Apocalypse Island (25 page)

Afterward, and with a good deal of reluctance, she decided to continue her walk up along the winding road past the ruined orphanage. She could not curb the impulse to glance back, however, perversely drawn as she was to that old building and its mysterious aura.

She passed by a church that had a decided outpost feel to it. A parish priest stood outside the building and nodded as she went by. “Nice day,” she said. The priest did not reply.

Someone long ago had carefully constructed the building from fieldstones which had more than likely been gathered right here on the island. Unlike the orphanage the church appeared to be well kept. Laura imagined congregations gathering here on Sunday mornings. The view of the bay and the mainland beyond was spectacular, inspiring.

A half mile or so beyond the church she came to a long, flat plain surrounded by a tall chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Every ten feet or so there were government installation signs warning people to keep out. Inside the fence she saw a long concrete runway and several outbuildings, some large enough to house aircraft. She saw no planes and there didn’t appear to be any way to get inside the compound. She wondered what she’d do if she did manage to get inside.

But Laura could not stop thinking about the woman on the ferry. Who was she and why had Laura felt such a strong connection to her? Laura was nearly certain that she’d never met the young woman before, yet there had been something both familiar and unsettling about her. Laura went back in her mind and tried to put the threads of connection together, but only drew a blank. And the man with whom she’d had a conversation. Why did he deny seeing the woman? He’d called her a ghost. What did he mean by that? Was this Tanis Richey the legendary king of Apocalypse Island? He said he’d lost children in the fire and that all the kids had been murdered. She’d been unable to find any reference to murder on the internet. Only that no children had survived the fire, which Laura was seriously beginning to doubt. Had the government somehow been involved? And if so then had they covered something up?

Laura spent the next hour or so walking the picturesque trails along the island’s shoreline but saw nothing else that made her suspicious. When she looked at her watch she realized that the time had literally flown by, so she made tracks back to the dock and took the nearly empty ferry back to the mainland. As she crossed back over to the city she felt Apocalypse Island calling to her.

Chapter 56

Wolf woke with the nightmare close in his senses. He lay in bed breathing in vast spasms, every nerve in his body jangling. One thing was certain almost immediately; he was no longer cuffed to the bedpost. The handcuffs dangled freely, the key lay on his bedside stand and his left wrist was free.
Jesus, no,
he thought.

He looked at the clock and could not believe it was 10:00 a.m.

He got out of bed, standing on weak and trembling legs, pulling ragged breaths into his aching lungs. His body felt stressed and wrung out, as if he had run a marathon. His heart almost stopped when he saw the patches of soil on his bare feet mixed with blood and dirt all the way up to his knees. He inspected his hands and found more soil and blood. He checked the bed and confirmed that the blood and soil had been transferred to the sheets. He quickly stripped the sheets from the bed, balled them up and threw them in the corner of the room.

Good God, had he actually been out of the house? Had the dream been some twisted semblance of reality? Is that what this was about? His body seemed on fire, itching and burning and sore. His hair hung in sweaty strands around his face. “Oh, sweet Jesus,” he whispered as the entire memory came back to him with vengeance. “What the fuck is going on with me?”

He walked sullenly to the window. His apartment was at the back of the building on the second floor. It was an old wood-frame structure that had seen better days, built during the Victorian era. It sat on a side street with an alley behind it that led out onto a vacant lot which, in turn came back around to Sparrow Street. Across Sparrow Street another alley led between two other antiquated wood frame tenements, and behind those buildings a chain-link fence separated the residential properties from a long abandoned athletic field. These days the vacant park was used mostly by drunks and indigents, a hobo haven littered with empty wine bottles, beer cans and cigarette butts. The surface was mostly sand with sparse patches of grass growing out of it looking like errant tufts of green hair. Beyond the park a forest of litter-strewn scrub hardwoods made its way down a hill toward Commercial Street and the harbor beyond.

Trying to ignore the soil-smudges on the paint-chipped windowsill he tried the window. It lifted easily. Impossible because he always kept it locked. Outside was a fire escape constructed of pressure-treated lumber that led down into the back alley. Wolf craned his neck and saw the soiled footprints on the stairs. The feet that made them had not been wearing shoes, and they were so large they didn’t even look human. They were
not
his footprints. He stared at the landing then down at his own soiled feet.

He pulled his head swiftly back in, closed the window with trembling hands, walked trance-like to the shower and stepped into its needles of heat. His mind was a jumble of white noise, all mixed up and filled with conflicting emotions.

Was he a killer?

Is that what the dreams were trying to tell him?

He stood in the shower for a long time feeling the weight of the dead woman in his arms. The flood came as if from a fountain, mixing with the pounding water and running into the drain, washing his life away like a river from his soul. In prison he’d been a tough and bitter candidate and could not remember shedding a tear. It was as though he had lost the capacity to feel. Now, in a single moment of unchecked self absorption all his natural defenses deserted him; pride, ego, self-respect. In doing so a reservoir of memories opened up within him and he remembered the fire and the screaming children and terrible men who would be the architects of his future, and he wondered, not for the first time, if hell was a place that burned with a strange blue fire.

By the time he stumbled from the shower he knew what he had to do. He staggered back into the bedroom and sat on the edge of his bed pressing the heels of his hands against his wet eyes. Reaching beneath the mattress he extracted the Glock, chambered a round and placed the muzzle in his mouth. Inconceivably the words to an old song came to mind.
Hello darkness my old friend.
He closed his eyes and began applying pressure to the trigger.

There came a sudden and insistent knocking on his door. His heart rate accelerated and he nearly pulled the trigger. He took the barrel from his mouth and quickly tucked the gun back under the mattress. The knocking persisted and he was sure who it was. He nearly laughed at the absurdity of the interruption. Raymond Tripp, the bearer of admonitions, had just unwittingly saved his pathetic life. He slipped into jeans, wiped wetness from his face with the back of his hand and went to answer the door shirtless. He drew back the bolt, opened the door a crack, peered out and his breath caught in his throat. Standing on the other side was the woman he’d met in the bar the night before. Both relief and a deep suspicion washed through him. Who was she? What did she want? Why didn’t she just leave him the hell alone?

“Oh, it’s you,” he said in an accusatory voice. “How did you get my address?”

“Whoa,” she said, backing up a step. “Did I come at a bad time?”

He frowned and tried to close the door. Laura stepped forward and put her foot in it, blocking his attempt.

“So, I gather you’re not glad to see me?”

“Did Mike and the guys tell you where I lived?”

“Maybe,” she said, sizing him up. She saw his wet eyes, sensed his anguish.

“Christ, those idiots!”

“Listen, you look like you could use a friend. How about stepping aside. I want to talk to you.”

“Don’t you listen? I told you, I’m not what you think I am—”

She put a finger to his lips silencing him as he backed into the room. “Shhh,” she said. “Whatever you are you’re not a murderer.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m pretty sure,” she said, running her eyes up and down his body. He appeared to be quite a specimen with his beautiful skin and lean body, toned without being overly muscular. “I have good instincts. It’s all in the eyes. They belong to a troubled soul, true, but not to a murderer.” 

He gave his head a baffled shake. “But
I’m
not even sure—”

She silenced him again, this time with a soft kiss on the mouth.

He took an involuntary step backwards, shocked. “Listen to me,” he said. “You’re putting yourself in danger coming here. Two women I’ve had relationships with have been brutally murdered.”

“I know all that, Danny, and I don’t care. I can take care of myself.”

He was still shaking his head obstinately. “You don’t know what you’re saying—”

“Shut up,” she said unbuttoning her blouse. Her braless breasts fell out. They were full and white and perfect.

“I don’t get it,” he said.

“Don’t try.” She seduced him right there on the rug, pushing him gently back until he was resting on his elbows. He watched in amazement as she unzipped his jeans and peeled them off, gasping when his semi-erect cock sprang out. “Mm,” she said. “That pretty thing looks like it wants to play.”

He didn’t reply, just shook his head and watched as she went about the business of peeling her own jeans down her legs, then her panties, tossing them on the rug. She kneeled over him naked, playing with him. When he was sufficiently hard she reached over and extracted a condom from her jeans pocket, tore off the foil wrapping with her teeth, placed the ring on the head of his cock and gently but firmly rolled the sheaf down the length of the shaft. She played with her creation for a moment running her fingers up and down the slick, opalescent shaft until it throbbed with desire. Without further ado she straddled him, impaling herself on him, gasping as she sank all the way down, her movements strong and confident.

He could only lie there, resting on his elbows, watching her face and the soft swell of her breasts with nothing short of amazement.

She fell forward onto him until her breasts were compressed against his chest. She kissed his eyes, his forehead, his cheeks, and finally his mouth, licking his lips, biting them, pressing her tongue between them, probing.

“Oh, Jesus, baby,” she whispered, a deep soulful sound that took him to the edge. She sat straight up then, her back arching, her eyes rolling back in her head, body convulsing.

Finally she stopped, falling forward onto him, her body slick against his, breath hot on his neck, heart beating rapidly. “Did you...?

He felt his cock softening inside her. “Oh yeah.”

“Wow,” she said.

“What was that about?”

“I like you,” she said. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you last night. But let’s get something straight. I didn’t do it for you. I was horny. I did it for me.”

He smiled. “Glad we have that out of the way.”

“Just didn’t want any misunderstandings.”

“No problem. But tell me something. Why me? There were a million other guys.”

“They didn’t sing like you,” she said climbing off him and dressing, not a hint of self-consciousness. Wolf followed her lead, slipping his jeans back on, looking around his place in embarrassment. It was a real mess. He ran a frustrated hand through his wet black hair, pushing it back away from his forehead. “Listen, the maid must be on strike...”

She saw what he was doing and felt bad. “Yeah, I figured that. Don’t worry I won’t report you to the health department.”

He hung his head. “No one’s been up here in a long time.” He went into the bathroom and she heard him pissing loudly into the toilet bowl. She did a cursory scan of the place, quick, like a bunny. Not enough time to really see much, but it looked okay. He came out of the bathroom zipping up. “Wanna get some breakfast?”

“Sure.”

“Got a car?”

Chapter 57

It was mostly small talk at first, but it didn’t take much coaxing to bring him around. He told her about the night of the dead guy, of Siri’s disappearance, the trial, his conviction, prison, all of it.

“Wow,” she said, “that’s some story. So you think you were set up?”

“I didn’t kill that guy.”

“What about Siri?”

“What about her?”

“You think she was involved?”

“I don’t know anymore. I know what I want to believe.”

“An interesting name,” Laura said. “Siri. Not one you hear every day.”

“It means beautiful victory.”

“Was she?”

He smiled. “You bet your ass she was.”

“You loved her a lot, huh?”

He sighed. “I can’t seem to get past her. She was the best thing in my life.”

“So what do you think happened? I mean, where do you think she went?”

He thought about what he’d been seeing, (Siri the ghost) wondering if he should talk about it, and deciding, at least for the moment, not to. “I don’t know,” he said. “She’s just gone.”

“On the night the guy died?”

“Yup.”

“Do you think there was a connection?”

“Between the guy and her? I’ve never wanted to believe that.”

“What did you know about him?”

“Not much. He was a fisherman, a loner, lived on his boat.”

“What about Siri? How well did you know her? I mean she must have had family or something.”

Wolf shook his head.

“And you guys were together how long?”

“Two years.”

“And you never met anybody?”

“Nope. Crazy, huh?”

“Strange.”

“I didn’t care.”

“Love is blind.”

“You got that right.”

“What about the place she worked? They must know something.”

“It was a boutique in the Old Port. Closed while I was in prison.  During the trial my lawyer went down and questioned the owner but she didn’t know anything.”