After
these revelations, to say that my feelings were somewhat mixed would be a huge
understatement. I was relieved that I was off the hook as far as the Order was
concerned; then again, Abner Gilman was still dead by a treacherous hand, and –
now that I had the luxury - I took that hard. I helped shoulder the casket with
the other Temple Elders and we made our slow, mournful way down to the sea.
There
were some initial prayers and responses – which I won’t go into – and then we
hauled the coffin down to the water’s edge. The fitful rain let up momentarily
as we waded out beyond the breakers, floating the body between us. The slate
grey of the sky and the black cold water suited our collective mood. Stan
croaked out a word of welcome and it was answered faintly from beyond the
spray. With a final heave we pushed the casket over the breaking edge of an
incoming wave and it rolled away towards the distant Reef.
Suddenly,
Barney began to yawp once more, but there was an urgency to it this time, a
different note. Initially, we thought that he was just having one of his turns,
but then he began ripping off his mourner’s black and stripping down to his
scales, uttering a constant barrage of croaks and barks as he did so. Then he
sprang over the next wave and plunged into the ocean. The last we saw of him
was his head and arm steering Abner’s coffin out to Devil Reef, accompanied by
distant croaking.
‘Well,
I’ll be,’ said Stan shaking his head, ‘I knew he was about ready, but I didn’t
figger it’d be today. At least Abner has a steady hand at the helm.’
I
didn’t say anything; I was too choked up. Instead, I clapped Stan on the
shoulder and started wading back to shore, dragging my trenchcoat through the
foam.
We
gathered on the sand, wringing seawater out of our jackets and pants, shaking
hands and offering condolences. Stan extended an invitation to re-convene at
his house, where the women-folk had prepared something to eat. As the rain
started to fall once more, I thanked him but begged off: I had to square things
with Winston.
‘What
I need, Stan,’ I said, ‘is a look at what’s inside the Temple Vault.’
Stan
blinked at me; that should tell you how shocked he was. ‘But, I ain’t got the
key,’ he said, ‘When we first found Abner, it was the first thing I looked
fer...’
‘Even
money says that Winston took it,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t matter that you don’t
have it: I just need to see the Vault.’
Stan
considered this. ‘Well sure,’ he said, ‘I can take you there, but then I have
to get to this wake...’
‘I’d
be mighty obliged, Stan’
He
spent some time seeing off his buddies and reassuring them that he wouldn’t be
long. Then we started up the beach, heading toward the centre of town –
spiritual if not actual.
The
Temple is an unprepossessing structure. It used to be an old Masonic hall back
in the day, but time and Obed Marsh put paid to that. The fundamental
architecture is still the same, but the needs of the future have had their way.
The original structure is a typical Palladian confection with a dome and
columns, but new administration offices of smart sandstone now wrap around the
outside. On the outside, the building reflects the typical Innsmouth tendency towards
decay; inside, the accoutrements of worship are top-shelf, with the finest of
design and technological augmentation. We’ve had folk who’ve pillaged the
Temple a few times; let’s just say that they lived to regret it.
The
offices are strictly pedestrian: as mild and bureaucratic as you’d expect. The
main part of the structure houses a massive safe wherein are kept all of the vestments
used in the Temple services and those valuables I mentioned earlier, taken from
those busy-bodies who stuck their noses in where they were unwelcome. I had
seen the Vault only a couple of times before; I’d never seen it open.
Stan
rushed forward when he saw the gaping door: he deftly grabbed the key from the
lock and slipped it in his pocket. By that time I was flashing my torch through
the doorway, looking at the mess within. The floor was covered with banknotes
and golden jewellery, highlighted by SLR cameras and iPads. There were more
substantial things further in but nothing resembling what I would expect by way
of The Stone.
‘Godsdamnit!’
spat Stan, ‘what a frickin’ mess!’
‘You
kiss your wife with that mouth Stan?’
He
looked a bit sheepish and was about to say something, but the sound of a
shotgun loading cut him short.
We
turned slowly to see Remora approaching from behind, aiming her shotgun low and
blowing a pink balloon with her bubble-gum. She oiled her way forward until she
stood in the light of a curved window. Her aviator sunglasses made reading her
intentions tricky. Her gum popped.
‘Stick
‘em up shamus,’ she purred.
I
chose to do as ordered, nudging Stan to do likewise. ‘Remora,’ I said, drawing
fire, ‘still pushing all of the wrong buttons I see.’
She
waggled the shotgun. ‘That’s why I chose the direct approach this time,’ she
snarled, ‘solid shot; no soft pedal.’
‘I
stand corrected’ I said. ‘I suppose Winston is making off with the stone while
we twiddle our thumbs here. What’s your angle on this? What do you get out of
it?’
‘What
else, shamus?’ She smirked, ‘cash: cold and hard and lots of it. ‘Got my eye on
a coastal farm up in Newfoundland, where I can lay my clutch and bring them up
right.’
‘I
see,’ I winced, ‘the logic of pregnancy. Can’t you see that Winston’s playing
you sweetheart?’
‘Don’t
call me that!’ she spat, raising the gun, ‘You don’t know anything about me or
what I need.’
‘I
know that you’re the kind of talent that the Order would bankroll to Hell and
beyond, if you’d just ask. Whatever Winston’s offering, you could get from us
with no hassle. Am I right, Stan?’
Stan
nodded furiously; I was hoping he wasn’t about to have any camp flashbacks.
She
looked momentarily confused. ‘No,’ she said, ‘Winston said that you were opposed
to us exotics; that you would force us out; that we weren’t mainstream enough
for you...’
‘Remora!
He killed his own grandpa! The pillar of our community! What sort of guy do you
think he really is? Do you think he really cares about you and your brood?’
She
pulled the sunglasses from her face; what I could see was still unreadable.
‘I
can’t...’ she choked, ‘My spawn...I have to...it’s what I have to do...’ the
sunglasses clattered to the ground and she raised the gun.
‘Get
behind me, Stan’ I said, pulling him against my back.
The
window shattered: a muscled arm, big around as a beer barrel flashed into the
room, accompanied by ringing glass and the hand on the end of it enfolded
Remora in a death grip. The shotgun burst and showed red; Remora screamed; then
she was dragged out into the rainy beyond. I covered Stan as screams and yells
erupted from outside: I heard horrible pounding and the sickening pop of a
bursting swim bladder. Then all was still.
I
scrambled up, showering broken glass everywhere. Stan nodded that he was okay,
so I walked hesitantly across to the window. Outside, Remora lay still across a
patch of well-trimmed lawn; a hulking figure moved back from her and turned her
face up to me.
‘Pah-loo-kah?’
she said.
‘I’m
fine, Doreen’ I said. My heart swelled deep in my chest. ‘You’re a sight for
sore eyes.’
‘Miss
you,’ she breathed through bloodied teeth.
I
held out my hand and her monstrous paw enfolded mine. ‘Me too,’ I said.
‘Haff...to
go,’ she said, her lower lip quivering.
‘Baby,
you do what you need to,’ I said. ‘I’ll be there before you know it.’
‘Haff..to.’
‘I
know.’
‘Wait...for
you.’
I
teared up. I sniffled over her claws like a love-struck kid: she was my
everything and I was hers. Our gift was an eternity of life and she was
promising me an unending life with her. It was what I wanted; all I wished for.
How could I refuse?
Her
hand pulled away from mine. She looked back once as she walked away: she took a
bee-line to the beach.
I
picked up the shotgun that lay next to Remora’s cooling corpse. There was an
unspent round within.
Stan
stepped up behind me. ‘I always thought you two would get together eventually,’
he said.
‘We
weren’t ever apart, Stan,’ I said, ‘It’s just the timing that was wrong.’
‘What
are you going to do now?’ he said.
‘Me
and Winston have to have a conversation,’ I said.
Stan’s
non-existent jaw clenched and he gave me a hard look. ‘You be careful ‘round
that piranha,’ he said, ‘he had us all fooled about what he was up to, and I
figger he ain’t gonna give up without a fight.’
I
leaned in close and showed my teeth. ‘Stan, I wouldn’t have it any other way.’
I
turned and strode away, lighting up a cigarette as I did so...
To Be Continued...
No comments:
Post a Comment