The moon does more than provide us with tides and fables of lunacy. It provides balance. The gravitational pull of the moon keeps the earth steady on its axis, creating the stability that gives us our twenty-four hour days, our easy rotation. Mark Twain said, “Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.” But, our dark sides aren’t so easily hidden, nor do they provide balance. Our dark sides breed chaos, tipping the balance from light to dark, hidden or not.
In all the chaos, Sam and I had found an odd balance. And because I’d never experienced such a partnership before, our mutual trust felt equally perfect and strange. We caught sunset on the deck of his house, and this is where we formulated our plans. Proving my theory was going to be tricky business.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked him. “If I’m wrong-”
“Eh, we get in some trouble,” he finished carelessly. “No big deal.”
I scoffed. “We’ll just heap it on to the already impressive pile?”
“Exactly,” Sam grinned.
“If I’m right, then there may be some danger-”
“As long as the fourth man is out there, you’re in danger anyway,” Sam reasoned. “He’s the one who’s been playing this sick game with you. We have to draw him out or we’ll never have any peace.”
Feet safely planted on the boards of his deck, I stared out at the orangey expanse and took a deep breath. Even though my life had folded in on top of me, I felt stronger. Sam took my hand. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”
“How about we keep each other safe?” I countered. “We’re in this together.”
The next day, late morning, I traipsed through the woods at the Peacock, following (or trying to follow) the exact same route I took the day I snooped on my own with Willie (who abandoned me for the sake of squirrels). This time, I was loaded down with a backpack filled with tools – a bolt cutter, a taser (Sam insisted on a weapon), a flashlight, water, and my phone, connected to Sam on speaker. Sam was behind me somewhere. I couldn’t see him. But, unlike Willie, I was sure he wouldn’t abandon me.
“You’re doing good,” Sam whispered. “Thirty yards north.”
“Okay. Where are you?”
“Close. Radio silence from now on.”
“10-4,” I sputtered back with a smile. The lighthouse came into view, and I trudged through the thick brush until I found the narrow path that circled the round structure. I huffed out a deep breath before I edged in front of the main door, where the so-called fake camera could see me. I set my bag down and pulled out the bolt cutters. With effort, I clamped down on the padlock and applied pressure. Busting the lock was harder than I thought – taking way more muscle than I expected (or that I had).
“Shit,” I cursed loudly after my fourth try, “thought this’d be easy.” I’m sure Sam had a difficult time staying quiet, but he did. I could almost feel him shaking his head out there, watching from his secret hiding place. I lifted the heavy cutters back to the high padlock, and tried again, my arms feeling like wet noodles.
Finally, I heard a snap. I hesitated to make sure it wasn’t one of my bones breaking, and then dropped the cutters. The padlock dangled from the hook. “Finally,” I breathed out. “That thing was an absolute bitch-”
“Well, if they were easy to break, it’d defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?” a voice asked, causing me to jump and let out a sissy squeal. Chris emerged from the path that led to the inn. I took a deep breath.
“You scared the poop out of me,” I told him, smiling lightly.
“What are you doing?”
I grinned, trying to stifle the unease building up inside of me. Maybe this wasn’t the greatest idea. “Breaking in to your lighthouse. What’s it look like? What are you doing here, Chris?”
“Just out for a stroll.” He moved in front of me, placing himself between me and where I imagined Sam was, and leaving my back to the door of the lighthouse.
“Funny coincidence,” I grinned. “You out for a stroll at the very same time I was attempting a felony but then again, you always seem to show up at just the right time.” Chris stared at me through the tops of his eyes. I hid a shudder.
“Serendipitous, but that’s been us from the beginning,” he mused. “Perhaps I’m meant to talk you out of it. I’d hate for you to get in more trouble.” His hands rested in the pockets of the thin jacket he wore.
“Me, too, but your daddy’ll get me out of it, right?” I taunted. “Besides, the lock’s already broken. Might as well take a look inside.” I flipped the hinge back, daringly.
“I knew you’d be back,” Chris told me. “Knew you couldn’t resist. I’d be honored to give you a tour of my lighthouse.”
I moved aside, and motioned for him to go first. He chuckled, but didn’t move. “You seem a little nervous, Delilah. I thought we’d surpassed the awkward stage of our relationship long ago. In fact, upon reflection, I don’t think we ever had an awkward stage. We just clicked, right from the start. You’ve gotten this far. Go ahead. Open it.” Chris motioned toward the door, but I couldn’t bring myself to turn my back on him, fearful that he’d shove me inside and lock me in there forever.
Sam appeared behind Chris like a Jack-in-the-box. Gun to head, arm around neck. Chris froze. I jumped (though I knew he was coming at some point). Sam said, “Let’s check it out together.”
But, just as fluidly, Chris’ hand emerged from a pocket and sprayed something into Sam’s face. The action took less than a second, and left Sam defenseless. Sam choked, and dropped like a sack of potatoes. I screamed and started to rush to his side.
Chris stopped me by grabbing my wrist and twisting it firmly. “That’s the problem with these dumb jock types,” he told me. “They always underestimate me.” Chris leaned down and grabbed Sam’s gun. He tucked it in the waistband of his jeans.
“What did you do to him?” I insisted. My hands were shaking, and my heart was pounding a million beats per minute. I eyed Sam’s chest but I couldn’t tell if he was still breathing. He just lay there, lifelessly.
Chris shrugged and chuckled. “I removed a variable. I’ve wanted to do that since the first time I saw that Neanderthal. He’s always hovering over you. Doesn’t it bother you?” Chris asked, as if we were having a normal conversation at a coffee shop.
“Is he going to be okay?” I questioned.
Chris rolled his eyes, and pulled the gun out of his waistband. He aimed it at Sam, and said, “Maybe I should put a couple bullets in him, just to be sure. Toss your phone, and open the door.”
I obeyed, and moved into the darkness of the lighthouse. Chris followed close behind me, and once in the doorway, he switched on a light. He moved to the center of the room, and turned around, hands extended like he was a stage performer about to do a monologue. The room was a large laboratory. Tubes, beakers, vials, dishes, microscopes, Bunsen burners, test tubes, heat lamps, and a myriad of other paraphernalia covered two stainless steel tables. Stacks of shoeboxes covered the wall behind the spiral staircase. Though the equipment looked new, the bricks and the cobwebs combined with a slight mold smell gave the place an ancient look, reminding me of Frankenstein.
“Welcome to my home, my lab,” he grinned. He pushed a button on his phone, and the door slammed shut behind me. I jumped. “What do you think?” I wanted to tell him what a nerd he was – to install a Star Trek door in his lighthouse lab, but I bit my tongue.
“Um, I think it’s frightening.” My voice trembled.
Chris laughed. “Thank you.”
“So, this was what it was all about? Drugs?” I sputtered out.
“You have to tell me, what was it that gave me away?” Chris egged me on, circling me like a panther deciding when to pounce.
“The mermaid clinched it.”
“Ah, that feisty bitch. She told my secrets, huh?”
Power… Keep him talking. “The graffiti was a threat. At first, I suspected David Love was trying to intimidate your father over the mess he made of Love’s lawsuit. That would explain the heart, but not the fire, and both were important. If you put love and fire together, you can’t help but to think of the fire in Mrs. Love’s school lab several years ago. The message was a reminder, not to your father, but to you and it coincided nicely with your arrival in town.”
Completely amused, Chris prodded me again, “What does that fire have to do with me?”
“You caused it,” I told him, “and Ricky took the blame.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he taunted me, but I could tell by his grin that I was right.
“Granted, you two were unlikely friends, but you were friends,” I told him, “as much as two psychopaths could be, anyway. The picture in your mother’s study proves it – you and Ricky Wakefield dressed up as characters from your favorite book. The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”
“Ah, that damn picture,” Chris lamented. “It was probably the last time my mother thought I was acting like a regular child. She thought Ricky was good for me, but she didn’t know his appetites like I did.”
“And he knew yours,” I prodded. “He still calls you Hyde, and so did the redheaded woman, Lorna Dobbs. She wasn’t telling me to hide. She was trying to tell me who had done that to her – the one man out of the four who scared her most. You. You started your experiments, but had to leave them under Ricky’s watchful eye to attend your welcome home party. But, Ricky lost one. He was looking for her at the party. And so were you. You can see just about everything that happens here on your phone, right? That’s how you knew I was here.”
He shrugged and grinned, proud of his setup. I shook my head.
“Where is she? Lorna Dobbs? Number four?” I pushed, taking a step toward him. “Ricky caught up with her when I went inside to get help. He dragged her to the nearest hiding place, under the house, where he kept her quiet while the hubbub was going on above their heads. That’s probably where she died. She is dead, isn’t she? When the coast was clear, he took her up the back staircase-”
“That prick put her in my bed,” Chris added clenching his teeth.
“And Wake went up later to dispose of her properly.”
“Do you know how easy it is to commit murder on an island?” Chris mused. “They don’t call it the Graveyard of the Atlantic for nothing, you know.” He chuckled. “Number four is probably number two, by now.”
His cold laugh made me sick. “You’re a monster.”
“It’s the cycle of life, Delilah, just like with Ricky. He’d overstayed his welcome and had to go.” Chris said, “You know, the first time I met Ricky he was trying to capture a squirrel in our woods. I asked him why, thinking that this poor kid was probably hungry. Ricky just smiled and said he wanted to cut it open, see what was inside.”
I shivered. “A deviant after your own heart and you were friends ever since, two outsiders, and within such close proximity of each other. Ricky was just at home wandering in these woods as he was at his house. I’m not sure why Ricky would sacrifice himself for you, but he did. He spared you the humiliation of getting kicked out of school and saved your future.”
“And he held it over my head,” Chris added dismally. “He didn’t do it for me, but for my mother, who had this absolutely crazy idea that she wanted to adopt him.”
I gave Chris a disbelieving look. “When?”
“You always ask the right questions, Delilah. We were teenagers then, and his troubles at home were well known in my household. My mother thought she could just sign a paper and save him. Funnily enough, it was just before she had that crazy mix-up with her meds,” Chris reported with a chuckle. “Can you imagine me and Ricky in the same house? We never would have gotten along. He always wanted to play with my things.”
A chill ran through me. Chris crossed behind me, fiddling with a lock of my hair. “I came home because he insisted he needed help. That moron wanted me to cut his cocaine for him and help him stretch his jackpot.”
“And you did it?” I shot back. “I’m surprised you would stoop to such low-brow criminal activity.”
“Eh, I resisted at first. But, then he defaced our gorgeous mermaid, warning me of the stories he might tell if I didn’t come through. I doubt anyone would have listened, but I agreed anyway. I admit the drug-play wasn’t particularly challenging, but I was bored,” Chris said, inching closer to me. “Rick blackmailed me into his reindeer games, but the experimentation was fun. And then there was you. You were my favorite part.” Seeing my distress, Chris grinned even wider. “You are a fascinating creature, Ms. Duffy.”
“I’m not a specimen to study.”
“Everyone is a specimen to study, but you are quite the anomaly. That’s what makes you such a competent adversary. Instead of cowering to fear, you press your throat toward the blade.”
My breath caught in my throat. “You were watching.”
“Of course,” he replied. “I had to make sure you were safe. With such a tempting target, I was sure Ricky would test me. I apologize for his behavior. Like I said, he always wanted to play with my things.”
“I am not yours,” I insisted weakly. He ignored me.
“I almost stopped the entire project after that, especially when your panic got worse,” he went on, moving within inches of my face. “I almost concluded that you were too broken to play with, but you pressed on, pursuing answers like, well, like I would. I couldn’t resist toying with you. And now, we’re even.”
“Even?”
“I saved you,” he said, “and you took care of Ricky and his network all in one glorious swoop. It was a beautiful thing, watching you make that shoe discovery. That’s when I knew that I’d planted all the right pieces. Getting Ricky and his friend to say a few choice words in your earshot, giving you the shoes, playing on Ricky’s hatred, which you knew about thanks to your snooping friend. Ah, it was as if I had left you bread crumbs to follow, and you were a ravenous bird, waiting to gobble them up.” I cringed remembering how Chris was distracted with his phone during Henry’s spooky reading, how he paid such attention to when I left and re-entered the building. He’d handled Ricky and J.J. like puppets putting on a show for me. He’d handled me like a puppet, too.
Chris stopped pacing and looked at me mischievously. “Admit it. Surely, you must feel vindicated, perhaps even powerful, knowing that the world’s been ridded of such moronic nuisances… and you are at least partly responsible.”
“I had no idea what I was doing,” I defended.
“But, you’re glad?”
I hesitated. Ricky’s attack flashed into my head. Things fall apart. “I’m relieved.”
Chris smiled. “All the retribution with none of the guilt. See? We helped each other.”
“What about Sam?” I tried. Chris shrugged carelessly. “How can you call us even?”
Chris crept closer to me, sending my feet back toward the wall. When there was nowhere else to go, he pressed against me. “Eh, just like Dekker, he was a variable that needed extraction. I honestly don’t know what you see in him.”
Hands against my upper arms, Chris leaned against me. Panic rose up like a tidal wave. Breathe. Think. For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love, and of a sound mind. Sam wasn’t coming. Help wasn’t on the way. And I was seriously outmatched.
“Are you going to kill me, Chris?” The words stammered out of me.
Chris laughed. “I could. You’re tired of fighting, remember?”
My breath quickened. Sam was lying helplessly outside. Was he dying? Was he dead already? Oh, God, what can I do?
Chris pressed me harder against the brick wall and smiled. “It will be me,” he promised. “My mother was a necessity. Number four was incidental, but you. You will be my pleasure.” His hand went from my fingers, up my arms, to my neck where he traced his finger along my collarbone. I trembled. “I want to take my time with you,” he breathed out, “explore every pain, every fear.”
I cringed and writhed under his weight. I could see my future with him. Chris would kill me, tiny cut by tiny cut, until my heart seized or I bled to death. Like Ricky’s squirrel, he would grow giddy with excitement, cutting me open, seeing what was inside, and reveling in the fear on my face. Tears shot out of my eyes. For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love, and of a sound mind. I took advantage of his attention – or at least tried to – by slipping my hand into his right pocket. I was hoping for the phone or the gun. I got the notebook, and slid it into my pocket before he noticed.
“Is this what you want?” I asked him, barely above a whisper. “To take me in violence just like Ricky?”
Chris’ eyes squinted together at the comparison. “I saved you from him, but only to keep you for myself. If you put your neck to his blade, what might you do for me? So many things I could try. So many tempting questions to answer.”
“You think that scares me? You’re intrigued by my fear, but that’s because you don’t know shit about real strength or faith-“
He rolled his eyes and huffed. “Faith?”
“Yes, faith,” I spat back under the pressure of his weight against me. “I don’t know how God works, but I doubt very seriously that he’d spare my life just to serve me up to a shit like you. And if you do manage to kill me, it’ll only be because God was ready to take me and serve up the retribution.” I managed a crooked smile. “You better hope Sam’s dead. He doesn’t like it when other people play with his things either.”
And there it was, like magic. A pinch of fear shadowed Chris’ face, just enough to tell me that Sam was alive. My heart thudded in my chest, and a renewed strength swept over me.
“So, if this is what you’ve been reduced to,” I went on, “this animalism, then go for it. You can probably overcome me, might make you feel powerful. But, remember what you told me. Everyone is just one pain away from lunacy and try to imagine the pain that’ll be thrust upon you.”
He pulled back, letting me breathe again. “Well, let’s just see what God wants, then. Shall we? One last game before I go. If you win, then you live, forever solidifying your place in my heart.” He chuckled, turning on each of the three Bunsen burners as he spoke. The blue flames hovered ominously. “If you lose, then you die. And perhaps that would mean that I’ve overestimated you, put you on a pedestal because I was having so much fun. But, then at least, I’d know. The experiment would be over.”
With the burners flaming and the heat quickly growing, every pore of my body started to sweat. My heartbeat rammed against my chest. Panic pinched at my resolve, surging like the flames before me. I wasn’t drowning, but I felt like it.
“The task is simple,” Chris told me. “Just save yourself.” He grabbed some loose papers, set them on fire over the burner, and tossed them to the shoeboxes by the stairs. The fire ignited quickly.
I moved to the door, where Chris raced over and grabbed my waist. His cocky smile irritated me. I reached back to punch him in the face. He moved cleverly, and I missed. It was a stupid mistake. Sam had taught me not to punch first, but to be smarter in my defenses.
He laughed. “Oh, Delilah, I love your feistiness,” he grinned. “I will miss you, but don’t worry. Escape the inferno and we will be together again.”
Chris slung me around with surprising force, but I fought back. I slammed my right palm into his nose, just as Sam had taught me during one of our several rooftop lessons over the last few weeks. Chris stumbled back. Blood gushed from his nostrils, but I wasn’t done. I wasn’t going to let some kid get the better of me, no matter how high his IQ. I rammed my foot against his shin, and he dropped.
But, there was no time to pat myself on the back. I snatched the phone from his hand, tapped the button still on its face, and the door flew open. I rushed out, and hit the button a second time. Closed.
“The dumb jock taught me that move! Guess you’re the one to be tested today,” I yelled through the door. I rushed to Sam’s side. His heart pounded, but he wouldn’t wake up. I grabbed the phone from his pocket and typed in 9-1-1 on speaker.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” a voice questioned.
“Tipee Island Lighthouse,” I spat toward the phone, trying to ease Sam up to a sitting position. “It’s on fire-”
“Delilah, let me out,” Chris called from the inside, banging against the deceiving door – wooden on the outside, steel underneath. I heard him coughing. From the upper windows, smoke was seeping out, clouding what would otherwise be a lovely blue sky. “Please, I’m going to die in here.”
“Is there someone trapped?” the voice asked.
“There’s an officer down,” I called to the dispatcher.
I huffed, trying to drag Sam toward the trees, away from the smoke and flames. He was heavy and I was weak, but I managed to put a small gap between him and the dangerous burning lighthouse.
“Delilah, please!” Chris begged. “I’ll die.”
Yes, he would die in there if I didn’t act. Though sirens tickled my ears, they weren’t close enough to save him. But, should I? Chris could end up being the next Hannibal Lecter. The world didn’t need another serial killer. And, last I checked, the world had plenty of psychopaths, sociopaths, and spoiled, rich boys, too.
“Delilah, help me,” he coughed.
Life and death was God’s department, and I had no business trying to micromanage it. In expectation of freeing him, I went to retrieve the taser. But, Chris freed himself. He busted out, crashing into me. I fell flat against the ground, screaming like a sissy girl as I went and Chris landed on top. My grasp on the phone failed, and it crashed into the leftover lead weights next to the door, closing the lighthouse up with a loud thud.
Chris grinned cockily. “You really were going to do it,” he said excitedly. “I’m impressed. You’re more like me than I thought, but you should have assumed I’d have a back-up on the door.” I shifted myself under his weight, and tried to writhe free. But, Chris hadn’t escaped the inferno empty-handed. He pressed a scalpel against my throat, and grinned, blood from his nose dripping onto my cheek. “Still, well played.”
“Not well enough,” I returned. The sirens drew closer, and he noticed. Still, in Hannibal Lecter fashion, Chris leaned down and licked his blood from my face. I squirmed and groaned.
“Eh, don’t feel too badly,” he smiled, “the competition was fierce. God must be rooting for both of us.”
An explosion inside the laboratory rocked us, sending flames shooting out of the gaps in the door and us scurrying away from the fiery building. I was knocked free of his grasp. I went to Sam, where debris littered his motionless body. I swept him free, and glanced around. There was no sign of Chris anywhere.
“Sam, wake up,” I prodded, shaking him and tapping his cheek. “Wake up, honey.”
The sirens grew closer. A twig snapped behind me. I turned. Nothing. I expected Chris to pounce on me, scalpel carving into my throat. I whipped around again. Nothing.
“Sam, wake up,” I ordered again. The lighthouse moaned and groaned as the fire ate away at it. Windows high above shattered from the heat. Chemical and herbal fumes filled the air. We didn’t have much time.
Sam did not sense our urgency. I positioned myself behind him, holding up his torso by wrapping my arms under his, and started pulling. To hell with Chris Kayne. Sam and I would both be goners if the flames kept surging and the lighthouse decided to fall. My elbow ripped with new pain, but I kept pulling, dragging his heavy body away from the inferno. I inched toward the inn until I was finally met by a team of firefighters. They took over for me, and got us both into the clearing.
The firefighters and emergency personnel made a quick assessment of the lighthouse, and then retreated. “The structure’s a loss!” one of them called, pushing the rest back. The lighthouse creaked and moaned, shifting eerily on its teetering foundation. Smoke billowed from its openings like it was an angry dragon. I held on to Sam, and cringed.
Then, the tower fell.