney. All I needed was the last living Bloodgood, and then out of the blue some hick-town social worker calls me and dumps you right into my lap.”

  He stopped as we came in view of the edge of the grounds. “You could help me, you know. I’d like to give you that chance. Voluntarily give me the tunnel map and we’ll be just like a regular family. I’ve sacrificed a lot to keep the Bloodgood fortune safe. I even put up with the Ramseys. I do owe them, I guess. Liam and his brothers took care of those campers in the eighties, hid the bodies and all. Before my time, but if they hadn’t done it, I’d never have been able to become Simon, and wait out Simone and Myra.”

  “Liam killed them?” I said. At this point, nothing else would surprise me.

  “Of course not. They found the cistern, that Peter Ross character drank the water, and he killed them. All Liam and his brothers did was hide the bodies so no police would find the tunnels. Liam’s father and Simone had that agreement, you know. Protecting secrets to the grave, be they murder or money.” He chuckled. “Liam’s never been a hands-on type, at least not with anyone who can fight back. I took care of that idiot Neil Ramsey when he tried coming through the tunnels on our side of the island to do some grubby drug deal. If he’d stumbled across Connor’s hoard, he’d tell every last living soul in Darkhaven, and then we’d really have problems.”

  “Was making me think I’d killed him part of your fatherly sacrifice?” I said. He laughed, shaking his head.

  “That was insurance. In case you tried to leave. I’d threaten to tell Liam what you did, and you’d turn to me to protect you.”

  I felt my face twitch with disgust. “You know, I’ve never met anyone crazier than Mom, but congrats. You just knocked her out of the top spot.”

  Simon chuckled louder, shaking his head, then suddenly his hand flashed out and hit me full-on in the side of the face, dropping me like a stone. “Don’t call me crazy,” he said as I sprawled in the pine needles, tasting blood and hearing a high-pitched whine in my right ear. “I don’t like it.”

  I was still gripping the lantern, and as he moved in, offering me a hand up, I swung it up and hit him in the midsection. He doubled over, air whistling out of him. “Don’t hit me,” I said. “I don’t like it.” I hit him again in the side of the head, dropping the lantern and taking off through the trees as he staggered and fell.

  I ran flat out, not looking behind me, until I hit a solid mass. “Doyle!” I screamed, as he wrapped his arms around me.

  “Ivy,” he said. “There’s a bunch of skeletons in that hole I fell into. . . .”

  “Yeah, I know,” I said, grabbing his hand. “Is the stuff wearing off?”

  “I think so,” he said, as I tried to tug him along. “I feel like crap. My foot really hurts.”

  “I know, but you have to suck it up for a minute. We gotta go,” I said, hearing branches crack behind me. “Now.”

  I wasn’t fast enough. Simon had a black-handled knife, the kind that opens out of a tube when you press a button, and he slashed Doyle on the arm. Simon turned to face him, glasses askew, twin red spots burning in his cheeks. Blood matted a section of his hair, but he looked way less concussed than I’d have liked.

  “I’m not going to mind getting rid of you at all,” he rasped. “I always hated you.”

  Simon jabbed at Doyle with the blade, and Doyle stumbled out of the way, his bad foot tripping him up. I picked up the flashlight Simon had dropped, raised it, and brought it down hard on the back of Simon’s head, aiming for the shiny bald spot.

  He was out cold this time, and I grabbed Doyle’s good arm. “We gotta go.”

  “The woods,” Doyle said, taking my hand. We ran as fast as his foot would allow, never letting go of each other. After about thirty seconds I heard Simon let out an enraged yell, and then my name floated through the pines. “Ivy!” he screamed. “Ivy, you get back here!”

  “In here,” Doyle said, pushing me into the hunting blind.

  We pressed ourselves into a corner, me against Doyle’s chest. “Are you hurt bad?” I whispered into his shirt. He grunted.

  “I’ll have a badass scar.”

  “Doyle,” I said, shivering a little. “I’m so sorry. I’m . . .”

  “Shh!” he hissed, and I heard someone crackling through the underbrush outside.

  “Iiiiiivyyyyy,” Simon singsonged, standing not ten feet from the back side of the blind. “Come on out, sweetheart. Daddy’s not mad at you.”

  I buried my face against Doyle’s chest and felt his arms lock tight around me. His grip was steady, but I could feel his heart jackhammering under my cheek. He was as scared as I was.

  “Ivyyyyy. IVY!” Simon thundered. After a long pause I heard him sigh. “You have no idea how hard you’re making this on yourself. If you’d just help me out, we could forget this ever happened.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, like when Mom would get really wasted and start throwing things at me. I used to hide in closets, under beds, shut my eyes, and will myself to be somewhere else. To be invisible and small and still, so she’d forget all about me.

  I heard Simon thrash away through the trees, and Doyle’s arms relaxed their grip just a tad. “He’s gone,” he whispered into the top of my head.

  I forced myself to peel off from him, trying to make myself stop shaking. “We have to get off Darkhaven.”

  “No shit,” Doyle said. “Let’s head back to my place. We can call the cops and take one of my dad’s boats.”

  We made our way through the woods to the edge of the Ramseys’ yard, sticking close, jumping at every bird that flew from a branch or small animal that skittered through the undergrowth. “I really am sorry,” I said as we walked up the rise to the farmhouse. “I should have listened to you.”

  “To be fair,” Doyle said. “I knew Simon was creepy, but I clearly didn’t know the whole extent of it.”

  Another stab of sickness hit me. “You still don’t.”

  “You’re right,” Doyle said. “What in the hell has been happening on your side of the island?”

  “He was drugging me,” I said. That night on the lighthouse, if you hadn’t been there, I would have died.” And then he could have swept away my grandmother’s will and gotten his hands on everything.

  As briefly as I could, I filled Doyle in about the will, why Simon was drugging me, the supposed tunnel map my mother had stolen.

  “Do you believe that stuff? About the tunnel full of plunder or whatever?” Doyle said as we hit the back porch of his house.

  “After the last month? I’d believe anything about my family,” I said. And as nuts as the whole treasure-tunnel thing sounded, stealing the only map to it would be exactly the kind of move my mother would pull.

  Too bad she’d never even mentioned a map, much less shown it to me. The possessions she’d kept since my childhood could be counted on one hand with fingers left. She shed belongings as easily as she shed boyfriends and aliases.

  Doyle unlocked his door and ushered me inside. “Use the phone in the kitchen,” he said. “I’m gonna go grab the boat keys and a few things we need.”

  I took a minute to hold on to the counter and get my breath after Doyle left. I wasn’t what I considered helpless by any means, but it had been a hell of a day. Being chased through the woods by a maniac would lead any sane person to have a little bit of a breakdown. I let myself shiver, cry, f
eel sick and disoriented for one minute according to the plastic clock shaped like a cat that hung above the sink, then I pulled my shit together and reached for the yellow plastic phone hanging crookedly on the kitchen wall. I punched in 911 and waited a long minute as static hissed and the line clicked before finally connecting. It rang four or five times. Gotta love small-town emergency services. Finally an operator picked up. “Darkhaven 911, state your emergency—”

  I felt something cold and round kiss the side of my neck, like somebody had put a penny against my skin.

  “Hang up,” Liam Ramsey said in my ear. I slid my eyes sideways, saw that the thing that felt like a gun was in fact a gun, and gently set the phone back in its cradle.

  Liam ripped the cord out of the wall and then backed up a step, keeping the pistol aimed at me. “Walk ahead of me,” he said. “And if you’re thinkin’ of being smart, be really smart and realize you can’t outrun bullets.”

  “Look,” I said. “I know you and my uncle are—”

  “Quiet!” Liam snapped at me. He marched me into the living room, where Doyle sat on the sofa, his hands tied behind him with a thick coating of duct tape.

  “Dad,” he said. “Come on. Let her go.”

  “She’s more important than you,” Liam said, shoving me onto the sofa next to Doyle. “Anything heroic from you, I shoot him.” He moved the barrel to bear on Doyle.

  A Jeep screeched into the Ramseys’ driveway, and Simon jumped out of the driver’s seat, running up the porch steps.

  Liam tipped his head toward Simon when he came in, never taking his eyes or his gun off Doyle and me. “Thanks for the call, Simon.”

  “I knew they’d come here,” Simon said, panting a bit. “It was that or swim to the mainland.”

  “Dad, what the hell are you doing?” Doyle snapped. “This is fucked-up, even for you.”

  “The tunnel map was in our possession once,” Liam said. “Bloodgood slaughtered six of us to get it back. Your grandfather told me all about it.”

  I blinked, thinking the massacre my great-grandfather had perpetrated made a whole lot more sense in the context of a bunch of money rather than a “curse.” Effed-up sense, sure, but sense.

  “Me, I prefer to let bygones be bygones,” Liam said. “For half the cash, I don’t give a rat’s ass what Simon does on his side of the island. You live here, Doyle. You know how hard things have gotten.”

  “I know we’re broke, but this is really just . . . Jesus fucking Christ, Dad,” Doyle said as Liam gestured us both up. Liam slapped him hard on the back of the head.

  “Language, you little brat.”

  “Come on,” Simon said impatiently. “I’m ready to be done with this.”

  Liam herded us into the Jeep, and Simon drove like a crazy person back to the manor house, careening around corners so I half hoped we’d tip over. At least then I could make a run for it.

  At the manor, Liam marched us into the front hall. There, he pushed Doyle down to his knees while Simon held me back.

  “I’ll make this easy, without all the chatter Simon here loves so much,” Liam said. “You care about my boy. You hand over that map, or he’s gonna suffer.”

  Doyle stared up at his father, shocked. “Dad. Why?”

  Liam shrugged. “I love you, Doyle, but life is about sacrifice. I’m not gonna let almost twenty years of work go to waste just because a teenage girl is feeling stubborn—”

  “I don’t have it!” I shouted, cutting him off. “My mother didn’t give it to me. I don’t know if she even kept it—for all I know she pawned it for pills or cash at any one of the two hundred shitty towns we stopped in. She didn’t keep things! She didn’t even want to keep me!”

  “She doesn’t have it,” Doyle echoed. “Dad, please . . .”

  Liam turned the gun butt first and hit Doyle in the side of the head. “Hush, boy.”

  I lunged at him, but Simon caught me. “Ivy,” he said. “I’m afraid I insist. The map, or the boy’s life. The time for obfuscation has passed. Bring it to us.”

  “I don’t know,” I said, thinking that this was all Mom’s fault. She was dead, and still royally screwing up everything. “She didn’t even keep baby pictures of me!” All she had from before my time were some old combat boots, her leather jacket, and her . . .

  Then, I knew exactly where Mom must have kept the map. I looked at Liam, then back at Simon. “Okay,” I said softly. “I’ll tell you.”

  “Now,” Simon said quickly. “Talk.”

  I held up my palm, showing the scar the old woman in Oregon had inflicted on me. “X marks the spot,” I said. “It’s a tattoo,” I expanded when Simon and Liam looked at me blankly. “Mom made me get it when I was just a little kid. I still remember how scared I was of that needle.”

  Liam sneered. “There’s not a mark on her hand besides that little scar.”

  “Genius,” I snapped, “the tattoo is in reactive ink. It only shows up under black light. But I have it memorized. Mom made sure of that.”

  Liam and Simon looked at each other, looked back at me. I just focused on breathing. In, out. You act calm, so you are calm. You sell the lie by never believing it’s not the absolute truth as you spin your story.

  Simon was a great liar, but I was better. Must be a family gift.

  After a minute Simon nodded, shoving me toward Liam, who made me kneel next to Doyle. “If this is some kind of trick . . . ,” Liam growled.

  “Dude,” I said. “You’re pointing a gun at us. Why would I trick you?”

  He smirked, seeming satisfied. I looked over at Doyle. He had the glassy-eyed look of somebody whose entire life has just imploded in front of his face. I wished I could tell him it was going to be okay, but I couldn’t make that promise. Instead, I tapped his leg with my finger, without moving my hand.

  “We’re going to get out of here,” I said softly as Liam and Simon turned their faces away from us, in a whispered conference. “Be ready.”

  “I’m sorry,” Doyle said. “About the map . . .”

  “Doyle, there is no map. Not tattooed on my hand at least,” I said. “Simon is not going to let you, your dad, or me live once this is over. Our only chance is to run.”

  Simon turned back to us with a cheery smile. “If you know the map, Ivy, then tell me where the entrance is.”

  “The cave on the beach,” I said. “Let Doyle go. He didn’t do anything to be mixed up in this.”

  “Oh no,” Simon said pleasantly. “Once I know this is real, I’ll consider it. For now . . .” He snapped his fingers at Liam. “The beach.”

  Liam grunted his assent, pulling Doyle to his feet. “Down we go.”

  Chapter 24

  The wind was as strong and cold as it had ever been as Liam and Simon forced us down the slippery, groaning steps to the beach. I lost all feeling in my fingers and face as I tried to hold on to the splintery railing.

  Liam cursed as my foot slipped. “The time we can be rid of you can’t come soon enough,” he grumbled.

  “That’s Simon’s call,” I said.

  Liam grinned unpleasantly. “After what you did to Neil? Hardly. Our family is going to make you pay in blood for every second of that poor kid’s suffering.”

  I stopped on the step, turning to face him, grabbing the opening. “Oh, that wasn’t me,” I said. “That was all Simon.”

  Liam’s brow crinkled, and he whipped sharply toward Simon, who was bringing up the rear behind Doyle. They’d cut the tape off his hands, but his arm was still bleeding, bad enough to soak the sleeve of his henley, and he looked pale and unsteady, his broken foot dragging.

  “What’s she saying?” Liam snapped at Simon.

  Simon shrugged. “Lies. She’s unstable; who knows what happened to Neil.”

  “Neil was looking for the tunnel,” I said. “Simon took exception, so he killed him in the woods and planted evidence in my room so he could control me too. Birds, stones, all that.”

  Liam’s face darkened even more
. “That better not be true.”

  “Neil was exploring the tunnel system,” Doyle added. “He had a contact in Canada who was selling him wholesale pot, and he was looking for the old bootlegger mooring to bring the stuff in.”

  I held Liam’s gaze, projecting confidence I didn’t feel in the slightest. “Who on this island do you know has killed before? Who would be capable of cutting Neil down without a second thought?” I pointed up at Simon.

  He started to open his mouth to deny it, but Liam aimed his pistol at him.

  “You rotten son of a bitch!” he roared. “How dare you use him like a prop? Nobody touches my family!”

  Except him, evidently.

  “Liam, calm down,” Simon started. “This gets neither of us what we want.”

  “Hell yes it does!” Liam shouted. “I have the map, and now I don’t have to split what it leads to with your murdering ass!”

  I nudged Doyle. “Go!”

  We took off, half sliding down the staircase as the two men’s shouts grew louder behind us. We were almost to the bottom when shots starting pinging off the rocks around us, sending chips of granite flying like tiny missiles. I heard Doyle give a short yell, and saw him sprawl in the sand, clutching at his shoulder.

  “Doyle!” I screamed, dropping to my knees beside him. Halfway up the steps, Liam raised the pistol again, but suddenly his arm sagged and a look of confused pain crossed his face. Simon stepped out from behind him, withdrawing his knife from somewhere in the vicinity of Liam’s kidney. Liam didn’t go down, though, and as Simon started down the stairs, Liam got off one more shot, catching Simon high on the leg, making him crumple just a few feet closer to us.

  Doyle was groaning, but when he took his hand away, no blood bubbled from the wound. It looked clean, through the meaty part of his shoulder.