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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Adermoor Cove: Atonement - 5. Chapter 5

It was going to storm again; according to the weather man it was supposed to rain for the next three days. Thunder clouds had amassed around the tower of the lighthouse as if the tower itself was an elemental magnet. The grey mass, like a bruise, only reflected the sense of melancholy that had come over Lane.

He realized he was lonely, sick of the isolation. In Michigan it had been easy because he had Charlie and Charlie had been all he needed; on the road, in his car, he’d been too busy trying to stay one step ahead to think about how much he missed people. But now the silence - not just the silence but the vastness - of the lighthouse was beginning to get him. No matter how loud he played the records using his aunt’s record player, no amount of noise could fill all the extra space around him. He felt like a fish who keeps swimming without an idea of where it’s headed.

He was tempted to call Carlos. You want to do something fun, How would you feel about grabbing a bite to eat with me, and If I don’t get some meaningful human contact soon I’m going to lose my fucking mind were the openings he was thinking of so far. But every time he thought about pressing the number he’d saved into his brand new cell phone, fear stopped him.

Any second now. Any second the clouds would part and the storm would be set loose. Lane imagined the wind sweeping him away, into the ocean, where he would disappear forever.

He was about to go back into the house when a yellow cab turned into his driveway. He stopped, watching as it trundled over the gravel, wondering who it could be. Screeching slightly, the cab came to a stop and a woman stepped out.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. It had to be a dream. Nora couldn’t truly be here, could she, even though he had never told her to come? He could only watch her with a sense of unreality. She already had her baggage out and had paid the driver. On legs made of lead, he climbed down the steps and walked across the lawn to her. They stood just feet apart, looking at each other.

“Mom?” he said. Tears were springing to his eyes, unbidden. He wanted to be angry with her, wanted to hate her as he had the last time they’d spoken, but all he wanted to do was hug her.

“Hi,” she said, laughing tearfully.

A moment passed before he let go of her. “I thought I told I didn’t want you here.”

“Well it took a plane and a ferry for me to get here, and hundreds of dollars. The least you can do is let me talk.”

Lane didn’t have the heart to refuse her. He hadn’t yet gotten over the fact she had flown out to Adermoor Cove all the way from Indianapolis. I never should have told her where I was, he thought.

He nodded. “Alright.” He grabbed her luggage. He waited while she got a good look at the lighthouse.

Nora let out a low whistle. “I can’t believe you own a lighthouse now.”

“It’s not as awesome as it sounds. I have no idea how I’m going to maintain it on my own. I suppose I have the money to hire help but at the same time I don’t want to waste it on stupid stuff.”

Lane held the screen door open for her. She continued to look around, impressed with the inside as well as the outside. Lane couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride - or realize just how much he had missed her, despite all the other emotions he felt.

The dreary weather and a surprise visit from his mother was a perfect excuse to make hot cocoa. He made it at the stove, using milk just how his father used to make it on the nights when young Lane couldn’t sleep. As he poured the cocoa mixture into the boiling water, Lane tried to think of ways he could start small talk with her. Though it had been less than two years since the last time they’d seen each other it felt like a lifetime, and so much had happened since then. His life had turned into something he no longer recognized; in many way ways so had she.

“How was the trip?” he asked at last, glancing at her from over his shoulder.

“Good.” She was sitting at the breakfast nook with her hands folded neatly before her. “Exhausting.”

“Did you rent a room somewhere?”

“Yes, at the Clam’s Pearl Inn.”

He smiled sheepishly. “I stayed there the first night I came here. Is it weird coming back here?”

She sighed. “Yes, you have no idea. I haven’t been back to the island since your father and I adopted you.”

Steam was starting to rise from the top of the saucepan. Grateful for the distraction, Lane turned the burner off. He carefully poured the steaming liquid into mugs and brought them over to the nook. They sipped at their cocoa in awkward silence. After their emotional reunion one could not seem to look at the other. Nora was the first to speak.

"I suppose you have a lot of questions."

"I just want the truth. Dad didn't fall down the steps, did he?"

"No, he didn't."

"I've been having this dream lately...about Dad. He's holding my head under water, trying to kill me. That wasn't a dream, was it?"

The color drained from Nora's face. "It's a memory."

"Did…?" Lane knew he needed to ask the question or it would haunt him for the rest of his life, but he was also afraid of the answer. "Did I kill him?"

Nora reached across the table and took his hand, squeezing lightly. Her eyes brimmed with emotion. "It was self defense, honey."

Lane closed his eyes, trying to still the wave of dizziness that had come over him. He supposed, in the back of his mind, he had known the truth about his father all along despite the lengths his mother had gone through to cover up the truth. Even then, when I was just a kid, it was after me, he thought.

"So he didn't fall down the stairs," he said, as the truth continued to dawn on him. "You made it look like an accident by throwing him down the stairs. And then you hypnotized me so I would forget. The police never suspected a thing."

"Yes," said Nora. "I know it's no excuse but I thought l was doing what was best for you. And now I realize I've only made things worse, not better. And Charlie...I'm sorry for what happened to him. I know I played a part in his death."

"You didn't," Lane said gently. "I wish you hadn't come here, Mom. It's dangerous."

"I know. But I want to help you. I can't stand the idea of you being on this island, dealing with all this on your own."

"Don't you have a life back in Indianapolis?"

She smiled thoughtfully. "Yes, but it can wait for the time being."

Lane cocked his ear. He could hear a vehicle coming up the driveway. Now what?

Nora shot him an anxious glance. Together they rose from the table and went through the dining room and living room to the front door. The familiar figures of Carlos and Moira jogged through the rain, grass squelching underneath their feet. Lane had the sudden sense something had happened. A new development.

"What happened?"

"I've been trying to call you," said Carlos.

Lane scratched at the back of his head. "I've been busy."

"Who is this?" Carlos asked, looking at Nora not unkindly.

"My mother."

"Your mother?" Carlos raised his eyebrows, before holding his hand out to Nora. "It's an honor to meet you. Sheriff Carlos Santino."

"Sheriff?" Lane blurted out.

"I took the job," Carlos said, as if it was no big deal.

Lane gave him a slanted look that said, You and I are going to talk later.

Once all the introductions had been made the group filed into the living room. Lane and Nora grabbed chairs from the dining room so everyone had a place to sit.

"So," Lane said once everyone was seated, "what's going on?" He'd looked at his phone. Carlos had indeed tried calling him several times as well as leaving several texts, but Lane had left his cell phone in the living room.

"Ramona," Moira said darkly; Carlos and she were sitting on the sofa while Lane and Nora sat in the chairs across from them. "She came by last night."

Nora looked at Lane inquiringly. Before she could ask who Ramona was he shook his head. "Tell you later," he whispered. He asked Moira what happened.

Moira took a deep breath and launched into her story. She told it quickly, her face composed. Only the clenching of her hands alluded to the emotional turmoil within. "She was in pain," she said and it was now her voice began to crack under the weight of her grief. "So much pain." She began sobbing helplessly, seeming to fold in on herself. "Lane, you have to help her. I'm begging you. You're the only one who can."

Carlos put his hand on her shoulder, hugging her to him. Both Nora and he were watching Lane, expecting him to give an answer but Lane didn't have one to give. He felt like a drowning man, flailing helplessly to reach the surface only to sink deeper. The walls of the living room were closing in on him.

It was easy to forget the darkness had not just affected his life. How many other people were there in this town besides the people sitting in the room with him, too scared to come out with the truth? And yet what could he do? He hardly had any answers, no clues except for the cave to lead him in the right direction.

"I need a minute," he said, getting up from the chair. Without another word he got up and went up the stairs, into the bathroom. He locked the door, turning to his own reflection in the mirror. "Right now I could really use some of your infinite wisdom."

But his reflection looked back at him with the same weary, desperate expression, the same dark blue eyes. With a flurry of filthy curses, Lane sat down on the toilet seat and set his face in his hands. The preliminary throbs of a headache was starting to take root.

"You know what needs to happen," a voice said.

Lane looked up. The voice was coming from the mirror. He stood up and went to it. His reflection looked back at him but this time its eyes were misted over. "Your mother locked me away now it's time for her to unlock me."

"Okay," Lane said, nodding. "Okay."

Everyone was still sitting in the spots where he'd left them. Moira had stopped crying, but her eyes were inflamed; she held a bunched up piece of toilet paper in her hands. Carlos looked up, watching Lane as he descended the stairs.

Lane nodded for Nora to follow him into the dining room. She looked eager to get away from the grim atmosphere in the room.

"Can you undo what you did, help unlock my powers?" Lane asked.

"Aren't they already unlocked?"

"Not exactly. You put a block on most of it. I don't know how, don't ask me to try and explain it."

Her eyes were wide and the lines around her mouth had deepened, forming cracks. "I'm not sure what the consequences would be. Unburying this could be dangerous to your mind."

"I don't care. People are dying, Mom," Lane pleaded. "We have to do this."

"I know." She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him the way only a mother could. "I'm just afraid for you Lane. If anything happened to you I don't know what I'd do." She released him with great reluctance. "Alright, I'm ready."

 

                                 

Copyright © 2019 ValentineDavis21; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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Is the caca about to hit the fan??? I can't wait for the next chapters...this is quite intriguing and scary at the same time!!!

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From the glimpses we've been privy to, I can only imagine what Lane will be capable of once his powers are unlocked.

Edited by dughlas
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