Isle Royale

by John Hamilton

  “Sal, look!” Ian pointed toward the woods not far from the clearing. An eerie green light moved through the trees, darting this way and that.

  Sally’s eyes went wide. “The ghost!”

  “That’s no ghost. Come on!”

  They rushed for the woods in pursuit. Ian slipped on the wet granite and scraped his already raw knees. “Hurry,” he shouted, scrambling to his feet. “We’ll lose him!”

  “Like hell!” Sally shouted.

  The pair dashed headlong into the forest in pursuit of the green light, which now moved rapidly away from them. Sally led the way, stumbling and tripping through the dark, dense foliage. With teeth gritted and a snarl on her lips, she held an arm in front of her to protect against whipping branches and bushes.

  As the woods rushed by on either side of her, Sally had a vague, uneasy feeling that she was running through a funnel that got narrower and narrower with each step she took, as if she was running into a tightening snare. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the thrill of the chase drowning out all thoughts of caution. A tiny voice inside her head told her to slow down, but she disregarded it, instead redoubling her effort to catch whoever it was that had been spying on them.

  Just when she was on the verge of catching up to the light, and whatever dark shape had hold of it, a gust of wind tugged at her, nearly stopping her in her tracks. She heard trees overhead groaning and snapping from the blast. The noise shocked her out of her single-minded frenzy, and she stopped. It was then she realized she was all alone.

  “Ian?” she called out. The green light rushed on ahead of her, then vanished. Sally backed up slowly, scanning the darkness surrounding her. Her wet hair fell in her face, obscuring her vision. She brushed it aside, trying to get her bearings.

  Suddenly, something caught hold of her arm. A surge of adrenaline-fueled panic rushed through her like a jolt of electricity. She jerked around, still held tight. Lightning flared overhead, revealing a large, dark shape looming over her. Sally screamed, nearly as loud as the thunder clapping overhead.

  “Sal, it’s alright!” came a voice. Sally thrashed and screamed again, trying desperately to free herself. “It’s alright!” the voice repeated.

  Ian was suddenly at her side, freeing her arm from a tree branch that had snagged her coat. “It’s alright,” he said yet again. “It’s just a tree branch. Jeez.”

  Sally stepped back away from the tree, staring first at it, then back to Ian, who looked at her with a worried expression on his face. “You okay?” he said.

  Trembling from the cold and excitement, Sally put her head against Ian’s shoulder. “I thought…” she stammered, “the ghost.” She sighed. “I’m so stupid.”

  Ian put his arm around her. “It’s okay, Sal. These woods can give anyone the creeps.”

  Ian opened his coat and hunched down, forming a makeshift tent, shelter from the wind and rain. They huddled there a moment, catching their breath. The wind roared through the trees overhead.

  After a few minutes, Ian said, “Whoever was carrying that light is long gone. Let’s try to get back home.”

  “Okay,” said Sally, rising to her feet. “No more ghost hunting.”

  They fled in the storm, heading back for the lighthouse.

  In a thicket of dense foliage, a pair of aged hands sheltered a green lantern. Nearby, through the trees, the figures of Ian and Sally passed by, then receded in the distance. A soft chuckle mingled with the sound of rain pelting the trees.

  The hands gripped the lamp, then rose up and away, leaving only the wind and surf to pound the island mercilessly.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The storm that had lashed Isle Royale with such fury backed off, like a predator retreating to assess its prey. The wind grew weaker, but blew steady. The rains let up, reduced now to a drizzle. But the storm was far from over; on the horizon, lightning flashed across the sky, foretelling more violence to come.

  The lighthouse at Wolf Point stood sentinel, its revolving beacon shining brilliantly, cutting through the low-flying clouds like a bright sword. Under its protective gaze, LeBeck and Collene walked alone across the compound, ignoring the light rain that fell over them.

  After Clarence had fled back to his post, LeBeck ordered his men to clear the compound, threatening severe punishment to any man who dared break the mood of his planned reunion with Collene. When he’d seen her there, standing on the porch in her shimmering white dress, everything came flooding back to him, all the memories and emotions of a love affair stopped cold before its time. He nearly lost control; he felt his lower lip tremble, his eyes filling with tears. Only the knowledge that his men were watching forced him to keep his composure. To LeBeck, control was everything. Control meant power. His men looked to him for leadership, and he gave it to them with a mixture of greed, brutality, and most of all, fear. To see their leader weeping like a child definitely would not instill fear and loathing.

  But there she was now, the only woman he’d ever loved, the one that should have been his, but was someone else’s because of his own stupidity and weakness. It was as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes. Suddenly, he knew what was important in his life, and his past mistakes became crystal clear, monumental in their extent. Any hesitation he’d had about coming to the island was cast aside—he had to win her back, at any cost.

  They walked quietly up the lawn, not saying a word. Collene’s white dress fluttered in the wind. Just feeling her there at his side, LeBeck knew he’d finally found a missing piece of the puzzle that was his life, like he’d returned to his true home after all these years. He felt victorious already. LeBeck smiled inwardly.

  Collene spoke first, her voice quiet and tentative, her Scottish lilt music to LeBeck’s ears. “No one was more surprised than me when you went off to the war, Jean.”

  LeBeck winced. He didn’t want to talk about why he’d left her without saying good-bye, why he hadn’t resisted the draft, or perhaps even fled Canada and hidden out in the northwoods of Minnesota until after the war. But most of all, he didn’t want to talk about abandoning her after the war, running around Europe with his smuggler friends and leaving her, even encouraging her, to marry Clarence instead of him. He was younger then, more foolish. And the war had changed him, too, teaching him how cheap and disposable life could be. To make it in this world, LeBeck knew, you had to take what you wanted and not look back. And right now, all LeBeck wanted was Collene.

  He hesitated, calculating the proper response. “The war,” he said softly, “opened my eyes to the world, Collene. It made me realize what’s really important.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “You, of course.”

  They stopped on the wet lawn. Collene tenderly grasped LeBeck’s hook hand and held it up, examining it sadly. “Your beautiful hand,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, Jean.”

  LeBeck snatched his hook back, embarrassed. “I almost died that day. Should have died.”

  The rains began falling again. Caught by surprise, the pair ran laughing toward a toolshed at edge of the clearing, halfway between the houses and the lighthouse. They found shelter under the roof’s overhang, blending into the shadows.

  So far so good, thought LeBeck. By the end of the evening, she’ll be mine.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ian and Sally crept through the forest, their bodies tugging against the wind. Ian shivered uncontrollably, his clothes still soaking wet under the mackintosh. He knew he had to find something dry to wear, and soon.

  After leaving the ruins at Sandy Point, Sally had pointed out that it would be better for them to get home by sneaking up from behind, rather than risk the coastal route and the narrow path in back of the cliff. So they went inland, climbing a narrow ridge that afforded them a good view of the surrounding area. They rested a few minutes after the steep climb, got their bearings, then headed south, following the top of the ridge, which they knew would eventually take them almost directly to the lighthouse
. Occasionally they were able to follow old moose trails, which made the going a little easier, even if they did meander a bit.

  Still, it was rough going. After an hour of walking steadily through the forest, the bottoms of Ian and Sally’s feet were bruised and sore from stepping on tree roots and exposed rocks. The thick foliage was constantly slapping at their faces and hands. And even though the rains had let up, the ground cover was still laden with moisture, which never gave their soaked pants and shoes a chance to dry out.

  Just when he thought they’d never get out of the woods, Ian saw the lighthouse compound just ahead. They approached at a half trot, eager to be home, but knowing full well that danger would most likely be there to greet them. They paused at the edge of the clearing.

  “Look there,” said Sally, pointing across the lawn. The rains were coming down hard again, but through the deluge Ian could make out his mother and Jean LeBeck moving together into the shadows near the toolshed.

  “Mom!” he cried. He started to dart away, but Sally grabbed his arm and pulled him down, gesturing. Ian looked where she was pointing and saw a thug with a Tommy gun standing near the porch of his house.

  “We should sneak around back to the lighthouse,” he said. “We need my dad.”

  “How do you know he’s there?”

  “If he’s not up there on a night like this, then I don’t want to think about what happened to him.”

  They crept quietly through the woods, parallel to the compound, trying to reach the lighthouse at the edge of the cliff without being seen. They managed to avoid several thugs stationed on the lawn’s perimeter. Most were idly standing around, huddled against the storm. One man, amazingly, sat snoring in a chair, totally oblivious to the rain pelting his face.

  As Ian and Sally moved just behind the tool shed, they heard LeBeck and Collene in muffled conversation. Then Ian heard something that curdled his blood: the sound of LeBeck and his mother laughing. He felt Sally grip his arm. He looked over at her and saw a worried expression on her face. She pursed her lips and shook her head.

  Under the eaves of the toolshed, LeBeck stood sheltering Collene from the wind. Collene, her back to the wall of the locked-up shed, struggled to keep LeBeck from getting too close, too intimate.

  “Jean,” she said, “remember when we went to the beach together on Sunday afternoons, the three of us?”

  LeBeck cracked a smile. “Of course. Those were good days. A long, long time ago.”

  “You were always going on about becoming a sea captain, seeing the world. What happened to your dream, Jean?”

  LeBeck blinked, surprised at this line of questioning. “Dreams have a way of thinning out, like the fog. Of all people, you must know that, Collene.”

  “But I’m livin’ my dream, Jean,” she said, as if this must have been incredibly obvious to anyone remotely observant. “I’m happy here. I really am. Clarence is a good man. And I love my boy.” She looked up into his eyes, her stare boring directly into his soul. “It’s wonderful to see you again, Jean, but I really wish you hadn’t come.”

  LeBeck blinked once, then stood there, silent. He was stunned, as if an artillery shell had landed directly on his head. His eye started twitching, a nervous tick that hadn’t plagued him since the war. He took a step back, into the downpour, and saw raindrops falling and splashing off his gleaming hook.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ian and Sally crept near the sitting room door at the base of the lighthouse. A guard stood close by, no more than twenty feet away, his back to them, puffing on a cigarette. He was sheltered from the rain under the heavy branches of a tree, which Sally noted wasn’t the smartest place to take cover during a lightning storm. “Why is it,” she whispered, “men always tempt the Fates?”

  “Quiet now,” said Ian, grasping the door and swinging it open. The two teenagers slipped inside without a sound, then latched the door behind them.

  At the top of the tower, all was quiet except for the clock mechanism slowly turning the giant lamp prism. From down below, at the bottom of the spiral staircase, a door creaked open.

  “Dad?” Ian’s voice called out tentatively. The sound died out, replaced by the eerie silence. Several quiet moments passed. Then, as the teenagers began their ascent, the sounds of footsteps on the metal staircase echoed up and down the tower.

  On the floor of the empty lamp room, a pool of blood spread out on the metal surface. Next to the crimson stain lay a gold watch, shattered into a crazy mix of broken glass, gears, and springs.

  Ian reached the top of the spiral staircase and stood there in the lamp room, his face registering shock. He bent down and picked up the remains of his father’s watch, cradling it in one hand. Then he reached out and touched the blood on the floor. He stood back up and examined his red-stained finger. “Dad,” he whispered hoarsely.

  As if on cue, Clarence suddenly popped his head up from the trapdoor leading to the lamp housing. The two teenagers jumped back in surprise at the disembodied head staring up at them from the floor.

  “Dad!” Ian rushed over to Clarence and grabbed an arm, helping his father out of the narrow hole in the floor. After struggling for a few awkward moments, Clarence finally scrambled to his feet. He was a mess. He held a bloody rag to his forehead, and his crisp lightkeeper’s uniform was torn and blood-smeared. Ian winced. “What happened?”

  Clarence took a half step back and studied the teenagers standing expectantly in front of him. Ian and Sally were soaked to the skin, pant legs tattered, their faces streaked with blood and dirt. Clarence scowled. “What are you kids doing here?”

  “We came to warn you,” Sally blurted out. “Some hood chased us, but we lost him down at Sandy Point.”

  Clarence frowned in confusion. “What?”

  “We saw LeBeck shoot a man down on the dock,” Ian added.

  To Ian’s surprise, Clarence didn’t look the least bit surprised by the news. “LeBeck kills people for breakfast, laddie. One of his men beat me up just to see if I bleed red.”

  Ian reached up and examined his father’s wound. He cringed at the deep gash that tore through his scalp. “You look dizzy. You better sit down.”

  “Can’t,” Clarence snapped. “Got to tend the light. Bad storm.” A wind gust rattled the windows, making everyone in the room jump. Clarence lowered his voice and leaned closer. “Och, they beat me a good one, laddie. Can barely stand. They’re going to kill us, you know.”

  This was too much for Ian. Witnessing the murder, the chase through the woods, the fight at Sandy Point, the trek back through the storm—the night’s events rushed back to him, overwhelming him. Tears welled up in Ian’s eyes. “What are we gonna do, Dad?”

  Clarence lashed out and slapped Ian hard on the cheek, the noise exploding off the lamp room walls. Sally gasped and put a hand to her mouth. Ian stood there, face flushed, his hands bunched up into fists.

  “Snap out of it, boy,” Clarence said urgently. “I need you kids clear-headed. Are you listening to me?” Ian nodded slowly, his cheek still burning with the pain. “Get to the Coast Guard station in Rock Harbor. But don’t take the boat, for God’s sake. Go by land. Understand?”

  Ian stammered. “But that’ll take…”

  “If you go on the lake in this weather she’ll eat you alive. Go by land. My God, boy, you’re soaking wet.” Ian’s coat hung open, and Clarence watched as rainwater dripped to the floor. He hastily took off his uniform jacket and handed it to Ian. “Take your shirt off and put this on. You’ll catch your death out there like that.”

  Ian did as he was told, peeling off his sodden shirt and donning his father’s coat. He slipped the mackintosh back on, then stood up straight, waiting.

  Clarence looked into his son’s eyes, then smiled. He reached out a hand and gently cupped the side of his face. “Get out of here now. Get help, and haste ye back. We need you, Ian.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ian stumbled out the door of the lighthouse sitting room, stunned,
apprehensive, and more than a little afraid. He walked off in the direction of his house, from which he could see forms moving back and forth across a lit window. The icy wind blew through him unnoticed. Ian squinted, shielding his face from the harsh rain. He moved faster across the lawn toward the house.

  “Mom,” he uttered, breaking into a run.

  Just as he passed the tree near the lighthouse, strong hands reached out and jerked him to the ground. He started to cry out, but a hand clamped down on his mouth. Lightning crackled overhead, and Ian could see a big thug looming over him, a cigarette dangling from a toothy grin.

  “Lookee who showed up,” the man said. “Boss is gonna love this.” He picked up Ian completely off the ground, the boy’s legs dangling and kicking in midair. “Come on, little boy. Someone wants to see you.”

  Just then, Ian heard a clang, a sickening collision of metal on bone. The thug’s eyes rolled back in their sockets as he groaned once, released Ian, then fell to the ground like a sack of hammers.

  Ian landed hard on his butt on the rain-soaked grass, the thug motionless beside him. He looked up and saw Sally standing there, a shovel gripped in both hands.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” she said. Before Ian could reply, she put a finger to her lips and signaled him to be silent. She pointed to a window in her house.

  Ian squinted through the rain and made out Edward Young and Sally’s grandmother sitting on a couch in the living room, while two thugs paced back and forth, one of them gnawing on a chicken leg. Sally’s father coughed violently, then doubled up in pain. Grandma put her arm around his shoulder to comfort him, then looked up at the thugs, glaring at them with contempt.