Grim Island(Book 1)(Legacy of Terror Series)

by Wayne Tripp

  * * * *

  Later that week Lacey’s calico cat disappeared. Frantic, she put out bowls of her favorite food, and called her every three or four minutes. Allegro had never left the yard before; in fact she was usually within a dozen yards of Lacey. Two days later, her calico kitty was still missing. Lacey’s already crumbling spirits plunged into the abyss.

  Chapter 28

  Principal Gerald Sweetling was not happy. He was seated in his shadowy living room with one of his teachers, virtually surrounded by his collection of his taxidermy creations. The room looked like the town harbor when thick fog rolled in. Gerald was smoking up a storm; Ms. Parker had seen him angrily stomp out three stubs since she’d taken a seat. He’d not invited her to join him. She was dying for a cig. He sure was pissed. Julie kept her gaze on the folded hands in her lap, only shooting quick glances at her employer when absolutely necessary.

  “She’s blind, Gerald, for Christ sakes! The woman’s been through hell. Attacked in her own home by that demented old priest, struck blind and abandoned by the man she’d fallen in love with because you wanted me to rip them apart. She would have been walking into this lair of yours in a week or two, if not willingly, at least not kicking and screaming. She needed that job, and she knew it. She’s far from stupid. She’s a damned good teacher! You know that!” She spat the last few words, spraying spittle across the dusty fur of the nearest snarling raccoon. Thin lips pursed in irritation, she shook her blonde head and continued. “You seem surprised that she’s decided to quit. What the hell else did you expect? You virtually raped her in your office, you idiot. You’re god-damned fool.”

  Taking a lengthy sip from his goblet, Gerald barely heard his ranting toady. He was too busy reliving his last moments with Lacey Rodriguez. She’d been on her knees before him, her dress torn, breasts almost bare.

  “Look, if you still want me to get her here, I need you to give me something to convince her to come willingly. Gerald! Are you even listening?” She thumped the small table next to her, knocking over a moth-eaten skunk next to her chair.

  Sweetling glared at her. Holding his most recently stuffed addition on his lap, he continued stroking his calico cat’s thick fur as he waited for his toady to rant on. He didn’t have long to wait.

  “She’s treating me differently lately. I think she’s starting to suspect something. Unless you don’t mind me using a little force?” Julie smiled at her master and licked her cracked lips. Hers had never been a pleasant smile. “Of course, our little miss innocent might arrive slightly damaged.”

  "I don't mind a scratch or two. Maybe even a bruise. Just get her here. She's been avoiding me. I want her now. Understand me? Now!"

  “S-sure, sure boss. What about me, Gerry? I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I turned her love for MacLeod to shit. I even got rid of the Costa woman; no witnesses, remember. I’ve done everything!”

  Sitting directly in front of Julie, very close, Gerald Sweetling leaned forward and seized Julie’s face. Lifting her bony chin, he forced her to look him in the eyes. “You’re damned lucky I need you, you whining bitch. Don’t you ever talk to me that way again. I know I could have you any time I want. That’s just it, love–I don’t want you. Just like I don’t give a crap what Miss Rodriguez wants. You get her here–I want her. You get her here; or you take her place. My children are getting anxious. They won’t be nearly as pleased with you as her. You don’t want to upset my friends.”

  * * * *

  Chief DeCosta clicked the Buy Now button for the New England Patriots Helmet, and sat there waiting for his order to go through. He’d decided to dump the Soares case on MacLeod. The state police were dragging their asses on the disappearances, and if MacLeod solved Rufus’s murder, DeCosta was within his rights to scoff up most of the credit. True, detective MacLeod would have to sift through a ton of shit, but that’s what he was paid for, the arrogant fuck. Stationhouse rumor was he was shacking up with O'Hara. DeCosta sighed, at least he’d finally stopped trying to see the Rodriguez chick.

  There’d been a couple earlier murders. One a month in fact, similarly brutal as Rufus Soares. Take Lenny Pires. Lenny had repeatedly beaten his pregnant wife. One night he’d gone too far. He threw her down the cellar stairs. Broke her arm and killed his own unborn brat. Two days later, in the dark of the moon, he was dead. Just like Soares. Ripped up.

  Father Murphy was different. He was a fine upstanding priest, moral pillar of the community. He’d been Chief DeCosta’s confessor. Willing to look the other way, forget he’d ever heard certain things. Murphy had been the priest for the island’s only Catholic Church for twenty-five years. There was nothing wrong with him, unless you believed the rumors. It’d been dark as a witch’s tit the night they found the good father dead, but DeCosta had no trouble seeing all the blood. There was so much of it. Funny thing though, none of those murder victims had that little black tattoo hidden anywhere on their bodies.

  Chapter 29

  Celtic Cross was just finishing their last number, Dancing in the Air, when Jamie walked into the Frolicking Mermaid. He caught Kat’s delighted wink as she carried the light song to its magical close. He looked around the packed tavern, acknowledging the friendly nod from Shamus, and silently declining the offer of a free brew. Finished for the evening, Kat fluttered off the stage like the fairy in her song and threw herself into his lap, all giggles and kisses.

  “Easy, babe. Someone might think you’re glad to see me or something. Everybody’s watching.”

  “Let them. Can’t a woman in love kiss her man? You are my guy, aren’t you?” She wriggled out of his embrace and folding her arms across her chest, glared up at him. He could imagine her tapping the toe of her spike heeled boots. His sex kitten looked ready to bite his head off. What the hell was wrong with him? Answer her, moron.

  “You know I am, babe. Didn’t I show you this morning? You’re such an insatiable tigress. Let’s go home, and I’ll prove it again.”

  “Then why care what everybody thinks? You’re not ashamed of me, are you?”

  “No! Of course not. It’s just that we’re both cops in this little town, and DeCosta isn’t fond of officers getting too cozy. It’s a pretty small town, Kat.”

  “Men! Everybody already knows, silly. I think the hand-holding and kissing in public might be a bit of a give-away.” With a naughty smile on her pretty face, she grabbed his collar, pulled him down to her level and planted a long passionate kiss on his lips. To his credit, Jamie did not pull away, instead, returning the kiss with equal passion.

  “There.” Laughing, she backed away a couple inches, playfully rubbing at a lipstick smear on his cheek. “That’s just in case there’s a village idiot lurking about who didn’t know we’re a couple. Don’t worry about DeCosta. We both know what he does in the time he’s supposed to be earning the tax payer’s dollar. And he knows we know, so we’ve got him by the balls, my love.” Grabbing Jamie’s hand, she lead him towards the door, waving good-night to Shamus and the members of her band. “Now, Mr. Policeman, why don’t you take me home and show me again just how much you love me.”

  They drove to her apartment, Jamie deftly maneuvering Kat so she wouldn’t expect to spend the night at his place. It wasn’t hard; she’d politely refused to move in with him just yet, insisting she couldn’t leave those sweet Standish kids all alone in her creepy old tenement. They talked a little and then fell into singing their personal favorite, Orinoco Flow; Kat in her melodious soprano, Jamie croaking along. She asked him how it went with Eric, pointing out that of course they got along–they were both sweet, handsome geeks. When she asked what they’d talked about, Jamie grew quiet, and dodged the silver bullet by saying he’d tell her later. Glumly accepting this man had walls she had yet to scale, she kept the talk light and airy. Then she stumbled, repeating that everybody knew about them, probably even that bitch Rodriguez. Turning his face t
oward the pale moonlight, Jamie hid his sudden squall cloud, but his voice betrayed a distant rumble of thunder. He quickly buried his feelings; he’d already screwed-up his life over one woman; he wasn’t about to lose this one too.

  “Sorry, Hon. That just slipped out. I don’t really know her. Actually, we probably should be friends.”

  “Friends? With Lacey? Why would that happen?”

  “We have a lot in common. We both love the same guy.”

  “I’m pretty sure in her case that emotion has been replaced by a burning desire that I burn in hell.”

  “So she’s the village idiot! Foolish woman.”

  * * * *

  By the time they reached her bedroom, both of them had lost most of their clothes. James still had on his watch, the little tooth he always wore–weirdest damned tooth Kat had ever seen–and his boxer briefs. Kat was down to one high heeled boot and the beribboned bustier she was busily unlacing.

  Closing the curtains, Jamie flicked on a small nightstand light. Kat immediately tugged her unlaced bustier closed; reminding him she liked their lovemaking better with the lights off. Why didn’t he just open the curtains and they could make love by the pale moonlight; it was so much more romantic. When Jamie hesitated, mumbling something about the moon, she let a little annoyance peek through.

  “What’s with you and the damned moon, Hon? What are you–a fucking werewolf?” she joked.

  Out of the mouths of Babes. If you only knew, tiger. Without looking out the window, he pulled open the curtain and moved towards the bed. When he made a move towards freeing Kat’s breasts, she playfully slapped his hands away, and told him to turn out the light. Turning to obey, he stopped, and turned back towards his anxious lover. He left the light on. He liked the light. She had a pretty face and a beautiful body. He wanted to see her. Clearly for once. He was tired of hiding in the dark of night. Hadn’t she been after him to bring their relationship out of the shadows and into the light? He wanted to do that, beginning now. Besides, what was she hiding? As he thought about it, he realized how adamant she was. It wasn’t like her; she was hiding something. Suddenly, he was afraid he knew what.

  “Sweetie, you told me you haven’t been seeing Brian any more, right?”

  Kat shook her head affirmative, seeming already to know where he was going. Unconsciously, she tugged the bodice of her bustier tighter across her chest. Undaunted, he persisted. "You told me he wasn't coming around anymore. Those little red marks were gone—some sort of rash, you claimed. Kat, I know it’s been awhile since we made love with the lights on. Is there something you need to get off your chest? Is he back?"

  “N-no—of course not."

  “Kat,” he moved closer to her very slowly, choosing his next words with deliberate care. “Have you had a visitor again? Please let me see your breast.” Knowing she would refuse, he moved with the speed of a striking Diamondback, tugging her unlaced bustier wide open, exposing pale breasts covered with bright red marks.

  Although he’d been suspicious, he still gasped in horror. Bursting into tears, Kat threw herself into his arms.

  “I-I was asleep. Three nights back…the night you couldn’t sleep over. I guess I should have told you. I really do see Brian. He’s real, I can touch him. Sometimes he comes to me during the night. That night, he woke me up… a noise…a slurping noise. Jamie, when I woke up, he was there. Sucking. Biting.”

  He tugged her away from him, waiting until she raised her shame-filled eyes to his, her naked breasts with the tiny red bite-marks a glaring barrier between them. “This isn’t your fault, Kat.

  You didn’t do anything to encourage this. We’re going to do something to make it stop.”

  He held her and she clung to him for dear life, realizing how lucky she was to have found this gentle understanding man, so unlike the monster she’d fled from back in New York. He told her to cover up while he made them both some coffee. When he came back, they had a long talk. He asked if she’d ever tried to contact her son while in New York–held a séance or anything. She said that she had. It had been a total flop. He asked her if she’d ever made contact anywhere but Grim Island, and verified that Brian had only begun to appear four days after she moved in. He told her the barriers were down in their town, Brian might have been summoned in the empire state, but apparently unable to manifest there. When she moved to Grim Island, he’d happily followed. He hadn’t come alone.

  He examined the bites on her breast under bright light, and declared he didn’t think they were from an infant. At least not a human one. She half heard him; his touch had aroused her, and she was still horny from earlier. And yet the thing with her dead son terrified her. They sat up together and he told her what he suspected, and what he planned on doing to end it all. By the time he was through, having sex was the last thing on her mind. That night she wondered if she’d ever want it again.

  * * * *

  By three-fifteen, they were both asleep. At least Kat was. Jamie pretended to snooze, but kept one blue eye half open. He’d wished he’d done this a few weeks back; the moon was in a better phase then. But then he might have turned, and Kat would have been in danger from him. No, it was better this way. This had to end tonight. He couldn’t stand looking at those hideous bites on her pale flesh.

  He didn’t know when he became aware they were no longer alone. It hadn’t made a sound, but suddenly, it was just there, crawling up the bed clothes toward his sleeping lover. It mewled as it crawled, something about being so very cold. And then Jamie heard it, as though it wanted him to be aware of its obscene plea. “I’m cold, Mommy. So very cold. Hold me, Mommy. Warm me.” Whatever Kat thought she saw, this wasn’t her dead son Brian. In the pale moonlight James watched in disgust as it began to creep. It looked like a living dead child. It had coarse dark hair sprouting from dead white flesh stretched taut across a bony back. It definitely wasn’t human, at least, not anymore.

  He had to time this just right. Too soon, and the creature might skitter to safety, into a closet or under the bed most likely. Too late, and Kathleen would wake screaming, its teeth in her breast.

  He screwed himself into the chair, fighting the urge to jump up, watching as the cadaverous creature fumbled with the pale blue ribbons tying her bodice. Its stubby fingers moved into the moonlight–it had sharp black nails, and translucent webs between the fingers. As Kat’s first breast lay bared in the weak light, Jamie slowly inched his ancient blade from its warm bed nestled against his thigh. Its curved razor edge glistened in the moonlight, thickly smeared with a blend of potions his Salem friend, Reginald had whipped up. The pale white creature didn’t notice.

  Even as James moved, it began to suckle. Too late, he’d left it too late! With the stealth and speed of a hunting tiger, he was on the creature. Repulsed as he was, his hand snaked out, grabbing the creature from behind. An unholy shriek tore through the night, quickly joined by Kat’s scream. The ugly head whipped around snarling, tiny fangs bared, hot flying spittle splattering across Jamie’s cheek. Undaunted, his blade whistled down, biting into blue white flesh and sending the beast’s head smacking into the distant wall. Near tearful hysterics, Kat threw herself into Jamie’s arms, narrowly missing impaling herself on his slimy blade.

  “It’s over, babe. We got him. He won’t bother you again. It wasn’t Brian. It never was. It’s over, honey. Kat…let me look at you.” There was a fresh bite mark on her breast, oozing a steady trickle of bright red blood.

  “Yeah, it’s over. We got him. That’s his head over there.” Jamie smiled at Kat, noticing as he did that the bite marks on her breast were already fading, just as he’d known they would. They always did.

  Kat hugged him and began kissing his face. In a few seconds it became crystal clear that she’d gotten over her terror and wanted to get laid. As long as Jamie was sure they were safe and it was over. Unable to hold himself back, Jamie lied and told h
er, yeah, it was over. In his heart, he knew the fight for Grim Island had barely begun.

  Chapter 30

  In the next few days, life went on as normal as it ever got on Grim Island. With spring in full bloom, people moved outdoors and concerned themselves with yard work, repairing winter’s ravages, or starting early gardens. The local fishing and lobster boats left the harbor, laying traps or dragging nets. More often than not, they came home with holds brim full of flopping fish or glistening lobster. The waters off Grim Island were rich with life, and the local sea gods eager to share. Only once or twice a season did something strange get caught in the trawls or wash ashore. A source for bar room gossip and snapped photos, things were quickly hushed up, buried as fast as the stinking freak itself beneath a ton of rotting sea weed. Nothing ever made the newspaper or TV news. Nobody cared to know, it only happened now and then. But this spring was different. Already rumor in the Bashful Cabin Boy was that Amos Holden had got himself a nice ten pound lobster in his string of pots. Only trouble was this bug supposedly had hand- like blebs instead of claws, and its stalked eyes blinked. Not to be outdone, two local fishermen claimed something strange came aboard with their load of bluefish. Two local fishermen had been sorting the trash fish out from the Blues when they discovered the oddity. Both men had shipped out as kids aboard the old Ann & Hope, so now in their sixties it bothered them that the corpse caught in their trawl was something they’d never seen. They took photos and a bit of the rotting body itself to the Oceanographic people at URI. An Oarfish, they were told, deep water, eel-like fish with threadlike head tassels. Rare, but not unknown in these waters. The friends drove home and got drunk, totally dissatisfied. The smug marine biologist had not explained the existence of pale fur on the corpse, or the vestigial wings.