Adermoor Cove: Dissolved Girl - 4. Chapter 4

The night of Oktoberfest was a cold one, but there was nothing that would get in the way of the town from celebrating the annual festival.

Carlos, bundled in a thick black jacket, with the word SHERIFF labeled on the back, walked between the vendors and stalls. In his hand he held a Styrofoam cup of steaming apple cider.

Everywhere he looked there were half familiar faces, the faces of people he'd grown up and gone to church with. Everyone in the police department, save Melvin the dispatcher, he'd gone to school with. In the fifteen years he'd lived in Boston, the people had changed. People had gotten married, had children, but really nothing had changed. If anyone had really, truly changed it was Carlos.

Faces nodded at him respectfully, called him "Sheriff." Those who were more comfortable with him called him by his name. They looked at him as if he were one of their own, as if he'd never left the island. But things were different. He could feel it.

My eyes have been opened, Carlos thought, with a plummeting feeling akin to grief. Lane Hardy had opened his eyes.

His thoughts turned to the lighthouse, where Lane and Moira were waiting, along with Ted Magyer. Thinking about them made his heart beat frantically. Here he was patrolling the Oktoberfest when Moira was using herself as bait to draw out Ramona. If nothing else he could send a patrol car out to Donovan Road should the need arise.

He prayed it wouldn't.

He brought the cup to his lips and took a sip of apple cider. He could feel the warmth of the hot liquid seep through the thick padding of his gloves.

Carlos spotted Jack Nichols standing underneath a string of orange lamps; his cheeks were flushed from the cold, and like Carlos, he nursed a cup in his hands. When he saw the chief of police he held up his cup in greeting. Carlos decided to go over to him; a friendly conversation might ease the anxiety and fear beating like a drum within him.

"It's colder than a witches tit," said Jack.

"Yes it is," said Carlos.

"Still, it's nice to see some happy faces, especially after he last month."

Carlos thought of Enzo, his father. It was hard to believe he'd died less than a month ago. In some ways it felt like it had been longer and other times it seemed like it had just happened yesterday. He looked down at the badge he wore, the same badge Enzo had worn. I hope I can be half the sheriff you were. I hope I can be better.

"You okay, Sheriff?" Nichols asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Carlos looked up, eyebrows creased together. He studied his second in command, recalling their days in high school. They'd been in the same class together. He remembered Nichols had played on the high school football team The Adermoor Cove Pirates. In those days Nichols had been the typical jock the typical popular guy girls chased after. Now he was a middle aged man, pushing forty, with a receding hairline and a beer belly. He was one of the people, Carlos suspected, who would never leave this town.

While they had certainly been aware of each other, it wasn't like they'd been friends - or enemies either. In middle and especially high school, Carlos had experienced a strange kind of alienation: No one bullied him, not even so much as dared to call him names, because he was the sheriff's kid. Even after the incident with Miss Dandridge in the boiler room. It had gotten to the point where Carlos had begun to resent being the son of a cop.

"I just have a lot on my mind," Carlos said after a moment. He'd affected a tone of voice that hopefully made it clear he didn't want to divulge what those thoughts might be.

Jack nodded, making a sympathetic hmmmm sound. "It must be hard stepping into the new position, especially after what happened to your father." He added, "He was a good man. Everyone loved him."

Carlos nodded but said nothing. Everyone thought he was such a great man but me, he thought. If only people knew how hard it was to be his son, to love him sometimes. He was a good cop but a bad father.

"Things seem to be pretty calm tonight," Jack said conversationally. "Do you want me to send Cynthia and Devin home?"

"What makes you think I would want to do that?" Carlos realized Nichols already had his hand on the radio strapped to his belt, already prepared to make the call.

"Well there's not a lot going on right now - apart from a few people maybe having too much to drink, I don't think there's going to be. After all that's happened - Vanessa Stanton's suicide, Ramona going missing, and the death of your father - the town just wants to move on. And I think we should let 'em have fun tonight, let off some steam." Jack Nicole's spoke with the overly patient, placating tone of someone trying to calm down another.

How many times have I used that tone with someone whose spouse has just been murdered, or whose child has just come up missing? Carlos thought. Coming from Nichol, he hated it. He also felt the desperate need to tell his deputy everything: About what had happened with Mrs Dandridge when he was thirteen, about how his father had died, about what had really happened to Ramona. All of it. He could feel the words building behind his lips, like a flood about to break free.

It was the fact he didn't trust Nichols - barely knew him for that matter - that stopped Carlos. For all he knew, Nichols knew more about the truth of things than Carlos thought he did. This thought reminded him just how out of his depth he was. Even though he was now the Sheriff, he was still quite powerless.

Nichols was watching him closely: his flushed face was painted orange by the lights hanging above him. “Are you worried something bad is going to happen?”

Carlos chuckled darkly. “You know I was a beat cop in Boston, right, and then a homicide detective?”

Nichols nodded. “Yeah, I knew that.”

“Boston is a big city. It has a lot more people, a lot more going on.”

Nichol grinned. “Yeah, small town boy like me couldn’t handle it. Too much bad shit going on. Not like here.”

Carlos shook his head. “Boston’s just like anywhere else. Adermoor Cove really isn’t much better. It’s just smaller, so things happen on a smaller scale. The thing I’m trying to tell you is after fifteen years of doing what I do, watching people maim each other, I’ve learned to trust my instincts. It’s never led me wrong. Never. ”

                                    …

Moira's face looked back at her, reflected in the glass pane of the screen door. She hugged herself, arms folded across her chest, cold despite the fact she wore a sweater.

Her eyes scanned the darkness, searching for movement. But nothing was moving. The night was still. There were no signs of a pale face watching her with black eyes and hunger. She hoped Ramona would come for her so this nightmare would end - one way or another. Where are you? she thought. I've been here for the last three days and nights, hoping you'll show up. What's keeping you?

She felt useless, the cliched, helpless blonde in a horror movie. It didn't help she'd been cooped up in the lighthouse for the past seventy-two hours, to afraid to leave. How much longer could she go on before she finally cracked and lost her mind?

Lane's reflection appeared behind her. His body was transparent, like a ghost. But of course he wasn't really a ghost, he was just standing behind her. She turned to face him, feeling a surge of gratitude. If anyone knew how she felt it was Lane.

"Is it crazy I want her to come?"

"A bit," he said. "But I understand why." His face was flushed, his eyes glazed over. There was a funny smell on his breath.

"Are you high?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes," he said. He glanced at her guiltily before looking away.

She tried to keep the disapproval from showing on her face. Moira knew too many students who liked to sit behind the bleachers at the high school and get stoned.

Lane must have picked up on her feelings because he smiled mischievously at her and said, "Don't knock it until you try it, Miss Compton."

Moira did feel a bit curious. I've never smoked marijuana before, never took so much as a puff from a cigarette, and this little shit is trying to corrupt me.

More seriously, he said “It’ll help you relax. How do you think I’ve stayed so calm the past few days?” Suddenly his head swiveled back towards the door. His eyes widened.

The look on his face made Moira’s heart beat faster. “What is it? Do you feel something?”

He nodded solemnly and beckoned her to step away from the door.

“Is she coming?” Moira said. Tendrils of anxiety and tension were passing through her body like electric currents. She knew she needed to stay calm but she was terrified.

“I don’t know.” The expression of alertness that had appeared on Lane’s face was gone, replaced by one of perfect calm. “It’s impossible to say for certain, but whatever it is, it’s heading in this direction. It’s better to be cautious.” He slid the chain on the door in place. After locking the back door, he went over to the windows to make sure they were secure. From one of the drawers he handed her a large, dangerous looking butcher knife.

“You don’t have another gun?” she exclaimed.

“Afraid not. I have just the one and Ted brought his Winchester.”

“You don’t plan on shooting Ramona, do you?”

“Not if I can help it. But if I have to...” His mouth dipped into a sad frown, conveying what he clearly could not bring himself to finish: If I have to shoot her I will. “I need you to tell Ted to get his gun just in case while I run upstairs and make sure all the windows are locked.”

“Should I call Carlos?”

“Not until we know for sure.”

Before Moira could leave the kitchen, Ted came into the living room with his Winchester in hand. His was pale. “I thought I heard something outside but I can’t be sure. It’s too dark out there to see anything.”

Lane handed them each a flashlight. “Okay. Then we stay in here, in this room. No matter what, we stick together. No splitting up.” He spoke firmly and with confidence. If he was scared it didn’t show on his face. Moira wished she could say the same. Her legs were shaking so bad she could barely stand.

After Lane finished giving instructions, a tense silence followed. Moira stood in the middle of the kitchen, sandwiched between Ted and Lane. Ted was trying to hold the Winchester steady in his hand, muzzle pointed at the floor, but his hands were shaking. Moira felt bad for the old man. Here he was, putting his life on the line. Apart from a few conversations she didn’t even know him that well. Yet here he was risking his life. Lane had his eyes closed, head cocked to the side as if he was listening to something.

After a moment she could hear movement coming from outside the house. The sound of footsteps. The sound of someone running swiftly through the dark. It was coming from their side of the house. Then someone was rapping cheerily on the door, making Moira cry out.

“Moiiirraaa,” a familiar voice sang.

Moira felt her blood run cold at the sound of Ramona’s voice. Her blood turned to ice. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Ramona let a loud blood curdling cackle. Moira caught a glimpse of her pale body flash across the window. Just a second before she passed the window above the sink there was a loud thumping sound; she’d hit the window hard enough to make it shake in its frame, leaving a handprint behind. A handprint marked the glass, outlined with a viscous black fluid.

“She’s playing with us.” Moustache bristling, Ted glanced at Lane. His breath had sped up into a wheezing rasp.

“Try to relax,” said Lane. “The last thing I need is you having a heart attack on me.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Moira whispered. “My heart feels like it’s about to pop out of my chest.” Her hand was gripping the knife so tight she could feel the handle digging into her flesh. Still, the wooden haft was a comfort in her hand. Just like Lane didn’t want to have to shoot Ramona, Moira didn’t want to use the knife against her. But if it came between killing her girlfriend and being infected by the darkness, she knew which one she’d choose. The flashlight she held in her other hand felt absurdly heavy.

There was another bout of silence. Everyone in the kitchen strained to listen. The walls of the kitchen seemed to be closing in on them, but Moira knew it was just a side effect of the terror she was feeling.

And then the lights went out; one minute she could see and the next they were all standing in the dark. “She cut the power,” Moira said unnecessarily.

Beside her, Ted turned on his flashlight. After a few attempts, she managed to do the same.

“Give me your flashlight,” Lane whispered. “I need you to call Carlos and tell him to get his ass here.”

While Lane held the flashlight, Moira fished her cell phone with shaking fingers. She almost dropped it. Carlos answered on the third ring.

                        …

“Is everything okay?” Carlos asked.

Moira was breathing harshly on the other line, making the phone crackle with static. “R-Ramona’s h-here,” she stammered. She sounded as if she was on the verge of bursting into hysterics. “She cut the power off. We’re standing in the kitchen like frightened mice.”

Carlos glanced at Nichols, who was watching him curiously. A hand had tightened around Carlos’s heart and was squeezing it, making it beat more frantically. He had to do something and do something now, caution be damned. “Alright,” he said, mind working a thousand miles a second. “I want you and the others to stay where you’re at. Don’t run unless you absolutely have to.”

“A-alright. Just hurry.”

“Is something wrong?” Nichols asked.

Carlos nodded. “Yes, out at the lighthouse on Donovan Road.”

“Isn’t that where Lane Hardy lives?” Nichols said. Carlos could hear the wheels turning in his head.

“Huh huh.”

Nichols shook his head. “I swear, whenever there’s trouble, he’s always at the heart of it...” He stopped when Carlos flashed him a dirty look. “Sorry...I forgot he’s your boyfriend and all.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Carlos said hastily, though it did. If it Nichols had said what he did at any other moment, Carlos would have ripped him a new one. He stepped closer to Nichols so no one else could hear them. “I need you to come with me.”

Nichols reached for his radio. “Let me just radio the others.”

“Don’t.” Carlos stood at his full height, eyes baring into Nichols’. “I need you to keep this between us, understand?”

Instead of arguing Nichols nodded. “Okay. Whatever you say, chief.

Carlos sped down Donovan Road as if the devil was chasing after him. Even though there was no one else on the road, he kept the sirens on, hoping Lane and the others would hear it when he got close. Nichols kept flashing him questioning glances but was smart enough to keep silent. Still, Carlos knew he had to tell him something.

"Can I trust you to keep a secret?" Carlos asked Nichol.

"Yes," said Nichols.

"You cannot tell anyone what I'm about to tell you, it could cause a panic, and I really don't want that. Do you understand?"

Nichols simply nodded.

"There's an infection going around town. The same thing that infected that bear last month has infected someone else, and that's what we're going to deal with right now."

"Are you sure we can handle this?" Nichols had lowered his voice to try and hide the tremor.

Carlos sympathized with the man. God, I hope I'm doing the right thing by bringing him into this, he thought. His mind was racing a mile a minute. There was no time to do things by protocol or worry about moral qualms.