The Lamplighters (22 page)

“We just have to hope Jessie’s computer routine diverts Fowler’s resources. The more time he spends on us, the less he has to worry about keeping tabs on the ocean perimeter.”

Marla was struck by how white his teeth looked, just like a shark’s. They reminded her of Welland, looking for all the world like he might devour her as he’d questioned her in his office.
Your chariot awaits
, he’d said on the quay before she boarded the
Sentry Maiden
, the same boat that killed those innocent people and crippled poor Pietro.
The boat, of course, the bloody boat.

“Why can’t we just take the boat! Sail her way from the island?”

“We thought about it,” Adam replied, “but the jetty is so heavily guarded that it would mean involving a couple more of the guys. And frankly…”

“Frankly, we’d be fucked over before we even pulled anchor,” finished Jessie. “Not a trustworthy bunch, Fowler’s men. Present company excepted of course.”

Adam smiled again, eyes twinkling. Marla channeled thoughts of cold winter days in a desperate attempt to prevent herself from blushing. It didn’t work.

Jessie smirked at her and said, “Trust me, Fowler’s gonna be furious that we’re locked up in here. While he tries to bust us out, hopefully a few vessels will pick up our distress call—the bigger the better.”

With that, Jessie returned to the kitchen and began rifling through Marla’s backpack in search of something edible. 

“Anyone hungry? Come on lovers, we can’t explore a big old house like this on empty stomachs.”

The house was massive, with each room revealing another doorway and each hallway or landing giving access to yet more rooms. Twice now, Marla and Adam had to retrace their steps to avoid getting lost, such was the labyrinthine complexity of the structure. Jessie had set up shop in the kitchen, busily preparing a meal from the unbranded canned and dried goods Vincent had generously donated to their cause.
Enough food to feed a small army,
Jessie had remarked, and she wasn’t wrong. At this, Marla felt a sudden pang of guilt somewhere between her heart and her windpipe, thinking now of Vincent. She’d abandoned him, left him in his lighthouse to fend for himself and Pietro. Surely that made her as bad as those who’d forced him to stay there all these years—and surely she could’ve found a way to bring the old man along with them. If the island was as much of a threat as Jessie made it out to be, then Vincent was in danger too. As she clutched the cool hard surface of the carved wooden banister, Marla made a mental oath to help get Vincent away from this place just as soon as help reached them. Feeling invigorated from her new found determination, she began another ascent up the stairs and into the uncharted reaches of the Big House.

When they reached the next landing, Adam stopped still. Marla assumed he was being gallant—her breathing was rather heavy as they scaled the stairs.

“You don’t have to wait for me,” she said breathlessly, “I’m right behind you.”

His hazel eyes twinkled in the half-light. “Listen. I just wanted to apologize…”

Don’t make me do this, not now, not here,
thought Marla but the only words that would come were, “Apologize? For what? You don’t have to…”

“We… I shouldn’t have played you like that. I can tell you’re pissed about it, and I don’t blame you.”

He winced a little, as if remembering the way she’d looked at him after her grilling in Fowler’s office. That harsh dressing down with her eyes. He’d known she meant it. And now, even with his face part obscured by shadows, Marla could see how very carefully he was choosing his words.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry, that’s all. We just couldn’t be sure… I mean the timing of your coming to the island; Jessie said we should play it careful like.”

She was impressed. He was doing well.

“And you do everything Jessie tells you to?”

Adam smiled goofily. The flush on Marla’s neck and chest indicated she’d already forgiven him for whatever sins he’d visited upon her.

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Their laughter broke the thin veil of remaining tension between them. Marla climbed the rest of the steps to the landing.

“I don’t know, Adam. Think I’d prefer Fowler as a boss over Jessie any day. She’s such a
bully
.”

Adam laughed again, an infectious sound, and nodded his agreement about Jessie, his harsh taskmistress.

Drawing level with him on the landing, Marla said, “Can I just ask one thing. About you and Jessie?”

His eyes darted from left to right as he re-read the question in his mind then found an answer.

“Oh we’re not together if that’s what you mean…”

“No, nothing like that,” Marla said matter of factly, giving him cause to flush this time. “I just wondered. Jessie’s conspiracy theories about this place, about people going missing, about what happened to Pietro and the boat…”

“Yes?”

“Do you believe her?”

Those hazel eyes narrowed and Adam did not hesitate.

“Oh I believe her. Implicitly. And so should you.”

Marla felt a chill on the nape of her neck, then heard a distant banging noise echoing through the maze of nooks and crannies that made up the house. Jessie in the kitchen? No, that was on the other side of the building. This sound—and there it was again, bang, only louder this time—was coming from above. Fowler’s men, come to gun them down and throw their bodies into the sea? Her brain conjured a series of weak points in the structure of the house; an unprotected skylight rotting in its frame, a dry rot-infested nesting hole beneath the eaves, just large enough for a man to wriggle through…

Peering up the stairs to see how high they’d climbed, Marla and Adam could see one last door ahead.

“The attic. It’s coming from the attic,” he said.

Slowly, and without further conversation, Marla followed Adam up the stairs, wincing painfully as the old wood of the steps near the top creaked loudly beneath their feet. 

As the banging sound continued from behind the door, Adam carefully tried the door handle. Locked. He crouched down by the door to examine the mechanism; it was a sturdy security lock, with no keyhole for him to pick at in order to gain access. He weighed up the options; on the one hand if the banging noise was that of an intruder, this locked door provided a useful obstacle. On the other, if the banging were the result of a faulty shutter or unsecured part of the building he’d be better off checking it out and remedying the problem. Relaying his thoughts to Marla in quiet whispers, they quickly agreed it would be better for them to find out either way. It was important to keep the door intact so they could barricade it safely after locating the source of the banging. Rather than kicking the door down, Adam took a penknife from his pocket and set to work on dismantling the door handle. Marla watched intently as he set about his work. Adam gritted his teeth as he tried to work the point of the blade into the rear of the door handle housing. The blade skidded away, almost snapping shut on his fingers. It was fiddly work and looked like it might take him all night. His grunting escalated, echoing off the walls as the metal plate behind the door handle refused to yield to his advances. Then, Marla’s breathing stopped as she heard the sharp creak of the step behind her. At the sudden touch of a hand on her shoulder she squealed in surprise, causing Adam to drop his knife and damn near jump right out of his skin.

“Jessie! Don’t sneak up on me like that, Christ!”

Panic over, Marla noticed the flecks of tomato sauce on Jessie’s clothes and caught the first whiff of something edible from downstairs.

“Didn’t mean to startle you girl. Chill out. I called to you guys—you didn’t hear me?”

Adam and Marla both shook their heads at Jessie, who stood looking matronly surrounded by the scent of hot food, which had followed her up the stairs and onto the landing.

“Well, I made some food if you’re hungry. It’s not much but it’ll keep us going ’til some help arrives.”

“You go ahead,” Adam said, “I’ll join you guys just as soon as I’ve figured out this damn lock.”

Jessie looked puzzled, only now noticing that Adam was crouched by the door with a penknife in his hand.

“What’s with the door?”

A sharp bang replied in place of Adam, coming from somewhere behind the door.

Jessie’s face frowned a question. “What the hell is that?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out. Go on, get something to eat. I don’t know how long this is going to take me.”

“Okay. You holler if you need any help. And holler loud; this house seems to
devour
sounds,” Jessie replied.

“Hey, just make sure it doesn’t eat all the food. You save me some,” Adam said, as the girls began their descent down the creaking stair.

Jessie winked at Marla in mock-conspiracy. Marla could barely hear the creaks of the old wood above the manic rumbling of her stomach. She was starving. Only Jessie could think of preparing food at a time like this, locked in a mansion house together while (she was sure of it) all hell was breaking loose outside. But as they approached the kitchen together, Marla’s saliva glands took over and her mouth flooded with the thankful expectation of her first hot meal in hours.

They sat in silence, wolfing down the food hungrily. The pasta was delicious, even though the spaghetti was overcooked and burned molasses-brown in places where it had escaped over the edge of the pan. Marla wiped a glob of orange-red sauce from the surface of the table next to her bowl, enjoying the feel of the smooth textured wood beneath her fingers. The table, like almost everything else in this vast house, gave the impression that it was constructed entirely from driftwood rescued from the sea. Wood paneling, formed of gnarled and mottled beams that looked like they’d been plundered from the deck of some ancient sailing ship, lined the walls all around them, adding to the strange nautical effect. Marla sucked the spilled sauce from her fingertips and returned her attention entirely to the last morsels of her meal.

“There’s more in the pan if you want it,” Jessie offered.

“Better save it for Adam,” Marla replied. “That was great though, thanks, just what the doctor ordered.”

Jessie smiled, her eyes narrowing. “You Brits are so polite. It was awful, I know, but we had to eat something. Plenty of supplies with us. Good job too, all things considered.” She paused, slurping up a long strand of spaghetti through pursed lips. “Your turn to cook next time, toots.”

“I wouldn’t advise it. Not if you don’t want food poisoning.”

“That bad huh?”

“That bad.”

“Ah, well, I guess then we’ll manage,” Jessie rose from the table, chair legs rumbling across the kitchen’s rust-red stone floor, “Let’s go explore the rest of the house.”

“Now?”

“Sure, no time like the present.”

They started with the ground floor, opening door after door into room upon room. Each time Jessie swung a door open, Marla expected to be back in the kitchen conservatory where they’d started but the house seemed to go on forever. As far as her confused inner compass could decipher, Marla was traveling in a wide circle around the perimeter of the building. Each room in the house seemed to serve a particular purpose—here, for instance was a games room stocked with a billiard table, which was clad in a formidable armor of thick, padlocked wooden covers. The table was the centerpiece of the room, surrounded by huge, also padlocked, cupboards and chests presumably stocked with board games and decks of cards. A room filled with forbidden games. Marla shivered, remembering seemingly endless games of checkers with her foster parents on rainy holidays in damp and leaky vacation rentals. As she followed Jessie out of the room and into a connecting corridor, she caught a faint scent—of damp, of remembrance. Glancing back into the room as she closed the door behind them, Marla drew a quick breath as she glimpsed a small shape flitting behind the billiard table.

“What’s up?” Jessie was like a dog straining at its leash, eager to move on and get to the heart of this vast house.

Marla blinked into the half-light, her quick eyes scanning the room. She took a couple of steps back inside to afford a better look beneath and behind the billiard table. Nothing there, save for shadows, and that smell. The scent was old and so musty she could almost taste it. It was the smell of wasting away on rainy spring evenings when you are trapped inside instead of being able to play outside. The odor was thick with the taint of boredom. Marla shuddered and quickly shut the door. She walked on without saying a word to Jessie.

They followed the corridor as it formed a sharp left turn, then another after only a short distance. Here, the corridor grew narrower and the ceiling lower, ending in a small door that occupied almost the entire meager expanse of wall up ahead.

Jessie slipped in front of Marla to try the door. She gripped the globe-shaped door handle and twisted it. The door creaked open revealing a darkened staircase descending into impenetrable blackness beneath. Jessie pointed her Maglite down the stairwell. The cool air from within played across her face like a whisper.

“Cellar,” Jessie said, and started climbing down the steps.

“Shouldn’t we let Adam know—” Marla began.

Jessie’s muffled voice cut her off in mid-sentence, “Come on, toots. Rich folks and cellars. Almost always fine wine and hard liquor where there’s rich folks and cellars.” She was already several feet away, a black shape back-lit by the flashlight’s halo as she descended.

Marla shot a look back into the corridor behind her then took her first step down into the basement of the house and into the unknown.

The stairwell opened up either side into a low-ceilinged cellar. Jessie swung her flashlight around slowly, revealing wooden beams lined with rusty copper pipes and casting cobweb shadows that seemed to dance on the walls as the beam of light moved across them. Marla followed tentatively behind, the damp cool air turning the skin on her arms to gooseflesh. Something caught Jessie’s eye, revealed momentarily in her searchlight sweep, and she quickly pointed the light at it again. Holding the flashlight steady and creeping forward, Jessie could see a mattress, child-sized and strewn with loose bedding, lying in the far corner of the cellar. Marla saw it too and walked close behind Jessie. Taking in the visual information revealed by the flashlight beam, they found themselves standing in what looked like a makeshift bedroom. Ramshackle shelves formed a perimeter around the mattress, laden with old toys—threadbare teddy bears, rusty spinning tops, a tiny broken blackboard complete with crumbling colored chalks. A tangle of soiled linen was heaped atop the unmade bed, sheets and blankets that looked like they had never been washed, their surfaces encased in a crust of filth. The mattress itself was mildewed and stained in hues of livid green and autumnal brown. A faint smell, of urine accompanied by something sickly sweet like rotting fruit, hit Marla’s nostrils suddenly and she gagged. Jessie, made of sterner stuff, seemed unfazed as she crouched down to study something lying next to the bed. Smiling, she grabbed it and held it up in the light so Marla could see. She looked at its once-bright red plastic surface and realized, bizarrely, that it was an old Fisher Price kids’ cassette player. Jessie hit the play button and a nursery rhyme sang out from the tiny speaker.
“Old MacDonald had a farm, and on that farm he had some pigs.”
Marla didn’t like the sound, especially down here where the air was cold and foul. She jabbed the stop button with a loud click and looked nervously over her shoulder into the gloom.