Apocalypse Island (24 page)

He was hit with another nearly overwhelming wave of dread. This was
so
wrong. He shouldn’t be here. He needed to get away. He wanted to wake up. But worse, he wanted to die because there was nothing right about this dream. But it was no use. He was too far into it, and he knew he could not get out of it until he finished his business here.

There were several columns of books stacked against one of the walls. He tilted his head to read the bindings before remembering that he was an elemental creature without reading skills. He recognized the big book atop the stack by the large emblazoned cross on its cover. He’d seen it before. He’d sat for hours listening as its passages had been read to him. It was a Holy Bible, its edges missing, burnt away, blackened by fire. The realization that he was not just one person struck him; he was two separate souls that had somehow intersected. But how was this possible?

The shelter smelled sour, the odor of stale urine and vomit. There was a large dark stain on the bed’s mattress. Dozens of stunningly conceived drawings—some of a blasphemous religious nature—were pinned to the wooden walls with rusty nails. One particularly large example appeared to be some sort of cruciform painted in red. There was a Christ figure, his hands held before him in supplication, a three-fanged skinless demon on the back of a woman, a transvestite nun severing his own genitals, melting skulls, wraiths with ruby eyes. The place was a literal house of horrors. The images sickened him, made him want to vomit. He’d seen some of them before, scribed on the bodies of dead as well as living human beings.

He’d nearly forgotten about the young woman in his arms. He moved closer to the bed and laid her gently down upon it, careful to avoid looking her directly in the face. He did not want to see her. If he could not see her then maybe she wouldn’t be real.

This all reminded him of a time and place long ago, a
place of fear and death and monsters, of bad medicine and transformations and fire.
He saw it all in his dreams, along with an all-encompassing blue light that was strangely comforting, reminding him that it wasn’t over, that there was still much to be done.

Cross my heart and hope to die.

Chapter 54

Laura was up, dressed and out of her apartment by four-thirty. She’d gotten only three hours of sleep, but that was okay.  As the saying went, “she’d sleep when she was dead.”

Yesterday she’d parked her car in the lot behind the apartment building. That’s where she went now, in a roundabout way, careful that she wasn’t being watched. She’d dressed all in black—black jeans, black shirt, black overcoat—in order to lessen the chances of being spotted. It was still dark as she made her way toward the lot. Still, she supposed someone could be watching from behind an unlighted window, or from the corner of a building. She was pretty sure that Jennings didn’t trust her and she knew it was likely that he had an officer on her. She wondered what his game was. Rick was a nice guy and a great cop, but contrary to his outward demeanor, which was ruffled and unorganized, he was a cool and calculating character who did everything for a reason. And he wasn’t always honest about his motives.

Well, she was just as good as he was, and she would prove it by being one step ahead of him in this investigation. He’d tried to steer her away from Apocalypse Island and she thought she knew why. For reasons she still didn’t quite understand, Jennings couldn’t touch Apocalypse Island. But Laura could. She was anonymous. No one knew about her, so no one cared what she did. Yes, Rick was a sly bastard. He’d set this up, and she had taken the bait, hook, line and sinker.

She got behind the wheel of her Toyota and pulled out of the lot onto Washington Street, looking both ways to make sure she wasn’t being followed. Traffic was sparse and she didn’t see anything that would set her alarm bells off.

Out on the interstate Laura drove toward South Portland, but four miles down she backtracked, reentering Portland from across Memorial Bridge. By the time she hit Commercial Street she was certain she wasn’t being followed. She pulled into the ferry terminal parking lot and stowed her car toward the back.

Last night on the internet she’d learned that Apocalypse Island was approximately six miles long and two miles wide. Maine history of the island had pretty much echoed what Rick had told her about it. The early history wasn’t pretty; shipwrecks, (a lighthouse had been constructed in the late nineteenth century to keep ships off the rocks) famine, cannibalism, inbreeding. Terrible stuff. It was all an embarrassment to the state so they’d buried it. The Catholic orphanage added some credibility to the island’s image, but when the orphanage burned in the early 1980s leaving no known surviving children it had caused a scandal that had rocked the state, finally forcing them to take action and legitimize the island. Its gentrification had been a slow process, however, but now, with its new, more respectable residents and its subsequent cleanup, it was finally garnering a certain measure of respect from surrounding communities.

No known survivors.

Laura thought that was wrong and she aimed to prove it.

The island’s military history was the weirdest part of the entire story.

During WWII, Apocalypse Island had served as a fueling depot for the U.S. Navy. A five thousand foot runway was constructed along with supply stations and army buildings to add to Casco Bay’s defenses in the event of an enemy attack. No reason was given as to why the military had stayed on so long after the war. But the article had said that, although the military was gone, the site remained classified. Many of the facility’s buildings still stood today. The military had finally pulled up stakes and left the island in the mid nineteen-eighties. Just about the time the orphanage burned.

And although the military was gone, the site remained classified and the airstrip was off limits to civilian traffic. This intrigued Laura. Why had they stayed so long after the end of the war, she wondered? Why had they left almost immediately after the destruction of the orphanage? And if they were gone then why did the site remain classified? Being a person with a strong investigative intuition, Laura thought this was all too strange to be ignored.

The ferry left the Commercial Street terminal at 5:05 and returned at 9:15. She figured that would give her enough time to at least do a cursory inspection of the area. Recent laws had limited the use of cars on the island as was the case with most small Maine islands. Although there were quite a few roads, their use was limited to small electric vehicles such as golf carts, and bicycles. Either mode of transportation was available for rent at the general store just above the dock.

The dawn was amazing, the sunrise over the ocean spectacular. Although the air was cool she stood outside the cabin leaning against the railing sipping on a cup of hot coffee she’d purchased in the snack bar. The ocean was calm and there was some low fog lying still over the surface of the water, lending a ghostly atmosphere to the distant islands.

There were only a handful of other passengers on the trip across, fewer than a dozen, and some appeared to be crew. Laura carefully scrutinized each and every one of them, attempting to make sense of their place in the scheme of things. A bent old man with scraggly hair and a gray beard wearing a tattered trench coat kept to himself; he sat at a corner table inside the cabin furtively sipping on a cup of coffee; two stunningly handsome teenage boys who appeared to be brothers, both with dark complexions, hung out inside as well. Two men who looked to be business types, both wearing suits, sat at a table in the snack bar talking and drinking coffee. There was an older woman with gray hair who stood outside at the railing not far from where Laura stood. She was gazing longingly out to sea as though waiting for a ship to appear on the horizon. On the other side of the ferry stood a woman in her mid thirties. She was well dressed and very pretty, quite tall with longish black hair. Her coat had a fur collar. She pulled it up around her against the cold north Atlantic chill but never took her eyes off the approaching island. For some reason Laura was intrigued by her. She seemed so familiar. Laura was almost certain she’d seen her before but could not place her. She had a strong impulse to walk over and strike up a conversation with her, drawn to her as she was. She curbed the impulse, knowing that she could blow the whole case by being too forward. What she needed to do was look around, see what she could see, and if circumstances allowed, then take further action.

It was full light when the ferry docked at the island pier. Laura embarked and casually watched as travelers went their separate ways, paying particular attention to the attractive young woman. Again she wondered why she was so intrigued by her. The fog was lifting rapidly and fluffy fair-weather clouds hung suspended in a resplendently blue sky. Laura breathed in the pungent aroma of the salty sea and was reminded of her childhood in Portland. She continued to watch the woman as she walked in a casual gait, ascending the inclined road that led away from the pier.

Her attention was momentarily drawn back to the hustle and bustle of activity along the working waterfront. Fishing boats were pulling away and heading out to sea, stacks of lobster traps heaped along their gunwales. Workers were milling around going about their morning business in a not-too-hurried way that Laura suspected was a normal part of island life.

When she looked back toward the road, the woman was gone.

Curious, Laura traced her steps hoping to catch another glimpse of her. She came to a stop in front of a dilapidated brick institutional-style building halfway up the hill, surrounded by a tattered wrought iron fence. There were signs everywhere warning of danger and cautioning people to stay away. Laura suspected that this was the orphanage and wondered why it hadn’t been torn down long ago. The entire back end of the building was in ruin. Soot-soiled bricks lay in piles. Grass grew tall all around, lending the remains a lonely and forlorn atmosphere. Most of the building’s remaining windows were broken out. Around them there were licks of soot where fire had left its mark.

On the front of the building a giant red cross had been emblazoned. She stood outside the fence, gazing up at the structure in awe as emotions she could not adequately articulate seized her.

“My God,” Laura breathed. She was frozen in place, totally mesmerized by what she was seeing, by what she was
feeling.

“You’re not alone,” a voice behind her said. “Everybody feels it.”

Laura whirled. The decrepit white-haired old man she’d seen on the ferry had come to a halt just behind her. He watched her with circumspect eyes.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked.

“Those emotions you’re feeling right now,” he said. “Don’t be fooled by them.”

“I still don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do. I know you feel it.”

Laura shivered. Much as she wanted to deny it the old man was right. She was strangely drawn to this place, and with the attraction she felt a terrible and unaccountable sadness.

“I wonder if you could tell me what this building was used for,” Laura asked.

“You shouldn’t be asking questions,” the old man said.

“Oh? Why not?”

The man’s gaze was riveting. “You’re a pretty one, and young,” he said. “You have your whole life ahead of you. I think you should leave.”

“What happened here,” Laura persisted.

“Bad things,” the old man replied.

“What do you mean by that?”

“It’s where the children died.”

“I see,” Laura said, her heart rate accelerating. She swept her arm as if to take in the entire building. “So this was the orphanage?”

The old man stood motionless.

“What happened here?” Laura persisted.

“Murder,” the man said with bitterness and Laura recoiled.

“Excuse me?”

“Murder I said. Children.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because two of them were mine.”

“Oh my.” Laura was totally floored. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Would you be willing to talk to me about it?”

The man shook his head.

“My name’s Laura,” she said, holding out her hand. “I care very much about what happened here.”

The old man eyed her outstretched hand but did not take it. “If you really care you’ll go away and forget about this place.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I didn’t think so,” the old man said holding her gaze.

“You think someone
murdered
these children?”

“I
know.”

“Who did it? You could come forward.”

The man grunted out an ironic laugh and shook his head. “Never happen.”

“What would be the harm?”

“Plenty,” the old man said. “I think you should go away now.”

“But you’re the one who mentioned it. Why did you do that?”

“You’re not like all the rest. Most can’t handle what they feel here. It frightens them so they just go away.”

“I’m not like everyone else,” Laura said.

“I can see that,” the old man said. “But I can’t help you.”

“The young woman on the boat with us,” Laura said. “Did you see where she went?”

“You’re the only young woman I saw on the boat,” the old man replied as he moved up the hill away from Laura.

“Really?” Laura said. “You didn’t see her? She was tall with long dark hair, wearing a coat with a fur collar.”

“What you saw was a ghost,” the old man said as he went. “And if you know what’s good for you you’ll leave this place and never come back.”

A Ghost?
Laura frowned. “Damn,” she whispered, and as an afterthought she hollered out to the old man. “What’s your name, sir?”

He said something that Laura could barely make out but the nuances in the words had sounded a lot like Tanis Richey.

Chapter 55

Laura pulled out her cell phone and began snapping photos of the building from every conceivable angle, careful to make sure she wasn’t being observed.