The Lamplighters

Chapter Twelve

Jessie was wrapped up in the kind of warm candyfloss dreams that only snoring drunks can access. Languid waves lapped at her feet, gently tickling her toes. A tropical breeze massaged her naked body. Then the sound of Marla screaming penetrated her skull.

She kicked off the bedcovers instinctively and lurched towards the door. The scream had come from the kitchen—Jessie hoped the cockroaches hadn’t come back. Turning the corner, she found Marla lying on the floor, surrounded by broken glass. Stepping carefully through the shards, Jessie crouched and tried to rouse Marla. Good, she was still breathing. She shook Marla’s body a little harder.

Marla groaned and looked up at Jessie’s worried face, a welcome sight after the face she’d seen at the window. There’d been something wrong with its eyes, she remembered that clearly. But what had happened next, how she’d come to be in a crumpled heap on the kitchen tiles amidst all this broken glass, was a complete blur.

“What happened? You okay?”

“I’m sorry. I was sick. Then I saw… I thought I saw…”

“Man, I’m the one who’s sorry,” said Jessie earnestly. “I mixed those drinks a little strong. Come on, let me help you up.”

Groaning again as the room span, Marla struggled to her feet with Jessie’s help. She half-fell, half-sat on a stool and leaned on the counter to steady herself, watching as Jessie filled the kettle with water and switched it on.

“Hot, sweet coffee. This will save your life,” Jessie said cheerily.

Marla watched almost incredulously as Jessie made the drinks, a superhuman feat considering the amount of booze they’d put away only a few hours ago. As the steam from the kettle rose, fogging the windows, Marla tried to picture the face she’d seen—or thought she’d seen—on the other side of the glass. Hollow eyes, that’s all she could remember. But even that small fragment was enough to give her the chills. She shuddered, and pulled a small shard of glass from her hair.

“I only came in here for some water. Must’ve dropped the glass. Sorry.”

“No harm done. Here you go.”

Jessie placed a welcome mug of coffee in front of her. Marla wrapped her hands around it, the warmth comforting her.

“You must think I’m such a lightweight…”

Jessie laughed as she swept up the pieces of broken glass in a plastic dustpan.

“I’m just glad you’re okay. Nearest hospital is quite a boat ride from here. On second thought, you could’ve hurt yourself at least a little bit—we might’ve gotten ourselves some quality shore leave.”

Marla’s eyes drifted to the window again. She took a sip of the hot, sweet coffee.

“Could’ve sworn I saw a face at the window. A man, watching me. Scared me half to death, let me tell you.”

“Who was it? What did he look like?”

“I don’t know. All I remember is his eyes—he had weird eyes.”

Jessie peered out through the window, leaning as close as she could to the glass.

“Well, there’s no one there now. I’ve scared myself a couple of times with my own reflection. Happens from time to time, being so isolated up here. And you did drink quite a bit.”

“I suppose so,” sighed Marla, feeling a little foolish. “I’m too used to being surrounded by noisy neighbors, TV sets, stereos. And bawling children.”

“It’s only been a couple of days, you’ll get used to the quiet,” replied Jessie, upbeat. “And if not, we’ll throw a party.”

“No mojitos this time?”

“No mojitos. I promise. Come on, you should get some shut-eye. You can have my bed, I’ll take the couch.”

Marla tried her best to protest but Jessie was having none of it. Leaning on Jessie for support, she sloped into the bedroom and under the covers.

As her head sank slowly into the soft pillow, Marla closed her eyes. The image of the face at the window and those desolate, empty eyes returned to her, keeping her from sleep. Finally her body surrendered to fatigue and she drifted off, her breathing troubled in the still, silent night.

In the other room Jessie sat awake on the couch, watching the window and waiting for the sun to rise.

Security Operative Anders felt the chill from the night crosswind in his knuckles as he walked, clutching the flashlight in his right hand. The thing was switched off as per the chief’s instructions, but the weight of it in his hand was reassuring somehow. His radio was silenced too, again Fowler’s call, for fear of alerting his quarry to the presence of him and his men. Anders pictured them fanning out as they’d been instructed, slowly crossing the dark side’s craggy terrain. His hearing seemed enhanced in the gloom and he turned at the sound of breath whistling through teeth, his fingers clenching tighter around the flashlight. He froze, eyes searching out movement but none was there. Not breath, just the wind. He breathed now, a slow and heavy exhalation of compacted tension, and made his way down a crude stairwell of sharp rocks. The biting crosswind diminished as he descended into the natural shelter of a steep-walled cove, the whistling of the wind giving way to stone cold silence. He listened to the echoes of his own gravelly footfalls, almost deafeningly loud in the still calm, and hurried on down to the cove in order to be rid of them.

Tidal erosion had turned area at the back of the cove into a steep bank the waves couldn’t quite reach. As he worked his way down the last of the rocks and onto the cove’s sloping surface, Anders stopped dead in his tracks. Not a sound this time, but a real honest-to-goodness movement. It had flickered at the periphery of his vision where the sand of the cove met the sheer rock wall. He stooped, strafing the line of the rocks behind him, in order to get a better look at where the movement had occurred. His eyes darted across the rocky surfaces, which held shadows as deep as the folds of great velvet curtains. There. There it was again, a movement at the rear of the cove—too big to be an animal, he felt sure of that.

He felt his heartbeat quicken as he crept up the incline, stealing closer to the source of the movement. Here, the rock face folded in on itself forming a deep fissure as large as the prow of the Sentry Maiden, and just as black as her hull. Had his eyes tricked him, mistaking the great dark shape for that of an intruder? He took a few steps nearer the maw-like mouth in the wall, phasing out the distant crashing of waves and listening intently for a sound that might betray the interloper. But he was the interloper here. Anders felt it just as surely as the nervous breath that hissed from his lips, just as acutely as the chill that kissed the back of his neck. It was a mistake to come down here all alone, following ghosts and shadows. It was a mistake to be out of radio contact, facing a dark impenetrable black crevice with the tide at his back desperate to sweep him off his feet and beneath.

Anders, the interloper, clutched the flashlight like a weapon and turned. His terror-filled eyes gaped wide as a child’s, imagining dark things and their violent greetings.

He saw only the sky, midnight blue, and the vague froth of white waves and laughed in relief. Nothing there except his paranoia. Time to declare the area secure and move to higher ground where he could no longer do such a good job of scaring himself silly.

He was about to begin his ascent when he felt great hands bear down on him, then lift him from his feet. The world tilted, spiraled. His fingers lost the flashlight, clawing desperately for his belt, his radio. Everything turned to white noise as Anders felt his face slam into the wall of rocks. He tried to cry out as this huge something broke his mouth over the jagged stones and put out his eyes.

And when pain finally found his voice, the sea swallowed his cries.

Dawn and the fresh perspective of a new day left Marla a little embarrassed about the night before. Jessie had spared her the humiliation of morning small talk by leaving the summerhouse before Marla had awoken. Not only that, but she’d left a fresh pot of coffee on the simmer and a breakfast of eggs and ham in the kitchen for her.

Marla ate a little, memories of throwing up still swirling in her gut. But the food and coffee put the color back into her cheeks and gave the acidity in her stomach something to chew on. She gazed out the window, sipping from a glass of cool water. Sunlight flickered through the trees where last night she’d seen those eyes looking at her. She chuckled to herself as she washed her cup and plate. Damned mojitos.

She made her way over to the main house, looking for Jessie so she could say her goodbyes and go do her chores. As she called Jessie’s name, birds and insects seemed to chirrup back at her jokingly. The house was empty, as was the pool. Maybe Jessie had gone for a stroll—Marla made a mental note to do the very same after her work was done.

The power shower was a novelty that was never going to wear off for Marla. The steaming blast of hot water and suds almost had her hangover begging for mercy. Feeling considerably brighter, Marla threw on some clothes and walked across to the house. There, she scrubbed and cleaned the bathrooms, watered the plants and tidied up the patio outside the kitchen. Her exertions felt good and it had been too long since she’d indulged in the simple labor of household duties. Any kind of cleaning at her bed-sit had felt like a betrayal to what was left of her self-worth, especially with the rent that witch the landlady had been charging. This was different though—an honest day’s work.

Afternoon had set in by the time she felt she’d done enough to deserve a swim and Marla donned her bikini and slid into the pool. The water was warm and welcoming on her skin and she spent a blissful hour swimming, splashing and floating in its depths. Relaxing on a sun lounger for a while, Marla realized there was only one thing missing from her perfect day—a book. She cursed herself for not packing one. Reading by the pool in the glorious sunshine would be the icing on the cake she decided and, pulling her clothes on, headed inside the house to find something to read.

“This is fucking crazy,” she said out loud to herself as she ducked under the bed to continue her search.

No books, magazines, in fact nothing to read in the entire house. Even the cleaning products had no labels—if they had, she’d make do with reading one of those at this point. Frustrated by her fruitless search Marla scanned the children’s bedrooms once again, fantasizing that a well-thumbed copy of Doctor Seuss or The Little Prince would peek out from an open drawer. No such luck—finding nothing, Marla conceded defeat and walked heavily back downstairs. Filling a plastic bottle with water from the kitchen faucet, she stepped outside into the afternoon sun.

Walking through the garden and onto the path leading away from the house, Marla suddenly felt a chill on the nape of her neck, like a shadow had kissed her. She turned and looked back at the house, scanning the treeline beyond. There was nothing there, no phantom stranger. She shrugged off the chill, which had now spread throughout her body and walked on down the path. As she blinked the sunlight made a red void behind her eyelids, and the memory of those dark empty eyes returned to her.