Adermoor Cove: Sanctuary - 6. Chapter 5

The headlights bathed the snow-covered road in ghostly yellow light. Snowflakes smeared across the windshield before being swept away violently by the wipers. The snow was falling rapidly now and it was hard to see. The fir trees on both sides of Donovan Road were nothing more than shadowy outlines, vague. Carlos might have been the only person in the world. He gripped the wheel tightly with his gloved fists.

The tires hit a slick patch of ice. The vehicle tried to swerve to the right, towards the stand of trees. Carlos gritted his teeth, pulled the wheel, and forced the car to right itself.

There was no time, no room in his brain, to do anything but act. All that mattered was catching up to Lane before he did anything stupid. I should've known he was going to do this, Carlos thought. Lane had been distant when they made love, faraway. Ever since the stranger - Lane had said his name was Bill - had shown up in Adermoor Cove, Lane had been lost in the guilt of what had happened to his lover. Carlos couldn't pretend to understand what Lane was feeling exactly, for he hadn't known Charlie, but he could help Lane work through things if he could just get there in time.

Carlos read over in his head the note Lane had left - it was the only way he could stay clear headed enough to keep from going into a full blown panic attack: After Charlie died I thought I’d never find love again - until I met you. I’m sorry but I have to do this. Don’t follow me.

Ramona Sterling's house came up on the right. The roof was capped with white, the windows dark and oppressive. Sure enough there was Lane's Mustang, sitting alone in the driveway. Carlos thought he could see footprints angling away from the car, into the woods.

He grabbed his shotgun, just in case he needed it, and a flashlight and jumped out of the car. He almost slipped, braced himself with the arm holding the flashlight, and righted himself. He cursed Lane for being so goddamn stupid. Understanding could only get you so far.

Sure enough those were Lane's footsteps leading into the woods. Carlos could imagine Lane walking in that agitated yet somehow graceful way whenever he was in emotional distress, disappearing into the thick darkness between the trees. It was all too easy to think of that darkness as the mouth of a cave. I hope I'm not already too late, Carlos thought.

He began to follow the footsteps, making tracks of his own. He noted the familiar shape of Lane's feet, so small compared to his own. The flashlight bobbed over the white expanse; his legs were swallowed up to his calves. There was no telling how much of a head start Lane had. Carlos could only hope time and the weather was on his side.

At last he reached the trees.

It was slow going. Arduous. He hadn't made it far, maybe a mile, when wicked gusts of wind start whipping through the trees. The wind stung his cheeks like serrated blades, numbed his flesh. To Carlos it seemed the weather was on Lane's side, not his own. Twice Carlos thought about giving up and turning around, but both times he pushed the urge away.

He'd been hiking for an hour - climbing hills, slipping, thigh muscles aching, cursing - when he saw movement up ahead. With a jolt he pointed the beam of his flashlight ahead of him. A hooded figure stood yards away. The familiar shape of Lane turned to face him, skin pale in the glare of the flashlight. Snot ran down his nose. He had a backpack slung over his shoulder.

"I told you not to follow me," he said.

"What are you doing, Lane?"

"What I have to. I'm going to the cave." He was trying to keep his voice steady, but it wavered with every few words.

Carlos closed some of the distance between them. "That's suicidal. You don't know what's in there."

"I have a pretty good idea. I'm going through. Don't come after me." Lane started to walk away.

Carlos dropped his shotgun to the ground. "No you're not!" He charged after Lane.

Lane saw him coming and broke into a run but Carlos was faster. He tackled Lane and they sprawled to the ground, coating themselves in snow.

"I'll carry you back if I have to," Carlos growled. He tried to haul Lane to his feet but the younger man was wiry and flexible. He wiggled easily out of Carlos's grip.

He's like a goddamn slinky, Carlos thought.

Lane rolled on his side and lashed out with a kick before Carlos could see it coming. The foot connected with his chest and knocked him back.

"Sorry, Carlos," Lane panted. "I don't think you want to go where I'm going." Then he was sprinting off again.

“Damn it, Lane!” Carlos staggered to his feet. He didn’t know how much more his body could take; he wasn’t as young as he used to be.

Lane was quickly receding figure in the dark. Carlos sprinted after him, shotgun and flashlight forgotten. He sucked the frigid air into his burning chest. He was dimly aware of the crash of the ocean. The closer they got to the sea the colder, more cruel the wind felt. Up ahead, Lane reached the end of the clearing. Carlos put on an agonizing burst of speed. When he reached the end of the clearing, he stopped.

Directly in front of Lane was the cave. In the midst of the night, the cave looked more sentient than ever. Carlos didn’t know if it was just his imagination or if it was really happening, but the mouth of the cave seemed wider than he remembered, as if it could sense Lane and was hungry for him. Lane was standing in front of it. Carlos could feel his fear at the thought of going inside, could feel him building up the courage to venture forth.

Carlos hurt. He didn’t know if he had the energy to run anymore. Lane was quicker and stronger than he appeared. All he could do, at this point, was beg. “Lane, please don’t go in there by yourself. Just...wait. We can go together...just...let’s grab some weapons first. Go in prepared...”

Lane turned, looked back at Carlos, his face lit by moonlight. Carlos couldn’t be sure but he thought there were tears in his eyes. Fear was etched in his young face. “I’m sorry, Carlos, but I have to do this.”

Then he entered the mouth of the cave.

Carlos shouted something that might have been No! and lunged after him, but Lane was already melting into shadow, into nonexistence.

One second Carlos was running towards the mouth of the cave - the next he was running towards the edge of a cliff, with the dark waters of the Atlantic crashing beneath him. He managed to throw himself to the ground at the last second, and skid to a stop. If he’d waited another second he would’ve sailed straight over the edge.

Carlos laid in the spot where the cave had been just a few seconds ago. Lane had just walked through it. Now it was gone, just like that. How could it be gone? Had it just been sitting here, waiting for Lane to step into its depths this whole time? Now that it had him, would it be back? Would Carlos ever see him again? He laid there in defeat, in the snow, shivering and fatigued, knowing he needed to get up, to do something. But he didn’t know what else he could do.

Lane was gone.

                        …

Carlos didn’t know what to do or where to go, so he drove to the police station. It was the only place he could go where he felt he had a sense of control. The coffee pot was empty, so he went about making a new one. It was easy, anyone could make coffee. He closed the door, sat down in his chair, and hung his head in defeat.

Think, think, think! There’s got to be something you can do! He can’t just be gone!

There was a knock at the door - of course it had to happen at the worst time imaginable.

Cynthia poked her head in. She looked wary, as exhausted as he felt. "I don't mean to bother you, but it's the stranger…"

The stranger. Carlos clenched his hands into fists, imagined going into the cell and strangling the man to death. If he'd never come into town then Lane never would have gone into that fucking cave. He fought to keep his face straight and his voice neutral. "Tell me."

Cynthia gulped. "It's like he was hallucinating, like there was something in the cell with him. He was very frightened. Delirious. To be quite honest he was scaring the shit out of me. I thought I was going to lose my pants. But God as my witness there was nothing in that cell."

An idea was starting to form in Carlos's mind. Maybe a glimmer of hope, maybe not. "Did he say anything...strange?"

Cynthia sat down in the chair across from him. Her shoulders were shaking. Carlos knew her to be a tough woman. Fierce. Not easily frightened. So to see her like this was a testament to what she had witnessed. "He said the darkness was spreading. The darkness...what did he mean by that, do you think? Is he talking about what's been going around here lately?"

Carlos nodded. "I think he is."

"Think he has anything to do with it?"

"I think he just might. I'm tired of waiting to find out."

He stormed out of his office and went to Bill's cell. Bill was sitting on the floor, in the corner of his cell. His face was buried in his hands. He was muttering to himself in a high, keening voice, but Carlos couldn't make out what he was saying. He looked up at the sound of Carlos unlocking the cell door.

"You're coming with me," said Carlos. He had a pair of handcuffs in his hand.

Bill rose to his feet. "Where are you taking me?"

"Shut the fuck up!" Carlos snapped. It was everything he could do to keep from beating the man to a pulp. "It's your fault he's gone!"

"Did something happen to Lane?"

"He went into the cave. The place where it comes from. He never would have gone into the cave if you hadn't shown up here. Now you're going to help me get him back."

"The darkness?" Bill was no longer the calm, expressionless man Carlos had encountered in the park. He was a heaving mess who had long since passed through the threshold of insanity. "It's in my head...somehow it led me here. Through my dreams. It took the shape of my daughter to trick me."

He was trying to plead his case, trying to make Carlos pity him, but Carlos didn't want to hear it. At this point he didn't have the ability to care. If it comes between Lane and you, I'll throw you to the wolves without a second's thought.

He knew Enzo would have nodded in approval.

                               …

Bill was a mess. He was no longer the man he used to be: the man who could shoot another man without blinking; the man who could travel halfway across the world to track a target down. The darkness, as the sheriff had called it - and how he was now starting to think of it - had devoured what was left of his sanity.

He sat in the back seat with his wrists cuffed to the safety bar above his head. It wasn't a predicament he'd ever imagined himself to be in. Up until now he'd always been the one in control of the situation. Now here he was, at the mercy of this small town sheriff. He didn't know what was going to happen, and for Bill this was more terrifying than anything he could have imagined. For the first time in fifteen years he found himself identifying strongly with his victims.

The road Carlos was taking them down looked somewhat familiar. After a moment Bill realized it was the same road the cab had taken him down to get to the lighthouse. For a moment Bill thought they were going back to the lighthouse, but then Carlos turned right. The cruiser bounced as the sheriff pulled into the driveway of a dilapidated house.

The house itself looked old. Bill could tell it'd been around for a long time. Once it might have been nice, but with its shattered windows, and the yellow security tape blowing about in the wind the house looked haunted. Bill sensed something terrible had happened here.

I never I never should have come to this goddamned town, he thought. This place is like something straight out of the Twilight Zone.

"Is this where you're going to kill me, Sheriff?" He pulled on the safety bar to see how much movement he had. None. There was no way he was going to be able to pull out of these handcuffs. I'm not fucking Houdini. He would have to wait until the Sheriff had Bill out of the cruiser to try and make his getaway.

The Sheriff was silent, peering out through the windshield. He was a big son of a bitch. He had a good four inches on Bill and at least forty pounds of weight.

It doesn't matter. I'm going to kill him all the same.

They were coming to the end of the driveway. The brakes squealed. The Sheriff shut the vehicle off.

"Killing me isn't going to help your situation, Sheriff," Bill leered.

"Shut the fuck up!" The Sheriff kicked the door open, grabbed his shotgun from the front seat, stepped out into the freezing cold, and kicked the driver's door shut behind him.

The sound of crunching footsteps. The desolate howl of the wind. The dark shape of the house outlined in the night. It was the perfect setup for a murder scene. It was certainly isolated enough. The Sheriff could do whatever he wanted to Bill; no one in this town would bat an eye when he went missing. After all he had held their Sheriff and deputy at gunpoint, and tried to kill one of their townspeople.

I'm on my own. Had there ever been a matter he didn’t have to handle on his own?

The Sheriff was coming around the back of the car now, a large shadowy figure. The door opened. Bill expected the Sheriff to shoot him then and there, but instead the Sheriff stooped, keys in hand, and undid the handcuffs. He didn’t warn Bill because he didn’t have to. Bill knew if he tried anything the Sheriff wouldn’t hesitate to mow him down with the shotgun.

What momentary relief Bill had in his arms vanished after a few seconds. Bill now had his hands cuffed behind his back. The Sheriff told him to start walking towards the woods, they were going on a trip.

It was hard to walk, to maintain his balance. The snow beneath his feet was hard and icy. He didn’t have the use of his arms to help him keep that balance. Twice he fell to his knees with a curse. He expected the Sheriff to start yelling and beating on him, but the Sheriff only waited patiently for him to get up without moving to help him.

A few minutes later they were completely surrounded by trees. The house, with its repressive edifice, was gone from view. There was still the matter that Bill didn’t know where he was going or what would happen when he got there. He thought he remembered the Sheriff saying something about a cave but he couldn’t be sure. These days he was bound to hear anything. There were moments when he could no longer tell what was real and what was not. Quite the predicament I’ve gotten myself in.

After a time the ground started rising in places, forming hills. Climbing these hills was an agonizingly slow process. Bill’s thighs burned constantly from the extra pressure he had to put on them. On top of this he only had his thin jacket to keep him warm. The Sheriff won’t have to shoot me - the cold will kill me first.

He wasn’t sure when he began to sense the other’s presence; he’d carved a little pocket of reality separate from this one. He began recalling his last moments with Savannah, at the zoo. She’d been so happy that day. It was fulfilling to know he had helped create that happiness for her, that if nothing else he’d at least redeemed himself as a father. Then he started noticing it - a sort of vibration in the air, maybe. The feeling was impossible to describe, there simply was no word for it. He just knew they were approaching something big.

You’re getting close, said a quiet voice within him, the same voice he’d heard in the park. Close to me.

This feeling radiated a sense of safety - a sense that things would be olay. This feeling sent waves of warmth through him.

It wasn't until he heard the Sheriff come up behind him, huffing and cursing as he did, that Bill was aware he had come to a stop.

"Do you sense something?"

"Something," Bill said, teeth chattering. "I don't know what."

"We must be getting close to where it is." The Sheriff levelled the muzzle of his shotgun at Bill's chest. "The only way I can think of you being able to sense it, is you're infected with the darkness. But then why haven't you ended up like the others I've seen?"

"I don't know," said Bill. He had no idea what the Sheriff was talking about. "Good question."

The Sheriff prodded him. "Go on, get to stepping."

The cave was there just as Carlos had hoped it would be. It seemed the cave had been waiting for Bill, which meant it wanted him for something. What that thing was, it didn't matter. In the end Carlos's hunch had paid off.

"I can feel it," said Bill. His voice was slurred. His eyes were fixed on the mouth of the cave with a mixture of fascination, longing...and fear. "It's calling to me."

The only way this was possible, in Carlos's mind, was that Bill was infected. And yet he didn't show the usual signs of infection. Something else was going on here.

"Are we going in there?" Bill asked.

Carlos grabbed the flashlight he kept in his back pocket, along with the box of shells for the shotgun. "Yes. And you're going to help me find Lane, and warn me if there's anything dangerous coming our way."

"Like a bloodhound." Bill smiled bitterly. "You know, Sheriff I'm almost beginning to like you."

"Keep talking and I just might fulfill my urge to shoot you," said Carlos. "Get to walking."

Together they entered the cave