Adermoor Cove Part 2: Love Hurts - 6. Chapter 6

Lane found himself in a bar called The Netted Eel. It had a deck which overlooked the docks. From the bar he could look out the window and stare at the water. It was a dark blue color. He could see himself falling in the water and trying to break the surface only to feel slimy dark tentacles pull him under. That’s what he felt like, a drowning man.

A group of middle-aged men stood on a small stage, singing what might have been a Nirvana song. There were a few people inside, sitting next to the windows, talking about normal things, and probably thinking about normal things. Lane was too exhausted to envy them their normal lives.

“You ran.”

Lane looked at the mirror hanging above the bar and saw his reflection staring back, the eyes clouded over. “You left a dying woman alone in her house.”

I was scared. I couldn’t breathe. I had to get out of there or I was going to explode.

“No, you’re just a coward...”

“God, can you just shut the fuck up?” Lane said. The bartender, an older man with bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows turned and gave him a strange look. Lane muttered a hasty apology, got up from the stool, and went out onto the deck where he could lose his shit without being heard. With his elbows resting on the ramp, he looked down at his reflection. “What was I supposed to do?” he asked it. “I was more than a little freaked out.” And here I am talking with my own reflection, asking it for advice.

“Go back. Listen to the rest of what she has to say,” said his reflection. i

Lane was getting ready to reply when he heard the door to the bar open. He turned and felt his heart drop - it was the same cop he’d bumped into at The Treasure Cove. The sexy one. Only now he was dressed in civilian clothes: a plaid shirt, faded blue jeans. He was carrying a plastic cup of beer in one hand.

The cop smiled. “Hi, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No.” Lane grabbed his drink, vodka and cranberry juice, as if to protect it, a subconscious gesture on his part.

The cop came up beside him and looked out the water. “I like this spot. I like to look out over the water. There’s a lot of scenic spots on the island...but for some reason I just like this one the best. Do you live here?”

“Visiting,” Lane said. He glanced away, trying to think of something he could say to get out of this interaction without drawing attention to himself.

“Cool. I just moved back here from Boston after fifteen years of being away. It hasn’t really changed all that much...except for this bar. I don’t remember this bar being here. I’m Carlos.”

Lane thought about lying him, telling him a different name, but instead said his real name.

“Lane,” Carlos said with a smile. “I like that. Can I buy you another drink, Lane?”

“Why would you want to do that?” Lane’s voice came out sounding sharper than he had meant it to.

“Out of the kindness of my heart.” Carlos seemed unperturbed by his hostility. “You could say no. I promise you’ll only hurt my feelings a little.”

My God, Lane thought. He’s flirting with me. He smiled though it felt a bit stiff on his face, too wide. “Thanks but I really shouldn’t be drinking. My aunt’s at home and she’s really sick. I need to go check on her.”

The look of disappointment on Carlo’s golden-brown face reminded Lane of Brendan. “Maybe the next time I see you, then. Will I see you around?”

“Maybe. I don’t know how long I’ll be staying.”

And with that he wished Carlos a nice day, and left.

Vanessa was still awake when he returned to the lighthouse, propped up on pillows. “I didn’t think you’d return,” she rasped through her mask.

“I didn’t either,” said Lane. “I’m sorry I ran out and left you all alone the way I did. So... you’re my aunt?”

“Great aunt.”

“And we’re the last of the line.”

She nodded sadly. “When I die you will be the last Stanton.”

It was weird to be referred to as a Stanton; for twenty-four years he’d been a Hardy, and he had accepted it with pride. Lane Hardy sounds so much better than Lane “Stanton”, he thought. And it was even stranger to think the woman who laid dying in the bed was his great-aunt. Beyond a vague sense of familiarity he felt no real connection to this woman - did he?

“So what happens now?” he asked.

Vanessa winced, shifting in her bed. “That is up to you. I’ve always known this day would come, that you would show up looking for answers. I’ve made preparations... should you decide to stay?”

“Stay?”

“Your name is on my will. I’ve left everything you to you... the lighthouse and the property on which it sits, the family’s money - and there is quite a bit of it - and assets. Enough to live off for the rest of your life. You could use it to go wherever you wanted... leave the country... but I can guarantee wherever you go the darkness will find you... Or you could find the answers you seek... and try to find a way to put an end to it once and for all.”

Lane shook his head. “I wouldn't even know where to start.”

“Records. I’ve kept records. I haven’t been able to keep up on them since my health began declining. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but would you mind going downstairs and making me some tea? I am thirsty... and tired.”

He looked at her for a moment, feeling sorry for this woman; the cancer had reduced her to nothing. It seemed like a cruel joke that he had finally been reunited with a blood relative, only to have them taken away like so many people he loved. My life is made of nothing but death, he thought.

“Sure,” he said.

                         … 

To get to the kitchen he had to pass through the living and dining room. He peeked through the windows of a curio cabinet; each shelf held a collection of miniature lighthouses of different shapes and colors. He found a few more framed photos of his solemn faced family - people cursed with abilities like his, people he would never get to meet. Yet there was a sense of belonging within these walls he hadn't felt in some time.

Everything was spotless and well organized. The kitchen cabinets were marked with neatly printed labels and the dishes were stacked in the dishwasher; the nurses Vanessa hired throughout the week must also help with the housekeeping, for there was no one else who could do it. As Lane fished the cast iron tea kettle from the cabinet diagonally below the sink, he tried to imagine being in Vanessa’s place: dying alone in this lighthouse without anyone around to comfort you.

After scrounging around - he was careful to put everything back where and how he’d found it - he found a tray and a teacup set. Once the water had begun to steam he got the tea steeping. With the tea made, he set everything on the tray, and carefully carried it up the stairs.

“Thank you,” Vanessa said, removing the oxygen mask from around her face. “Would you mind helping me drink this... I’m so fatigued from all the antibiotics the doctor has me on. There's a TV tray in the corner of the room by the door... yes, there. The night nurse should be here in the next hour or so.”

With the TV tray unfolded he set the tea tray on top, and scooted the chair closer to the bed. “I’m going to do my best - I’m not a nurse or anything.” He gently lifted her head to the brim of the cup.

She swallowed, dropped her head back against the pillow. She looked at him for a long time, studying him.

“What?” Lane said.

“You look just like her.”

“Elise?”

“Yes.”

“Was she beautiful?”

“Oh yes.”

Lane suddenly felt very tired. Things had been moving so quickly and he still couldn't get past the revelation of who he was. “What name was she going to give me?”

“Jeff.”

He smiled. Jeff. I like Lane so much better.

                                     … 

The nurse for third shift, a portly middle aged woman named Dolores, came to the lighthouse as darkness was falling over the island. She smiled at Lane when Vanessa introduced him as her nephew, but there was confusion in her eyes. She knows I’m not from around here, Lane thought. This is probably one of those places where everyone knows everyone.

Wanting to give Vanessa privacy while Dolores worked on making the dying woman more comfortable, Lane decided to explore the rest of the lighthouse. The door next to Vanessa’s bedroom was meant to be another bedroom but had instead been converted into a library. Most of the books were leatherbound. The room smelled pleasantly of paper. There were two armchairs placed before a limestone fireplace.

The next two rooms were full of furniture with white drapes hanging from them - not much to look at.

He came to the door at the end of the hallway. Beyond the door a staircase spiraled up to what Lane assumed was the lighthouse of the tower. At the top was the beacon itself, in the center of the room. After walking around the beacon, he stepped through a glass door, onto a ramp. Before him was a breathtaking view of the ocean and the sky. The two different shades of blue were only separated by the setting sun.

I could stay up here and look out at this view forever, Lane thought.

The state of Indiana, where he was from, was landlocked. Apart from the White River and Lake Tipton there were no real bodies of water. He remembered as a kid playing by a creek, where there had been crawdads Thinking of Indiana and the creek reminded him of how far he’d veered away from the life he’d always known.

I always assumed I was from Indiana, but as it turns out I’m from this tiny little island off the coast of Maine, Lane told himself. How did I end up all the way in Indiana? Nora - how much does she know? How much has she not told me? When things had slowed down enough he could actually think and breathe he would ask her. He had plenty of things to be occupied with here for the moment - after all, he’d just found his real family and where he was from.

While the nurse was downstairs rustling up dinner, Lane sat beside Vanessa’s bed. She’d dozed off for a few minutes but now she was up again.

“Tell me what it’s like for you,” she said, “your powers.”

“There’s not much I can say,” he said after a moment. “When it happens I don’t remember much. And what I do remember is fuzzy. But when it goes away someone's usually dead... because of me.”

He told her about Charlie’s death, how he’d run from place to place for a year, working different jobs under false identities. He told her about what had happened at The Rainbow Baret. It felt good to talk about it after keeping it locked behind heavy doors. Vanessa listened intently, without asking any questions. He was relieved to find everytime he looked at her there was no judgment in her eyes, just understanding.

“Whatever this thing inside me is,” he said, “it changes form. Once it took my form... I mean it looked just like me but its eyes were different... all white... and then after Charlie died it took his form. And sometimes it says the most hurtful things…”

“It sounds to me like you have psionic abilities,” said Vanessa. “You’re telekinetic. You are a powerful force Lane. There hasn’t been anyone as powerful as you since Henry... he was the first of our family to come to this island. He built this lighthouse, mostly with his own two hands. I imagine this thing you call a force is your own psyche trying to communicate with you in some fashion... but you keep repressing it. It takes on Charlie’s form because it knows your vulnerabilities... after all it is you.”

“Well if it's me then why am I such an asshole to myself?” Lane asked.

Vanessa shrugged her bony shoulders, breathing heavily into her air mask. After a moment she said, “I’m not a psychologist but I think it’s because of your guilt over the death of Charlie...which isn't truly your fault; the darkness took over his body to get to you - that’s just what it does. But your psyche berates you... because you're berating yourself.”

“So what do I do?”

She took his hand; her skin was lined with wrinkles and cool to the touch. “First you must stop being afraid of your power. It's the only thing that’s kept you alive this long. It is not your enemy. Tear down that wall you’ve put up to block it.”

“How?”

“Hypnosis.”

He felt a chill go up his spine. Suddenly he didn't want to continue this conversation anymore.

(By the time I reach ten you will be asleep. And when you wake up you will have forgotten...)

He yawned. He truly was tired; it had been a long day. “I’m tired,” he said. “I think I’m going to go to bed.”

From the look Vanessa gave him, she knew he was evading the conversation but raised no objections.

...

He slept on the sofa in the living room. Vanessa - he still couldn’t bring himself to think of her as Aunt Vanessa - had said he could use one of the bedrooms but the idea of removing the drapes from the furniture somehow seemed invasive to Lane. Even if this was his home, these were not his things.

He slept heavily and without dreams for the first time since he could remember. When he woke up in the morning he found Nurse Aubrey had been replaced by Dolores. She informed him the doctor from the hospital would be coming by to check on his aunt. Aubrey shook her head. “I know she’s more comfortable in her own home but she should be in the hospice. Thank God you’re here.”

“Why?” Lane asked.

Aubrey leaned forward as if Vanessa, who was upstairs, could hear them, and whispered, “Because before she was all alone with no one else to be here with her. I didn’t even know until yesterday she had a great nephew. At least she won’t be alone when she... you know...” Aubrey couldn’t seem to bring herself to finish the rest.

Dr. Nesick, a balding elderly man of Arabic descent, came to the lighthouse to check on Vanessa after lunch. He spoke softly and patted her hands as if they were the best friends. When he was done talking to her he pulled Lane out into the hallway and closed the door so it was only open a crack. “I don’t know if you already know this,” he said, “but she doesn’t have much longer left. I expect she will go at any minute.” He put an orange prescription bottle in his hands. “This is Oxycontin. It’s a painkiller. Give this to the nurses to give to her once every few hours. I’ve told her this before, but I really feel she should be in a hospice where she can get the proper care, not here where she is alone.”

“She’s not alone,” said Lane. His voice came out sounding harsher than he’d meant. He swallowed and said more softly, “I’m here. I won’t leave her side.”

“No offense,” said Dr. Nesick, “but I’ve never seen you before today. She’s been my patient for years and I’ve never seen family visit her.”

“Well I didn’t know she was family until yesterday.”

David Nesick blinked but said nothing, climbing down the stairs with his briefcase in hand.

“Fucking doctors,” Lane muttered to himself when he heard the front door close.

He spent most of the day sitting by Aunt Vanessa’s side It was becoming increasingly difficult for her to talk so he did most of the talking, telling her about his childhood: I grew up in Indiana; my favorite cartoon when I was a kid was Scooby Doo; my favorite ice cream is butter pecan.

There were moments when she drifted in and out of sleep, lulled by the pain medication Dr Nesick had given her. During this time Lane would stay by her bedside and read one of the novels he found in the library or go out at the top of the lighthouse and smoke a joint, watching the seagulls glide over the ocean. At one point he saw a dolphin arc into the air before plunging back into the water.

It was almost Vanessa’s dinner time when she awoke with a start, eyes wide and frantic, searching. Lane, who had been sitting beside her bed, reading again, dropped the book onto the floor. “What is it?”

Her eyes searched the room frantically but never seemed to find his. Mouth dry with terror, Lane recognized what his great aunt was doing - he’d done it on many nights himself. Finally she looked at him and there was both fear and alertness in her eyes. “Can you feel it?” she whispered. “It’s up and about - it’s moving!” She grabbed his hand, gnarled fingers digging into his arm. His frightened face stared back at him, reflected by her bulging eyes. Somehow, with a strength no dying person should have, Vanessa had yanked Lane forward so he was so close he could see red ridges meandering through the white collagen of her eyeball. Her breath smelled of rotten meat, but there was no getting away from it.

“Can you feel it?” she rasped again. “Close your eyes, still your thoughts and listen. You’ll hear it - you’ll feel it, creeping around like a bug.”

Lane closed his eyes and forced himself to listen to the pounding of his heart, to ignore the dead-leaves feeling of her hand, still holding him by the arm like a metal clamp, on his flesh. After a moment he could feel it, the way he had back at Charlie’s cabin and again at The Mountaintop Inn. He could even smell it and it smelled far worse than Vanessa’s breath. The smell brought to mind the image of a thousand dead bodies rotting in a pit, like roadkill.

He opened his eyes. “I feel it. It’s coming tonight, isn’t it?”

She nodded and he saw for the moment that she was very much alive. “Yes.”

“What do I do now?”

“Do you still have your gun?”

“In the back of the car.”

“Do you have bullets?”

“A whole box of them.”

“Grab the gun and keep it with you tonight. And make sure the nurse doesn’t see you with it.” And then she turned her head, closed her eyes, and was asleep as quickly as she’d woken up.

The day was bright and deceiving outside. An early autumn wind stirred the leaves from the grass, making them dance around Lane as he made his way to the car. His eyes searched for signs of the darkness, a dark stain in the grass perhaps, or on the trunks of one of the trees but they did not find any - but he could still feel it, creeping around like a bug as his great aunt had put it.

He grabbed the gun from the glove compartment, made sure it was loaded and that the safety was turned on, and tucked it in the waistband of his pants where it was hidden from sight by his jacket. Back in the lighthouse Audrey was sitting on the sofa, legs propped up on the coffee table, engrossed in a paperback novel. Lane was tempted to fire a shot in the air just to scare the shit out of her, and tell her to get her fucking feet off his aunt’s table but decided against it.

We’ve got bigger fish to fry, he thought, and went back up the stairs. His great-aunt was still fast asleep, breathing slowly. The blanket had slipped off her and hung off the edge of the bed, about to slip on the floor.

It’s not fair, Lane thought, suddenly feeling very depressed and tired. How can the world take her from me when I just discovered her existence?

Feeling as though his body weighed a ton, he pulled the gun out from his waistband, set it beneath the bed where it was out of sight but just within reach, and waited for the darkness to come.