Adermoor Cove Part 3: Many Sleepless Nights - 7. Chapter 7

The Treasure Trove again. With the press conference going on outside, the diner was mostly empty except for the staff. Lane still had a good view of the townspeople gathered on the lawn of the courthouse. It looks more like a witch hunt to me, Lane thought.

“Still in town I see,” Annabelle said when she saw Lane. “How are you liking this lovely little paradise so far?”

“It makes more and more of an impression every day,” said Lane, looking through the window.

“Hey, Carlos, how’s it going?”

“Good, just taking the day off. How are things going between you and your grandmother?”

Annabelle rolled her eyes. “I finally gathered up the courage to tell her I’m moving to New York next year and she totally flipped. Went into her another one of her spiels about how she took care of me my whole life and I’m being selfish...You know how she is. Anyway what can I get you boys to drink?”

Lane ordered a Coke, Carlos an iced tea. “Okay,” Lane said when they were alone, “what is it you wanted to tell me?” He seemed more relaxed now.

“I went to the lighthouse to reexamine the scene.”

Lane leaned forward a little. “Did you find something?”

“Yes...I was attacked. By some sort of bug...it looked like a bug, but not like any bug I’ve ever seen before.”

“Because it’s not. Was there anything else there?”

“Like what?”

“Black gunk. Or a stain.”

“I didn’t look everywhere but I went into Vanessa’s bedroom and the tower and didn’t find anything.”

They paused the conversation long enough to order their food. “Usually it leaves traces,” said Lane. “At least it has the first two times I've encountered it, kind of like the insect you saw. Admittedly I don’t know how it works or if it has any limitations. I just know it works like an infection...it can spread.”

“What happened during these incidents?”

Lane’s eyes dropped to the table. Carlos watches as he withdrew into himself. “People died. People I cared about.”

“Why do you think it’s after you?”

“Because I’m a Stanton. And since you don’t believe me I’ll show you proof...” He reached into the bag at his side and pulled out a folder. He handed Carlos the piece adoption certificate and waited.

Lane watched the cop scan the page, his forehead creasing with comprehension. "Okay so I was wrong to doubt you. This is wild."

"You have no idea," Lane said.

"And you just found this out?"

The younger man could only nod. A fresh wave of grief had begun to wash over him. "And as it turns out I'm the last Stanton. There won't be any left after me unless I suddenly turn straight and decide to have a kid...and the chances of that happening are very slim." It was his own weak attempt at making a joke, something to add to the dark moment, but Carlos wasn’t laughing so he must not have found it funny.

“The hole just keeps getting deeper and deeper,” said Carlos. “Can it get any worse?”

Lane sat back and studied the cop. The man looked tired, as if he was running on empty. Lane knew the feeling and felt bad for the man. He knows there’s something wrong with this town, Lane thought, and it bothers him. “I don’t know how deep this gets. But I’m here to do what I can to stop it.”

A childlike look of doubt swept across Carlos’s face. “I don’t know if it is even possible to be stopped?”

Lane shrugged. “I don’t know. But at the very least we can shed light on it, expose it.”

When Annabelle brought them their food they ate in silence. Carlos spoke only once to ask how Lane's burger was. The conversation seemed to have drained much of their energy and Lane sensed they still had a lot to talk about.

He waited until the plates had been cleared before asking, "So you said you had an encounter with it. What happened?"

"I was just a kid when it happened," Carlos said. "I don't remember much you know, like I blocked it out. But then I moved back here and it's been coming back to me in bits and pieces. Mostly in my dreams."Lane listened to Carlos's story: How Ramona and he used to go to the boiler room and play cards; how one day Ramona got sick and didn't come to school, so Carlos went down into the boiler room himself; and how Miss Dandrige had lunged out from behind the furnace and grabbed him. "What I remember most more than anything," he said, "was her eyes. They were black as night. And don't get me wrong, ask anyone around here they'll tell you Miss Dandridge was a real piece of work, but she wasn't even in there…it was like she was a zombie."

"She was a zombie," said Lane before he could stop himself. "When it takes them there's nothing left. It took Charlie, the man I was going to marry, a man who would never hurt a fly and tried to make him kill me. It made my aunt, a woman who couldn't even get out of bed, climb to the top of the lighthouse where she almost killed me. So she went missing afterwards, right?"

"Yes. Dad said she was admitted to the insane asylum here on the island. I think that's a lie. I think this town made her disappear and I think my father was involved with her disappearance ."

"Do you still have the bug that attacked you?"

Carlos shook his head. "When I went to confront him he fucking gas-lighted me. He has a way of making you feel like the one who is wrong. He took it."

Lane swallowed his anger and disappointment. Carlos looked miserable, like he'd been chewing on something bitter. Lane took a deep breath, and filtered the anger out of his voice. "It's okay. Maybe there's something else in here we can use. I want to show you something." He set the scrapbook carefully on the table. "Someone gave this to me."

Carlos’s eyes widened with interest. He turned the scrapbook around so it was facing him, and opened it to the first page. After flipping through the first few pages he looked up. "Who gave this to you?"

"I can't say."

"What, you don’t trust me?"

"Not really, no," Lane said unapologetically.

"Why not?"

"Because for all I know you could just be trying to get information to take back to your father."

"Do you know how much trouble I could get in if someone from the department were to see me talking to you, a suspect for murder?"

"No and I don't really give a damn. I went through hell to get here and ever since I got off the ferry it's been nothing but a shit show. Look, it's nothing personal but if you want me to trust you, you're going to have to earn it. And it's going to take more than just buying me a burger."

Carlos exhaled. "Okay, you're right. But really I just want to help you."

"Then let's start by talking with your dad."

"I don't think that's such a good idea…"

"You’re dad doesn't scare me," said Lane. "And I'm done walking on eggshells. If you don’t want to be there when I talk to him that's fine, I'll go myself."

"Fine," Carlos said reluctantly. "He should be back at the station by now. But I do all the talking, understand?"

Lane nodded. "Okay. But first I need to call Ted. Can I borrow your phone for just a sec?"

While Carlos waited by the car Lane called Ted and filled him on what was going on. The lawyer was not happy.

"I told you to stay away from the cops."

"I tried. He came to me. He wants to help me."

Ted cursed on the other end of the line. "I just locked the office up. I'll meet you at the station. Don't do or say anything until I get there."

"No.” Realizing he’d spoken too harshly, Lane sucked in a breath. “I appreciate you letting me crash at your place and all but I can take care of myself. I don’t want you getting too involved in this, okay? If I need help I’ll call you."

Before Ted could say anything else Lane hung up. He walked across the street to Carlos’s car and gave the cop his phone back. “Thanks for letting me use your phone.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Carlos asked from across the hood.

Lane gave him a shrewd look. “Are you sure you’re a cop? Get over your daddy issues and let’s go.”

Carlos glared at him. “Keep getting lippy with me and I’ll handcuff you and throw your scrawny ass in the trunk?”

Lane smiled. “Sounds hot.”

The cop shook his head. “You’re insane.”

Lane merely laughed.

...

Carlos pulled into the parking lot of the police station and turned off the ignition. Lane had already opened the door and set a foot out; there was a stormy look on his face. Carlos grabbed his arm.

"I do the talking, remember?"

"I know," Lane said testily. "We've gone over this multiple times on the way here. Remember?" He put the other foot out. He knew he'd promised to let Carlos do the talking many times but in the five minutes it'd taken them to get from The Treasure Trove to here, Lane could feel his anger rising like a tsunami. He was exhausted and he wanted this day to end. I'm tired of being fucked around with, he thought.

He forced himself to walk at a normal pace next to Carlos. The cop held the door open for him and they stepped into the main lobby. Carlos nodded at the older man behind the window. "How you doing, Marvin?"

"Good, how are you, Carlos?" Marvin said in a strained voice. He gave Lane an odd look through the lenses of his glasses.

Carlos chuckled. "Same ol' same ol'."

Again he held the door open for Lane. Already Lane could see the door to the sheriff’s office. It was closed. But it didn’t matter.

You’re pissed, a voice inside him said, the voice of the tide. This time it spoke in his own voice, not the voice of a deceased one. You have every right to be.

Damn right I do.

Lane started to walk past the door. He heard Carlos hiss something, felt him grab his arm and try to pull him back. Lane yanked his arm violently out of Carlos's grip. Surprised faces watched as he stormed towards the sheriff’s office. Somewhere above him a light flickered once and then shattered.

Someone let out a surprised shout while everyone ducked.

He reached the door, half hoping it would be locked, half hoping it wouldn’t be, because the tide had a grip on him; and when it had a grip on him there was no controlling it. But the doorknob turned quite easily.

The door swung open. Sheriff Enzo stood up from his desk. "What the fuck?" he said.

"Where is it?" Lane demanded. His ears were ringing, filled with the rushing of the tide. Carlos had just managed to squeeze into the office before he slammed the door shut.

"Get out of my office!" Enzo shouted. "Get out right now!" And he reached for his gun.

                              …

Carlos should have listened to his own instincts. By the way he was acting, Carlos should have known the younger man wouldn’t have been able to keep his cool. And now something was happening he couldn’t even comprehend.

He watched in horror as Enzo, his father, pulled out his gun and pointed it at Lane. He was shouting for Lane to get out of his office or he was going to shoot. Lane refused. Instead he kept screaming, “Where is it, where’s the evidence? You took it!”

And Carlos kept thinking, He’s going to shoot him and there’s going to be blood all over the carpet.

The air within the room was changing, shifting. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, felt his scalp begin to tingle. What’s happening? Something happening. He looked at Lane and suddenly knew it was him - it was Lane who had made the light shatter. It was Lane who was making the air change. And there was something different about him. It was his eyes: a milky white mist had replaced the dark blue of his irises, making them glow.

Jesus Christ, the rumors about the Stantons are true. They really are freaks.

Carlos stood rooted to the spot, uncertain of what to do. He knew he should do something, he was a cop for God’s sake, but in a matter of seconds the situation had stepped out of the realm of anything his training could prepare him for.

Around them chaos exploded. It was as if an invisible phantom was flying around the room, wreaking havoc. The printer in the room was making a humming sound, spitting out sheets of paper rapidly; smoke began to curl from the computer monitor on the desk; the light was flickering on and off, on and off, like something out of a horror flick. Carlos raised his hand to shield his face preparing for the light to explode. Someone was banging something heavy into the door, trying to force it open, but the door wouldn’t budge.

Enzo, like his son, was frozen in fear. He gaped at Lane with an open mouth. Lane had become completely silent now, his face as flat and expressionless as stone. A tornado had set down in the middle of the room, flinging office supplies around. Carlos sunk down on the ground with his back against the wall, afraid something would hit him. For the first time in his thirty-eight almost thirty-nine years of living he was afraid for his life. He flinched as he heard something slam up against the wall close enough to him he could feel air brush his face.

“Stop!” he heard his father scream; he’d never heard fear in Enzo’s voice before. “Just stop it!”

The air went completely still. In the time it took for a heart to beat once, the poltergeist had been laid to rest.

Carlos cautiously looked up just as the door opened. Three cops, all of them people he'd gone to school with - Jack Nichols, Sylvia Richards, and Devin Smith - rushed into the room, guns pointed at Lane. The young man stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by paper, pencils, paperclips, and shattered glass. Sweat beaded his forehead. All the color had drained from his face. Suddenly, despite the immense show of power he’d just displayed, he seemed smaller, more childlike than ever. Whatever it is that’s allowed him to do that, it’s taken a lot out of him, Carlos thought. Does he have enough in him to stop three clips worth of bullets?

“No,” Enzo croaked. “Don’t shoot.” When no one moved he said, “Lower your weapons goddammit.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” said Jack Nichols.

“Just do all.”

The guns lowered.

“Now get out and close the damn door behind you - and don’t you tell anyone about this either or I’ll have your asses.”

Numb with shock, Lane watched them file out of the room. The door swung shut. Lane grabbed an upturned chair and sat it upright on the floor. He sunk into it and looked at Enzo with heavy eyes. “Have I made my point yet?” he asked in a voice weighted by fatigue.

“Yes, quite clearly,” said Enzo.

“Good...because I’d rather not do that again. Now where is that goddamned dead bug.”

“Gone,” said Enzo.

“What do you mean it’s gone?”

“Gone. Destroyed. I threw it in a furnace.”

“Why?”

“Because the last thing this town needs is to go into a panic.” Enzo sat down in his own chair. “It’s too early to tell if another epidemic has started. You see one happens every half century or so...sometimes less than that. Occasionally there are small single case incidents like what happened with my son...” he did not look at Carlos as he said this last part, “or with your aunt. Part of my job as chief of police is to keep these incidents quiet for as long as I can. Partially because of tourist season in the summer…this time of the year is when we get all of our money; and the other reason is because we don't want the world knowing about this. Can you imagine what the U.S. government would do to this island, to us? They'd turn this place into a laboratory for freak show experiments."

"So why don't you try to stop it?" Lane asked.

"What do you think your family has been trying to do since the very day our ancestors colonized this island? Now there's none left."

"There's me."

Enzo chuckled bitterly. "What would you do? You can't stop it, son. The only thing we can do is throw dirt on it and do our best to keep it covered."

"Fuck you," Lane said. He got up, went to the door, opened it, and turned back to face Enzo. When he spoke it was loud enough for the whole station to hear. "I'm going home. I want whatever charges you have on me dropped, my aunt's body so I can give her a funeral, my car and everything in the car. If I don't get those things by the end of the week I'll make sure the whole fucking world knows what goes on in this town."

And he walked out of the office.

Carlos glared at his father. The toxic mixture of anger and hate and hurt he felt left a bad taste in his mouth. “I am ashamed to be your son.”

And he too walked out.

Voices and eyes marked him as he followed Lane out into the parking lot. He refused to think about what would happen next. “Hey,” he said, calling after the younger man.

“What?” Lane’s voice was hardly louder than a whisper

“Want a ride home?”

“Are you serious? You’re not scared of me after I almost killed your dad?”

Carlos closed some of the distance between them. “Surprisingly no. It was cool, like something out of the X-Men comics I read as a kid.”

Lane tilted his head in amusement. “Yeah I guess it was pretty cool, huh? I’ll take a ride.”

…

The sky had begun to darken by the time Carlos parked in the driveway of the lighthouse. Lane looked up at the tower; the shadow cast by the tower darkened his pallid face.

“Are you sure you want to go in there?” Carlos asked him. “I could drop you off at Ted’s...or you can crash on my couch until we can figure something out.”

“Thanks for the offer but I think I’ll be okay. I’m tired of running. I’m just plain tired to tell you the truth. For better or for worse I’m staying here, I think.”

“I know the feeling. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had a decent night’s worth of sleep. And I’m glad. That means I can ask you out for a drink sometime?. Lane must have made a face because Carlos added, “I’m serious.”

“Like a date?”

“Like a date.”

Lane smiled. “I don’t go on dates with cops as a rule. Even the nice, sexy ones. Besides all the guys who have taken me on dates are dead.”

“Hopefully I get to be the exception.”

Lane gave him a sad look. He got out of the car. “Don’t take this personally but the best thing you can do is stay away from me as much as you can.”

Carlos watched him walk up the driveway and enter the lighthouse. He wondered what it was like to inherit a lighthouse. He wondered what it was like knowing you were the last of your bloodline. He wondered what it was like to be Lane Hardy. He couldn’t imagine.

He drove home, let himself into his house and collapsed into bed. He didn’t remember falling asleep until he woke up in the early hours of the following morning with the phone ringing in his ears. It was his father.

“Carlos, I know you don’t want to talk to me right now, but I need you to come into the station.” Enzo sounded tired, like he’d gotten up not too long ago himself.

“Why?”

“I don’t know how to say this...Moira came into the station. She looks like she’s been through hell. There’s leaves and dirt all in her hair, like she’s been in the woods. She’s delirious. She called at six-thirty this morning and said something snatched Ramona and took her into the woods. A bear. She said there was black shit coming out of its eyes and nose.”

I can’t be hearing what I’m possibly hearing, Carlos thought. He replayed the conversation he’d had with Ramona less than two days ago: A few nights, ever since the incident with the bear...She said she was driving to my place after staying 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.

“I’m on my way,” he said.

The Adermoor Cove Chronicle

Issue 17

Adermoor Cove’s Best (And Only) News Service

September 18th, 1978

Tragedy has struck Adermoor Cove. Vanessa Stanton, 72, the remaining matriarch Stanton, has passed away. This is especially tragic considering Henry Stanton founded Adermoor Cove in the late 1600s, when the island was nothing more than piece of landmass sitting in the ocean.

Over the years Vanessa, like the former members of her family, has held a powerful influence over this town, owning the Stanton Law Firm, The Clam’s Pearl, and The Netted Eel, as well as the island’s only lighthouse which was built by Henry Stanton himself in 1720.

“For the past three years Vanessa struggled with breast cancer,” says Dr. Sayid Nesick. “For those three years I treated her. Twice we tried to remove the cancer only for it to grow back. When I suggest chemotherapy she refused treatment, which of course is her right. She was a very strong willed woman, and also very kind. She was very adamant about not feeling sorry for herself about her condition, but chose to keep her head upright. I think she just accepted whatever outcome fate had in store for her.”

However Vanessa Stanton it was not cancer that killed her, but suicide. At 11:35 p.m., September 17th Dolores Abernathy, 47, called the Adermoor Cove police department to report her death. “I was her nurse during 3rd shift,” says Abernathy. “I came in every night and stayed until the nurse for first shift comes in. Vanessa was very easy to work with. Even though she was very sickly towards the end I think she was afraid of becoming an inconvenience. You can tell she was the type of woman who was used to and preferred to do things on her own. The other night when I went to check up on her she was not in her bed. I panicked and searched the whole house. I ran outside and found her body in the grass, her body crushed. The only thing I can think of is she climbed the tower and threw herself from the top.”

Abernathy pauses, tears filling her eyes. “Honestly I think it was the loneliness that did her in. She had no one but the nurses on staff to keep her company. No one came to visit her. No family. No one from the town. It must have been scary, dying like that with no one to sit by your side and give you comfort.”

Mayor Richardson smiled sadly when asked if he had any comments. “Vanessa Stanton was a special woman who meant a lot to the people of this town. If it wasn’t for the Stantons this town wouldn’t even exist. Her death signifies the end of a legendary bloodline and will not be easily forgotten.”