Adermoor Cove Part 3: Many Sleepless Nights - 4. Chapter 4

For Carlos it was slightly odd and simultaneously endearing to see Ramona and Moira together; they were so different from each other, and yet it was those differences that made their relationship work.

Ramona, Carlos knew, had grown up on a farm which her father, a man just as difficult to love and understand as Enzo, owned. She was the embodiment of the tough-as-nails, take no bullshit small town girl. She had never left Adermoor Cove and unless a miracle from God were to happen, she probably never would. And then you had Moira Compton, city girl from New York who had come to Adermoor Cove to teach. With her blonde hair, sun-bright personality and flower print dresses she had just the right amount of softness needed to temper Ramona.

They're relationship, strong and fortified, reminded Carlos of how lonely he was on those long, sleepless nights. Would it have helped if he had another person to lay with him and fill the emptiness both in his bed and in his life? Then again, on second thought, it wasn't like there were a whole lot of options to choose from. What few gay men there were here in Adermoor Cove were probably in the closet.

Today they'd agreed to meet up at The Treasure Trove for lunch. Things had slowed down at least for the moment, but knowledge and rumors about Vanessa Stanton’s death had spread through the island like a wildfire. Soon people will be calling the sheriff’s department with their own speculations and theories, Carlos thought. Just knowing what was coming made him feel exhausted with dread.

They'd all agreed it was better to share the sampler platter, all fried and unhealthy foods, and Moira was informing them of the first week of the new school year. Carlos, who had only been half listening, tuned the rest of himself in.

"...so I told Jonathan to stop messing with Suzie's hair. When he told me he wasn't doing anything wrong, I told him I saw him do it, I have two eyes in my head. And when he insisted on arguing with me I sent him down to the principal's office."

"Go get 'em, babe," said Ramona, chewing the end off a piece of fried zucchini.

Annabelle, their waitress, came up to the table while doing her rounds and asked everyone if there was anything they needed.

"Just the bill," said Carlos.

"Don't tell me you're going to pay for it," Moira said, pushing up her glasses. "You paid for it last time. Let us pay for something for once."

Carlos shook his head. "And how about a couple boxes, Annabelle?"

"Sure thing," Annabelle chirped happily.

"I hear Lucille's been putting her through hell lately," Ramona said when she was sure Annabelle couldn’t hear her.

"When is that old lady not putting someone through Hell?" Moira whispered. Lucille was Annabelle’s Bible-stricken grandmother who thought everyone but her was going to Hell.

With the paid for, styrofoam boxes in hand, the trio left the restaurant. Carlos turned away as Ramona and Moira shared a quick kiss.

"My place or your place tonight?" said Moira.

"Mine."

"I'll be there. See ya Carlos. Come by some time."

"I will," he promised though he didn't know when. His eyes were stinging again from getting little sleep. Twice he'd woken up in the middle of the night, dreaming of the woman in the boiler room. This time she'd jumped out from behind the furnace and grabbed him by the shoulders, fingernails digging through his shirt into his skin, black gunk spilling from her mouth…

"Are you okay?" Ramona asked; they were now heading back towards the cruiser.. "You look like shit."

"Haven't been sleeping much lately."

"Really? I could tell."

Ramona gave him a tight smile. "Moira hides it a lot better than you do. Plus she has to put on makeup everyday when she goes into work."

They got into the car. "What's been keeping her up?" Carlos asked as he snapped on his seatbelt.

"Nightmares."

"What about?"

"She says she wakes up in the middle of the night and can hear something big roaming outside the house.”

Carlos felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end; when he spoke his voice came out as a hoarse croak. "How long has this been going on?"

"A few nights, ever since the incident with the bear. She said she was driving to my place after she'd stayed late to grade papers the other night and she almost hit a bear in the middle of the road. She said she got a pretty good look at it. She said it looked like there was something wrong with it."

"Like what?"

Ramona stopped at a red light on Main Street. She shook her head, made a face. "I don’t know, I think she was just confused...and scared, after all she almost ran right into a bear on Donovan...but she said there was black stuff coming from its eyes and mouth. What have your dreams been about?"

"Do you remember when we were in junior high and we used to sneak out of the class and go down to the basement where the boiler room was?"

"Yeah."

Carlos swallowed, his throat suddenly beginning to feel very dry. "Well it was the day you didn’t come to school because you were too sick...I snuck out of Math class and went into the boiler room just like we always used to do. And the lunch lady was there."

She frowned. "The lunch lady?" Her eyes widened. She flicked on the turn signal and pulled off the street, parking beside a small park, where kids ran around, playing a game of tag.

"What are you doing?" Carlos asked startled.

"I remember her...Miss Dandridge. She was a real scary bitch. I remember thinking if any lunch lady in the world would ever put poison in the food it'd be her. And I remember the day the story came out. My parents were talking about it at dinner. Your father had to come and take you home because you said she attacked you...and then after that she just disappeared and was never heard from again."

"People disappear a lot from this town," said Carlos. Through the windshield he watched a father push his young daughter on the swing; shrieking with laughter, she threw her head back, blonde curls bouncing in the wind. "The tourists, when they come here, they don't see it. And a lot of times we forget about seeing it because we don't want to remember. Which is why I left."

"So why did you come back?"

"Because in the end people from Adermoor Cove, who leave this place, always come back."

                                    …

Another sleepless night; another night spent rolling around in bed, kicking the covers off only to pull them back on, and repeat.

Carlos drove his Jeep with the windows rolled down. The wind buffeted his face, making his eyes, already dry from lack of sleep, tear up. The headlights cut across the dark asphalt. Woods surrounded both sides of the car. What Ramona had told him about Moira almost running into the bear was never far from the back of his mind. What if it was out there right now, stomping around outside in the dark?

Black goo. Moira had said something about there being black goo. And Lane mentioned the darkness, how it infected his aunt. And Dad was acting weird, like he knew Lane was telling the truth but just didn't want to admit it.

Carlos shook his head, trying to clear the confusion. There were too many things flashing around in his mind at once. He remembered what life had been like with his father. For most of it, it had just been the two of them. His mother was nothing more than a ghost in his dreams, a phantom smell of perfume, a distant voice in the dark. Enzo had never talked about her much and any time Carlos asked, Enzo would change the subject. Shut me down. He didn't just change the subject, he shut me down hard.

Carlos recalled all the nights Enzo came home late after Carlos had done his homework at the kitchen table by himself, and then washed the dishes and stuck the TV dinners in the oven, all to gain Enzo's approval and affection. And they would sit down in the living room with their TV trays and their TV dinners and watch the Red Sox game; sometimes when Enzo would have his nightly beer, he'd let Carlos have one too. This was the extent of their relationship.

Did I ever have the nagging feeling of suspicion I do now? The feeling things weren’t, and never had been quite right with my father?

He could see the lighthouse now just at the end of the road. You're insane to be going back to this place in the middle of the night, he thought.

He parked the Jeep and got out. He could hear the chirp of crickets over the pulse of the Atlantic. Every window in the lighthouse was dark. Still. Carlos looked around. He had the same anxious feeling he'd had as a boy when Ramona and he used to sneak down to the boiler room - the fear of getting caught. The chances of someone seeing him out here were slim.

He began to make his way across the lawn. The squelch squelch squelch sound of the grass underneath his feet set his nerves on edge but he made sure to keep his face pointed forward. He kept thinking he'd see Lane sitting on the porch, in Vanessa's rocking chair, just like in the dream. Of course Lane wasn't there because this wasn't a dream.

He's probably skipped town - and honestly who could blame him?

Carlos had to duck under the security tape to reach the door. He put his hand on the doorknob. It felt icy beneath his hands. The door hinges squeaked like frightened rodents. The darkness beyond the door was thick and total. Like there was nothing beyond the door but shadows. But oblivion.

Carlos pulled the flashlight from his belt. He tapped his firearm just to reassure himself he had it. The beam of light cut through the dark. Directly ahead was the staircase. He closed the door and began to climb the steps.

Inside Vanessa’s room he turned on the lamp. The bed sheets were ruffled. Sitting next to the bed was an air tank. "What am I looking for?" he whispered to himself, just to break up the silence. "Assuming there's anything to find."

Putting on a pair of gloves he turned over the blankets and sheets, peeked under the bed and inside the closet. Nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary. But then how is it possible an older woman with terminal cancer could climb up to the tower? he thought.

Back into the hallway again. He went to the door at the end of the hallway and climbed to the top of the tower.

This was where it had happened.

This was where she had died.

He went to the glass door leading out to the ramp. One of the windows had been shattered, most likely from a struggle or by a bullet. He was getting ready to open the door when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Reacting out of instinct he pulled out his 9mm.

He saw something with multiple legs scuttle out of sight, behind the beacon. Even with the flashlight it was impossible to tell completely what it was.

An insect. It was some kind of fucking bug almost the size of a dinner plate!

Carlos felt something quiver inside of him. For as long as he could remember he hated insects, the lightning quick way they moved, their alieness. And the gun didn't make him feel any safer. He fought the urge to run. You’ve faced brute drunks, rapists, and serial killers. You can handle a bug.

He inched around the beacon. Every muscle in his body was tense. His teeth were clenched. Sweat dripped down the side of his forehead. He walked a full circle around the beacon. The bug was gone. Where could it have gone?

In the blink of an eye a shape flew at him from the ceiling. He felt something touch his face. Carlos screamed, waving his hand around wildly. He stumbled backwards, tripped over his own feet. His ass hit the ground. The creature was scuttling towards him lightning fast, its legs a blur. It made a terrible screeching sound unlike anything he’d ever heard before. He knew this creature, whatever it was, meant to do him harm - he had no other choice but to kill it. Shoot it! Carlos’s mind screamed at him. Shoot it, shoot it, shoot it! Shouting in a mixture of fear and rage, rage that he had been made to feel small, like a child, that this creature dare scare him so, Carlos pulled the trigger rapidly. White-light flashed through the lighthouse six times, bringing it with the smell of gunpowder.

Smoke curled from the muzzle of his 9mm when he stopped. He rose to his feet, expecting the creature to lunge at him, but it didn’t. The creature lay on its side, dead.

Carlos inched towards the dead insect. His eyes bugged from his head; sweat now dripped from his chin. It took every ounce of control to keep the gun from shaking in his hands.

A puddle of dark fluid had begun to spread from the creature. Dead. It's definitely dead. He was close enough he could fully see it now but it was nearly impossible for his eyes to translate to his mind what he was seeing.

It was at least four to four-and-a-half inches long. At the front end it had sharp incisors over a triangular mouth full of razor sharp teeth. With a hard exoskeleton and eight legs the creature looked like a cross between a roach, a spider, and a crab.

Slowly he began to gather his thoughts. I need to hold onto this for evidence. But I can’t show it to my father, not yet. Not until I can figure out whether or not he can be trusted. And whatever the fuck this thing is, it’s not like any insect I’ve ever seen before.

An idea sprung to mind. He galloped down the stairs and found his way into the kitchen. Feeling guilty, like a thief rooting through a sacred grave of the dead, he rooted through the cabinets until he found a gallon sized bag and several oven mitts. Even with gloves on he wanted as much padding as he could get between his own flesh and the insect’s. Back up in the tower he scooped the bug up carefully and threw it in the Ziplock bag.

The night air felt refreshing against his sweat-drenched skin. He took a moment to breathe in the fresh air, to still his heart. Carlos got back in his Jeep and drove back to his house. Once inside, he closed and locked the door behind him, and went down the stairs where he kept the freezer full of frozen meat. The bags of meat had been tagged and labeled with dates. During the long, brutal Maine winters you could never have enough meat. He put the evidence bag carefully in a side pocket and closed the lid.

It was four o’clock in the morning when Carlos collapsed into bed, more tired than he’d been in a long time.