Bodies and Sole (21 page)

Chapter Forty

The word drummed through Lili's head all night and kept
her awake.

Finally, she got out of bed, so as not to disturb Nathan, though he was snoring happily in a deep sleep.

It was that house she could see as a dim, dark outline from her bedroom window. That was keeping her awake. That house and its contents, no longer wanted by anybody, not even by their original occupants.

She pulled the shawl off the back of the white wicker chair, wrapped it around her over her cotton nightgown and sat down, eyes fixed on the Sullivan house. Wild Rose Cottage. An evocative but deceptive name. It sounded beautiful. But it was ugly to its bones.

Her eyes narrowed as she thought of the evil that had
happened there. Brother killing brother. Twice over. And something more. She was sure there was something more. Evil in its beginnings, laid with the foundation. Lili's pure mind could entertain the idea of evil only so long. Soon it began to drift to happier thoughts—of her garden plans for the following year and the beautiful tablecloth she was embroidering for Ben and Annabelle's twenty-fifth wedding anniversary in the fall.

Nathan's snoring sometimes had the effect of lulling her to sleep, and it did now, combining with these happy thoughts to bring her ease of mind. Her eyes drooped shut and her head fell to one side. Her hands that had been clinging to the shawl fell open and her arms dropped to the sides.

And so they stayed for some hours, Nathan sawing away, occasionally grunting and flipping over, but asleep. Lili slept, but not as deeply, ready to be awoken by the tiniest unusual sensation.

It was a warm light playing on her eyelids that tickled her into semi-consciousness. Slowly she opened them, only half-open, staring into the golden sliver of dawn as it slid in a thin line above the horizon. Shots of orange and yellow light streaked across the water and sky and poured in the window. She stood, not yet fully awake. Up on the hill, the light surrounded the big house, a glow shimmering all around it, a terrifying beauty. The image dazzled her.

She moved as if in a trance, dragged her dressing gown off the chair and slipped into it, white cotton like her nightdress. She slid her feet into her slippers, and lit a candle to guide her downstairs, preferring a gentle entrance into the day rather than the harsh electric lights.

She floated down the stairs, her feet not seeming to touch the treads, her white nightgown and robe billowing around her, catching the draft from the hall window left slightly open to let in the cool night air.

She blew out the candle and opened the front door. It squeaked as she stepped out into the early morning. The damp air had swollen it in its frame. A wave of chill air startled her, and she stopped moving for a moment, looking around her, puzzled, as if wondering why she had come outside.

Her eyes fixed on the big house, still bathed in the glow of the sunrise. The sun was rising in each window, orange globe after orange globe shimmering on the dark glass.

The images impelled her forward, as if she had no will of her own.

She glided up the hill toward the house.

The evil house.

Its contents of no consequence to themselves or anyone else anymore.

She looked like a wraith herself, her white cotton nightclothes drifting around her in the light morning breeze, catching the glow of the morning sun.

The glow that encircled the house moved higher on the horizon.

The house. Her trance became a purpose, a purpose of which she was sure, although she didn't know where the idea had come from. She felt no power to go against it, to control it.

She tripped toward the house, hands buried in the pockets of her dressing gown, clutching, clutching…what? The fabric. To keep her perennially cold fingers warm. She stumbled, partly from speed, partly from anxiety, a haste of the mind. A haste to be done this morning's task.

The house must be stopped.

She pulled her hands from her pockets. Rubbed them together. Blew on them. And then she noticed her feet. In slippers. Bunny slippers.

If anyone came across her, they would think she was mad.

Was she?

She felt odd, not in command of herself, as if some other force were guiding her actions.

The sun had let go of the house. Its brilliance no longer bathed the huge building in its glow. It was now dark and gloomy.

Lili, without a thought, followed her feet where they were determined to go.

The bunny slippers, quickly turning from white to red from the island clay, didn't hesitate in pattering around to the back of the house.

The cellar hatch. The only entrance into the cellar of the house, in spite of all the grand renovations, were two large doors angled on the ground, tucked up against the house. Lili grabbed the handle of the right-hand door. It pulled back against her. It was heavy, maybe too heavy for Lili. She lacked leverage, because she had to stretch almost her full length to grab hold of the handle.

After a few attempts, she was ready to give up, when suddenly the door cooperated, and flung her back as it came open. She landed on her back, now covered in red clay.

But she had opened the door. And she would close it behind her – so that no one would interrupt her in her purpose.

The cellar was lined with massive island stone, carved out of the capes, chiseled, the marks of man evident in every stone. Every damp, musty stone. Some owners clung to these foundations with pride. They were heritage after all. Most were crumbling or sliding in, tired of the long years of the weight, the burden of the house they carried.

She stepped down onto one of the massive stones, used to create a stairway. She held the door above her as she went. Another step. And then another. When she was far enough down, she let go the door. It creaked and slammed shut.

A hook on the one door spun around, and looped itself into the waiting metal eye on the other door. She turned, briefly, at the sound, saw the latch had closed itself, and, unbothered, continued into the musty dark.

She didn't worry about how she would get out.

This was a woman who could move objects with her mind.

She followed the smell of oil to the furnace.

The oil tank was there. New rules. At one time, you could put an oil tank in the cellar. Then you couldn't. Now you could again.

It suited her purposes.

She dipped a hand into her pocket for the box of matches she'd used to light the candle. Had she known all along? Some part of her had, drawn here by the morning sun, by its image of the house aflame with light.

Aflame.

She pulled out the matches, looked around her with eyes now accustomed to the light, found the light switch – and her way.

The area was littered with recycling boxes of paper and cardboard. There were paint cans and solvents of various kinds. Stuff left behind by a careless contractor. No one to account to anymore.

No half measures. It must go up this time. Twice before, the house had conquered fire.

Not this time, thought Lily. Not this time. She lit the papers. She lit the cardboard. The papers and the cardboard smoldered, turning brown, but were not catching. Not catching. She used every match. She hoped that it would work. She prayed, as only Lili could pray.

Prayers that could shift reality.

The fire responded, took life, blazed out at her and she turned and ran. She had a moment of panic at seeing the cellar door shut.

She shoved up on it. Heavy. Too heavy.

She could hear the roar of the flames behind her.

She pushed. Nothing. Pushed again.

Then she remembered. The hook and eye. The door had shut itself. The house was evil, trying to kill her as she was trying to kill it.

Tit for tat. What else could she expect?

She reached for the hook.

It was beyond her grasp.

The cellar was filling with smoke. It was billowing up behind her, coming for her, rising up and over her, curling and circling around her.

She must not panic.

Calm, Lili, calm.
In spite of the smoke, she took a deep breath.

And another.

Too much.
She began to cough. She couldn't stop the hacking, the burning that sliced her lungs – as if the fire itself were searing through her body.

Calm, Lili, calm.

She could feel the heat of the fire behind her.

To many it might seem an odd time to be invoking yogic mind techniques, but that's just what she was doing. Ignoring the smoke, the heat, the roar of the inferno behind her. The flames coming closer.

A deep breath. Suppress the coughing. A deep breath. Harness that inner strength, and –

Stretch.

The tip of her finger touched the hook, but couldn't take hold of it.

The smoke swirled around her, intoxicating, inviting her to come with it, to forget her labours, to slip into sleep and become one with the flame.

Chapter Forty-One

Jamieson was standing outside the police house at the top of
the hill, looking toward the shore, in the golden glow of the still-rising sun, the black, light-tipped waters, and the sand turning golden with the approaching day.

Something made Jamieson turn. Did she see, hear, smell fire coming from the Sullivan house? The southwest wind that morning favoured it.

She should have smelled it. She probably should have heard the roar. By this time, surely she could have seen the flames leaping out of the building. She'd saved this house once before when fire broke out. She'd wondered then why she'd bothered.

And she was wondering why she should bother now.

Best be rid of it. Let it go. Delay the call. At the very least, the volunteer firefighters should not be called into this. Risk men's lives for that…that…she was beginning to agree with Lili that the house was evil. Jamieson had read once that all spaces retain all the sounds ever made in them, if scientists could figure out a way to retrieve them. Surely that must stand for actions, too. Evil actions contained within the house, touching everyone who had touched it.

Every contact leaves a trace.

The Sullivan house had heard the crackling of fire three times.

Would this be the last? Should it be?

Jamieson's gaze turned from the shore and the sun licking fire across the water. She was looking down on the flames leaping out of the Sullivan house.

Good riddance.

Lili slid down to the bottom step, her strength giving out. It was a good thing she did, because close to the floor, there was still oxygen, oxygen that she gulped down and kept in reserve. Her yogic training gave her lungs maximum efficiency. Breath after breath.

Calm, Lili, calm.

She slowed her breathing. The smoke swirled around her. The flames leaped at her, coming close enough almost to light her cotton nightgown on fire. From deep within the cellar, the roar of the fire took shape.

Soon, she knew, there would be an explosion, bright light, and then – ?

Lili's faith did not comfort her. She lost consciousness.

Hy was just heading out for her morning run when she saw Jamieson standing at the top of Shipwreck Hill. Looking, not toward the shore, but inland, down the back of the hill toward the Sullivan house.

Unmoving, in spite of the smoke billowing from below.

When Hy got to Jamieson, she appeared to be in something of a trance.

Hy knew Jamieson didn't like to be touched, but she had to shake her.

“Jamieson. The Sullivan house is on fire.”

“Let it burn.”

“What? What if someone's in there?”

“There's no one in there. Remember what Lili said: ‘no souls there.'”

Lili. Lili had also said, “There's only one way to rid it of evil.” And then that one word, lost on the wind. That one lost word.
Fire.
That was it. Lili had said fire.

Had Lili set the place on fire?

Hardly the sort of thing that a gentle soul like Lili would do.

Still…

Hy grabbed Jamieson by the sleeve.

“Lili might be in there.”

“What? How do you know?”

“I don't know. But there's a chance. Come.” She dragged at Jamieson's sleeve.

The two women ran down the hill toward the house, stumbling clumsily as they went. Hy fell once and Jamieson hauled her up.

They headed directly for the thickest smoke, billowing out of the cellar hatch.

Hy hauled on the hatch. No give.

Jamieson moved in beside her, and they both yanked at the doors.

No give.

“It's secured from the inside.” Hy gave Jamieson a look of despair.

“That means there's someone in there.”

“Lili?”

Inside, through a fog of semi-consciousness, Lili's ears ached with the sound of a hammer.
A hammer? No. Pounding. Pounding of some kind. Where?

She came to. Heard her name:

“Lili. Lili.” Hy kept repeating it, more desperate each time. If not Lili, someone had to be in there, with the hatch secured from the inside.

As the smoke whirled around her, suffocating her, Lili struggled up the stairs again, on all fours.

She still couldn't reach the hook, but she pushed.

She pushed and Hy and Jamieson pulled.

Push. Pull. Push. Pull. Push again.

And it came loose, the hook from the door.

Lili fell forward as the door gave way.

She stared up in shock, smoke engulfing the three of them. Jamieson and Hy grabbed onto her and pulled her out.

Her legs were like jelly. Fear. Fear of the fire – and fear of the law.

When Lili was safely out, Jamieson slammed the cellar doors shut to the roar of the inferno. They moved back from the burning building.

“Shall we call the firefighters?” Hy appealed to Jamieson. It wasn't the question she wanted to ask. She wanted to quiz Lili on what had happened, but that was Jamieson's job.

Jamieson said nothing, just stared up at the building.

“Shall we?”

Jamieson shook her head. She prayed that it would all go up in smoke.

Lili was thinking the same thing. She looked up to the second floor.

She was thinking about them. The bodies. The boys.

Plastic. Would they burn, or would they melt?

Melt, probably. But they would be somewhere better. Somewhere they belonged. In that life, not in this one. And the evil that was in this house she hoped would perish in the fire, or she had taken the risk for nothing.

On the second floor, three men were finally being allowed to rest in peace. It wasn't a graceful way to go, but none of them are.

At first Blair, Charlie and Hank looked as if they were very, very sad, their faces dissolving into a long liquid unhappiness. Their limbs, their torsos, every part of them plastic, began to run. Just from the heat. The three were unrecognizable even before the flames roared into their rooms and licked at what was left of them, puddles of plastic on the floor until there was no floor.

They were never found of course. There was a whole house on top of them. That was their grave. The Sullivan house. Wild Rose Cottage.

“You're not going to put in a call?” Hy felt she was missing something. Jamieson had changed in the last year, but such a brazen neglect of duty? And she hadn't said anything to Lili.

Suddenly, Lili remembered. The oil tank.

“Get away,” she called to Jamieson and Hy. “The oil tank. The oil tank.”

The three women chased through the rose shrubs, ripping at their garments, to get away from the burning building.

The explosion sent some of the island stone foundation flying out into the garden, one massive block landing close to them. Lili just narrowly escaped being hit by it. Her heart was heaving in her chest. There was sweat on her forehead and her chest. But her hands were still cold. Cold as death.

Two small objects hit the stone with a “ping.” The flames glinted off them.

“Her rings.” Hy snatched them up and held her hand open so Jamieson could see.

Blue diamonds.

“She spoke to them,” said Jamieson.

“I'm not surprised. Husbands four and five. Here.” Hy gave one of the rings to Jamieson. Then she heaved hers into the burning building. Thousands of dollars worth of gem. Jamieson did the same.

“May they rest in peace,” said Hy.

The flames were now leaping up to the roof, hungrily consuming the cedar shingles.

“I'm not going to risk men's lives. Not for that.” Jamieson turned to Lili. “You were very foolish to go in there and try to put it out.”

Both Lili and Hy were silent.

Did Jamieson really believe…?

“You could have killed yourself.”

How nearly she had.

“Whatever made you do it, I don't know,” Hy chimed in, wanting to support Jamieson in this road she'd decided to follow. The road of Lili's innocence. Hy looked down at Lili's bunny slippers.

How could someone who wore bunny slippers possibly be guilty of arson? Dirty red-stained bunny slippers and a smudge of smoke across her face that made her look like a third-grade tomboy.

Only Lili was silent, not knowing whether to confess or accept this gift, this absolution.

What she had done was right, the right thing to do, she knew, and so she kept silent. They all did. They never mentioned it again.

Jamieson did not make a call until she and Hy saw Lili safely home, gave a brief sketch of the circumstances to Nathan, and left Lili in his arms. She and Hy returned past the house and Jamieson paused for a moment to inspect it, the flames leaping out of the roof, all the windows broken, revealing the charred insides.

Gone. It was gone now. Too far gone to be saved.

By the time Hy and Jamieson got back to the police house, the fire was most certainly too far gone to be fought, on its way to being reduced to rubble. Jamieson made the call – to tell the volunteer firefighters to stay away.

She never questioned Lili. Never considered a charge. Convinced herself that Lili had not been there to set the fire, but to stop it. It was clear that Jamieson simply didn't care about the loss of the house. She would report it as a fire, undetected until it was well out of control and not worth the risk of human life.

She got away with it. And Lili did, too. And the authorities in Charlottetown never questioned her. For one thing, they weren't willing to share precious resources with The Shores. They allowed Jamieson to be a law unto herself. As long as she sent in believable reports and didn't ask for anything.

It would be a long time before the rubble was removed and anyone thought of building there again.

A long time.

Lili would be around to warn people off, and Jamieson was inclined to fall in with her.

If she'd been questioned about it, and if she'd been honest, she'd have said it was a good thing the house was destroyed, and that the bodies in it were finally at rest.

Souls or no souls.