They lay together afterwards, limbs and thoughts entwined. They touched, kissed and talked. He wouldn’t say he loved her, but he thought in time he might learn to. She wanted him on all levels, plain and simple.
After a time, the springtime chill crept in, and they snuggled beneath the rumpled sheets for a bit, reluctant to get dressed and end their moments together. Dressing meant a return to everyday reality, and that meant sharing what they knew.
* * * *
In the morning, sharing the ride into the station, they finally talked. Jamie pulled off the road just north of Black Fish Lane, and they talked.
He told her some of the darker things he knew about Grim Island. How more than bad people had oozed across her borders; how weeds of evil had found a haven too, putting down unhealthy roots, and festering. She didn’t snicker or poke fun; she just sat quietly listening. He introduced her to the crazed preacher, Malachi Paine, the ghouls and shape shifters, the forgotten tunnels and shambling things with gills. She took it all in, gasping twice in total disgust; but she held on and waited. Then she stared long into his twinkling blue eyes, and unbuttoned her shirt. There, in the brilliant light of day, she finally showed him the tiny pattern of faint red marks encircling her breast. Tiny teeth marks of something struggling feebly to find her nipple in the dark.
"I glimpsed those in the dark," he said. "Wondered what they were, but I had other things on my mind at the time. Now, in this light, I can see they're teeth marks. Whose, Kat; whose?"
She admitted she was the plaything of a dead child.
Chapter 23
Gerald Sweetling, principal of Constance Paine, didn’t know what to do next. He sat burning through his smokes in his plush black leather chair, hidden in his sound-proofed, oak paneled office. Silently swiveling between his fake family photo and Rhinewurm College degree, he stared off into space while a thin line of spittle drooled down his excuse for a chin. Cold nicotine stained fingers twirled and fiddled with the small earring he’d snatched from her desk. A sparkling trinket with a couple strands of her long hair still snagged in the jewelry’s finding. Rich dark hair, almost black with fiery highlights running through it. Beautiful, like the woman. Poor blind Miss Rodriguez. His problem.
Gerald shifted his bulging ass, and tapped his latest cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray. If only the good people of Grim Island knew what he was really like, they’d clutch their kids tighter and look for a new school. Still, the students were perfectly safe. It wasn’t the kids he wanted. He had no interest in children. Kids made him itch. Made his skin crawl. It was their teachers, those unsuspecting sweet young things, he wanted to play with. One teacher, in particular.
Miss Rodriguez had resisted him from the start. Obviously the prettiest of the flock, she was always too damned smart. She was a natural teacher; all the kids loved her. Unfortunately, she’d recognized his game from the beginning, and kept herself defiantly unavailable.
What was there not to love? He towered over her, a good five-eight in his black nylon socks. Maybe he was a trifle overweight, needing to drop ten or twenty pounds–okay, forty. He wore expensive cologne. Granted, it was to cover up that body odor even he could smell. Maybe his hobby offended her? So he played with dead things. He stuffed and sewed them up, gave them bright grins and sparkling glass eyes. He immortalized the little devils. What was creepy about that? Maybe his face? All right, so he wasn’t as handsome a stud as her former suitor, that brute, MacLeod. His face had character. So what if his eyes were small and women said he was always leering. He had his momma’s strong Roman nose and feminine lips covering his large smoker’s teeth. Unfortunately, he had his father’s big ears and excuse for a chin. Hey, would she have preferred his tall cadaverous great grandfather? Gerald thought not. Yeah, come to think of it, Miss Rodriguez might choose to see him as a little less than desirable. But what the hell–the blind bitch had better remember that one all important fact. He was her boss.
He had to admit, she’d done pretty well at mastering her handicap. At first, she’d been a basket case; lashing out blindly at the cruel hand she’d been dealt. She’d even thrown away her dear Jamie MacLeod, blaming him for her misery. Her friend, Julie Parker helped out there, nurturing the budding hatred for MacLeod and gently shoving her towards their boss. He supposed he’d have to throw the ugly bitch a bone of gratitude at some point. Finally, she had mastered her new forced life style; he’d seen her working her way down the corridor and through her classroom, seldom bumping anything, her cane left at home. Still, she was blind; and she didn’t want to play his game.
He fiddled with the manila folder on his desk. Teacher applicants. Two stood out–one from Bridgewater–as replacements should Miss Rodriguez prove too stubborn and her resistance begin to bore him. Melanie and Betsy. Pretty young things. Which would he choose? Decisions, decisions. A principal’s work was never done.
The choice had become academic. Lacey Rodriguez had finally seen the light, so to speak. Two weeks back, they’d spent a Friday night together. Gerry had no illusions that Miss Rodriguez had fallen head over heels for him, or even enjoyed the ride. She had stiffened twice when his right hand strayed.
Yet the woman’s head was screwed on right and she’d accepted two more dates, even if her voice held little enthusiasm. No matter. On their last date, she’d let him touch her breast. Gerald completely blotted out the fact she’d had a catch in her throat and tears in her eyes at the time. She’d let him! She really had no choice if she wanted to keep her job. In these hard economic times many schools were cutting teachers. Lacey Rodriguez was no dummy.
Pretty soon he’d force an invitation on her to spend an evening at his home. They’d eat in; he’d feed her. They’d sit on his couch. Move to his bed. She’d better play nice. Her future was in his hands. Soon, she’d better be.
Chapter 24
Jamie looked up as the library assistant placed another two books from the Paine collection on the cubicle desk and scurried away. She was a nice kid, one of the Patel daughters–Priya, he thought. All giggling and dark hair and flashing eyes. That stirred a memory, and a sharp pang of regret. Lacey. But this version was just a kid. Dr. Patel would have to watch this one. There he went again, always the cop. No wonder she wouldn’t talk to him. He was far older than her, and he was that cop. The one that hurt the nice teacher. He wanted to warn Priya, convince her it was time to run. But she’d no more listen to him than talk; she’d probably just giggle, and scurry away from the crazy man.
Grim Island was evil. It was old, dirty, decaying and as bad as they came. Jamie MacLeod buried his sorrow in grueling research into the shadowy past of the ancient town of Grim Island. What he’d found disturbed him greatly. He’d opened Pandora’s Box.
Like most old New England towns, like most places on the planet, Grim Island had a face far different from the one it showed at present. Beneath the roads and parking lots, beneath the local high school, even beneath the jumbled granite blocks that supported the silent lighthouse at Lost Hope Park, there lingered ghosts of a past full of violence and foul deeds done in the dead of night. Jamie knew that Grim Island had been a dumping ground for the colonists’ human garbage. Once he’d shoved aside his own self-pity and dug his teeth into the rancid history of the island, he’d learned that many of the town’s first settlers had not come alone
If they had been the scum and dregs of colonial New England, the noxious fog of evil that floated in behind them was far worse. Grim Island was haunted and infested with some of the worst black-hearted souls to ever walk the earth.
Subtle proof had been staring him in the face since he moved into town. Working in Salem he had realized that portions of the old cemetery he patrolled never showed the slightest bit of vandalism. They housed family and friends of the hanged witches. The witches themselves, of course, were not allowed to rest in hallowed ground. But apparently, the mischievous prank
sters felt creeped out enough that they never harmed any of the stones belonging to those the alleged witches cared for.
On Grim Island, everyone, saint and felon alike, found eternal rest in the old cemetery on Foggy Dew Lane. Jamie had never heard of a single instance of vandalism there. Not one stone smashed, tipped over, or covered with graffiti. Ever.
Of course, Zebulon Joshua Dyer and Jeremiah Pious Paine had been among the first inhabitants of Ravens’ Rest cemetery. In fact, they’d been laid to rest in the center of the foul ground, and the newer occupants moved in around their families. The two ancient Yankees were the heart and soul of old Grim Island; though Jamie suspected they possessed neither.
Zebulon Dyer had been a slaver. Of Whites, not Africans. Zebulon fed on the poor white souls sent over from English courts in indentured servitude. He usually had an even dozen around him, set to work setting up his estate, then slaving away to maintain the sprawling abomination. For the women, he had a special treat. Most of the young prettier ones found their way to his bed. Many an evening, screams ripped endlessly through the night. To the elderly or those less fair of face, he showed mercy by reducing their sentences; he worked them into an early grave.
As he thought about the lack of toppled stones, it occurred to Jamie that he’d lied to Lacey. The one or two times he’d been forced to do police work down by the old asylum, he’d noticed there wasn’t any graffiti, or a single pane of broken glass there either, even though the rambling structure had been abandoned for fifty-five years. Apparently the local hoodlums avoided the place as though something very evil had taken up residence in the empty wards.
Jamie glanced at his watch, realizing he’d better get moving. He returned the borrowed volumes, picked up his notes and deleted his eighth email to Lacey. He’d been going to take a chance; leave it in her Goggle mailbox. This one had begun simply, Lacey, we have to talk. I know there are monsters. I know because I’ve seen one. He deleted the email draft as quickly as she’d destroyed his heart. He’d better get going. He had to put in an appearance at the stationhouse, and pick up Kat for dinner. Idly he wondered where Lacey was eating.
Chapter 25
The day after little Pamela Twigham disappeared was the day that Lacey Rodriguez got her sight back. It happened late in the school day, and because so many of her class were out that day, there was hardly anyone there to notice. Most of the adults in town were helping the police search. She supposed Jamie would be right in the thick of things. Lacey prayed he’d be the one to find the little girl alive. A bunch of the teachers had volunteered, including Julie. If Lacey had her sight, she would have been there too.
She sat in a circle with her class, reading aloud the tale of Mr. Squeaky Sneaker, the weasel. Unbidden, her mind flashed an image of the principal, Gerald Sweetling, her ardent admirer. He would be a very fat weasel. There were only five kids in her reading circle, the other students’ parents seeing fit to keep their offspring safe at home under watchful eyes.Pamela had been at home with her parents when she’d vanished, playing happily in the next room. Yet somehow the parents felt more secure pulling their kids away from the professionals who looked after them daily, and shutting them up behind flimsy walls with doors that popped opened at the flick of a credit card. Lacey wondered how many of those same guardian parents were actually watching their kids. Better than a blind lady can. It was then that little Sally Collins took her turn at reading, and Lacey realized she could see the cute blonde child. Sally had been a joy to have as a pupil, and Lacey had delighted in watching the sweet little girl grow. Sally read aloud for a half a minute before Lacey realized that she was watching Sally recite. She gave a little gasp, clutching the marking pencil in her hand so tightly it snapped. Several of the other students turned to look at her, concerned that their teacher might be in pain, and she realized she could see them too. Randy Smith looked nothing like she’d imagined, him, and Becky Hale had a big Flintstones band aid on her chin. She almost told the kids, her kids the good news, but something made her bite her bottom lip and keep mum.
By day’s end she could still see, though her vision had flickered out once or twice. She’d just sent her munchkins home when she got the call to report to Mr. Sweetling. Checking her hair and making sure all her buttons were done up, she couldn’t help but feel she was going before a firing squad.
Keeping her secret, she made up some time on her walk to the office. It was impossible not to notice the hostile stares of the office secretaries, or Gerald’s irritated scowl as he stuck his head out in the foyer for the third time. Spying her bumbling along, he hustled her into his inner sanctum and closed the door.
“Here, take this chair, Lacey. Sit down, sit down.” Gerald thumped an uncomfortable wooden chair in front of her and seizing her left arm, placed her hand on its rigid back. “Sit. I wish we had more time to do this. I expected you a good five minutes ago.” Principal Sweetling lumbered around his desk and plopped on its surface, directly in front of Lacey. His cloud of stench choked her; she wished she didn’t have to see him.
“I’m sorry Mr. Sweetling. I had to wait until all my kids went home. I came as quick as I could.”
“Yes, yes. I’m sure you did. Call me Gerry, remember? It’s not exactly like we’re strangers any more, is it, Lacey? I think we’re getting to know one another pretty well, don’t you?” He leaned forward and placed one sweaty paw on her shoulder. Beneath her cotton dress, Lacey’s skin crawled.
“Y-yes, Gerry. But maybe we should–”
“Good. You’re looking well. Very pretty.” Thinking she was still blind, he was quite open about gawking down her dress. She felt as though hairy spiders were skittering down her spine. “Hmmm, I suppose we must get to business. Lacey, I really was hoping we wouldn’t have to have this conversation. The doctor indicated your handicap might be temporary, but I can see that doesn’t seem to be the case. In light of the Twigham kid’s disappearance it has been brought to my attention that we need a staff that can keep its eyes on the student body at all times. You obviously can’t do that. However, I was thinking, if you’d just do this itty bitty thing for me, maybe I could be persuaded–”
What was he telling her? Was he going to terminate her? She thought about telling him right then that she could see. Something told her that might be a very bad idea.
“Gerry, are you going to let me go? Am I losing my job?”
“Oh no, Lacey. That doesn’t have to happen, honey. I wouldn’t think of firing you. There are one or two qualified applicants I’m considering, but you’re way too valuable to me, to Constance Paine, to ever let go. Maybe if you’d consent to do me a little favor?”
* * * *
Only Maria Costa remained at her station out in the main office. The other girls had all left as soon as Mr. Sweetling took the Rodriguez woman inside, chattering like a troop of rampaging monkeys. Maria sat quietly, her fingers deftly key stroking Mr. Greene’s spreadsheet, while her mind tried to decipher what was going on behind the closed door. She’d seen the look on Mr. Sweetling’s homely face as he followed Miss Rodriguez inside and locked the door. They’d all seen that look. They all knew what the boss was like. That pig. And with a poor blind woman no less. When the noise inside rose to some sort of scuffle, and she heard Miss Rodriguez’s voice raised in protest, Maria thought for a minute about calling her brother-in law down at the station house. He was friends with that good looking cop, Mr. MacLeod–the poor lady’s old flame. Maria liked him. He had such a nice smile and always asked after her family. He’d know what to do. But then she remembered all the cops were out looking for the Twigham kid. Besides, it had grown kind of quiet in the other room, except for those horrid sounds–Maria quickly dug her prayer beads out of her bag and clutched them in both hands. Before she could begin reciting her rosary, the principal’s door opened and the blind woman stumbled out. Maria looked up, and held out her hand, intending to speak. Lacey b
lundered by; hot tears in her eyes and something slimy running down her chin. Maria saw, and noticed that her pretty dress was torn too. Disgusting. That poor woman. She wanted to speak, but then the teacher lurched on by, and it was just too late.
Mr. Sweetling spoke, in a loud demanding tone, “See you in two weeks then, Lacey. I’ll pick you up at seven sharp. Wear something . . . pretty.” He started turning away from the door, mumbling something to himself about her being a damned slut. As smug as a tom cat that ate an entire flock of peeps, Sweetling started whistling his usual annoying ditty before he noticed his one remaining matronly employee. “Mrs. Costa–still here? Call in a substitute for Miss Rodriguez’s class for the next few days. I suspect we won’t be seeing her for a while. Then go home. We’re not paying you any over-time, you know.”
Chapter 26
James MacLeod did find the Twigham girl. Most of her. They’d been searching for five hours when they finally found the cute little blonde’s broken body. He’d paired himself up with the Standish kid, partly to keep an eye on him, but mostly because he was developing a growing fondness for the teenager, and right now Jamie felt he needed a friend he could trust. At least half the teenagers and adults in town joined in the search, all hoping to find the little girl alive. Kat had wanted to walk with him, but DeCosta had kept her in the stationhouse, answering phones. Surprisingly, Julie Parker joined the search. She’d passed Jamie and Eric as they checked out a stand of birches, slashing the bushes with her willow switch and cursing up a storm. Her hateful stare shot Jamie full of daggers. She mouthed “MacLeod” as she marched on by, making his name sound like some hideous disease. Eric flashed a bird after her as her skinny ass bobbed by, and the two guys sputtered their way into hysterics. Julie jerked a hard glare back over her shoulder, her long tongue flickering out like a snake’s. She passed a swampy tangle of Bull briar, and was gone.