In Deep – 15: Home Again, Home Again, Jiggedy-Jig.

I put my hands on my knees and pushed myself upwards into a standing position. Sliding the tested bar back into the cylinder with its buddies I turned to Alphonse and held out my hand.

‘Thanks Alphonse,’ I said, ‘is there anything I can do to repay you?’

He held up a finger and then held up the five hexagonal plates with the other hand. ‘Thethe would go much of the way towardth compenthating me for my time,’ he said, ‘if that’th okay with you?’

I narrowed my gaze, then waved a dismissive hand. ‘They’re yours, friend,’ I said, ‘with my compliments.’

He smiled a smile that was like that of a dog; a very big, very savage, toothy dog. He picked up the hurricane lantern and escorted me up the stairs to the floor of the tomb.

‘Here’th where I take my leave,’ he said holding out his hand, which I shook warmly. ‘Do you know what your nextht move will be?’

I pulled my hat down on my head and squared my shoulders. Looking out into the rain I said, ‘Yep - I have a pretty good idea.’

‘Then the very betht of luck to you, thir.’

‘“Sir” was my dad,’ I said. ‘You call me Benson.’

He clapped me on the shoulder and nodded, his golden eyes alight. I hoisted my load of platinum and took a few steps towards the tomb entrance, before turning suddenly:

‘And if I need to get in contact with you again, Alphonse...?’

But he was gone. Stairs, door, crazy laboratory and all.

*****

The day was dismal. The rain had slackened off somewhat, but the wind had picked up. Out on the coast road heading south for Innsmouth, sand flew inland from the dunes and it felt like I was walking forwards through a sandpaper sky. Mournful gulls wheeled overhead before driving back out to sea. My clothes had dried a little in Alphonse’s company, but they had also stiffened with salt: I felt like I was wearing a suit made out of damp cardboard.

I began to think about how I was going to do what lay before me. Whenever the town was threatened by the presence of someone from outside, who was showing a little too much interest in the place and its inhabitants, the Order would arrange to get them out of town with a minimum of fuss. Often it meant just getting the interloper drunk and dumping them outside the city limits in a compromising state. Sometimes drugs were a more effective intoxicant. Occasionally, an accident was staged and – alas! – the poor soul was never heard from again. Everyone in town had had a hand in one or two of these staged events during their time growing up here; it was par for the course; a rite of passage. The town’s integrity needed to be protected.

The belongings of these intruders all went to the same place – the Temple. Much of this stuff was either used to stage accidents, got destroyed, or was converted into cash by E.O.D. members willing to travel to Arkham or to Boston to pawn it. Some of it was stockpiled for use as blackmail material, or simply because it was valuable. If this guy from up north had foolishly holed up in Innsmouth with this stone, then it would now have to be in the Temple strongroom. And the single key to that strongroom was with...

I stopped suddenly and thought very hard about this. There was only the one key to that vault. And it was in the possession of Abner Gilman. Now deceased. The spinning cogs in my brain had started to mesh and I didn’t like what they were chewing on...

I started walking again. Before I did anything, I was going to need a new set of clothes. I felt like nine miles of coral reef under an oil spill. That meant going home. I was pretty sure that I would be looked for, but I figured I could sneak in the back way as easily as I had sneaked out to catch Ned Pierce off guard... I stopped walking again and reached into my coat pocket for a smoke. The cigarette packet was empty, so I idly crushed it and tossed it to the edge of the road. Why exactly was Ned following me? Was it because I’d done something – as I’d assumed – or was it because someone else needed to know where I was? More cogs came into play.

‘Huh,’ I said aloud to no-one in particular.

I started moving again. Up ahead, the old Garrison place came into view, the tumble-down farm which marks the northern limits of Innsmouth. I moved to the side of the road and began to dodge from one area of cover to the next, trusting to my skills and the nasty weather to keep me hidden. At the first opportunity, I turned right at the next junction and moved deeper into the grid of streets: the coast road was too prominent a thoroughfare for the likes of me. When you’re as welcome as Zadok Allen at a Temple picnic in Innsmouth, you stick to the back roads. In short order, I was letting myself in through the back door of my apartment.

I closed the kitchen door as quietly as I could, but Rodney’s laptop flared into life as the bolt faintly clicked home.

‘Benson! Dude! Where’ve you been? You look like eight types of shit!’ His pixelated face flared into brilliant life.

‘Rodney!’ I hushed, ‘Fer Chrissakes! Keep it down!’

‘Oh! Sorry dude,’ he said in a slightly more conversational tone, ‘but you’ve been gone for so long! I didn’t think you were ever coming home!’

I scanned the room and the apartment beyond. There was a lot of mess – it looked like someone had tossed the place in my absence. Fortunately it looked as though they’d left the kitchen alone; I grabbed a tea-towel and draped it over Rodney’s brain cylinder, shielding it from view.

‘Aw, you don’t have to do that,’ he said, ‘Mrs Pettifer already had a good look.’

‘Mrs P.?’ I said, ‘what’s she been doing down here?’

‘She left you a message,’ Rodney said. ‘Funny though, I didn’t know you’d given her a key to the place.’

‘Mrs P. has a gift,’ I said, ‘if she needs a door to be open, it will be. She calls it Reiki.’

‘Whoa! Cool!’ said Rodney.

‘Who else has been here?’ I asked.

‘Buncha guys: Winston Gilman and some fellers in trenchcoats. They ransacked the place after Mrs Pettifer paid her visit. They didn’t come in here though.’

‘Probably would’ve taken you away with them if they had,’ I said. ‘Look Rodney: let me fill you in...’ I proceeded to tell him all that had happened to me after we had parted company.

‘Wow!’ he said when I was done, ‘and I always thought that Innsmouth was such a quiet little place.’

‘You said that Mrs P. left me a message,’ I said, ‘what was it?’

‘Yeah, right!’ he said excitedly. ‘Check it out: I recorded it for you!’

A little window opened up in the centre of his screen. It showed a view from the kitchen table out into the living-room. A dark figure made its way forward into the light, pushed through the bead curtain separating the kitchen from the rest of the place, and revealed itself to be Mrs Pettifer. She looked to one side and, obviously taking in the sight of Rodney’s brain, recoiled in apparent horror. Then she stood looking around uncertainly, as if awaiting someone to materialise out of a cupboard.

‘Benson?’ her voice quavered.

Suddenly Rodney’s recorded tones cut in:

‘Welcome to the automated message system of Benson Waite. Benson is unavailable right now, but if you have a message, please speak slowly and carefully into the screen after the beep. Beep!’

‘Did you actually say “beep”?’ I said.

‘Don’t hate: I was improvising,’ he whined. I tuned in to what Mrs P. was saying:

‘Benson? I’ve never liked these message thingies... Okay. Well. After our session I decided to do some crystal-gazing. Benson, I think Abner Gilman is dead. I’m getting a very strong sense of him up in my rooms. He has a particularly intense presence in the Akashic Record – it’s really quite irritating. He wants me to tell you something, and – it’s unusual, and I’m not sure I’m getting it correctly – he says that there are “clues in the crossword”. Does that sound correct to you? Well, I hope it’s of some use. Anyway, Best wishes, Dolores Pettifer. Do I press something now?’

‘No.’ Said Rodney’s recorded voice.

‘Oh, okay then. Bye-bye.’ She straightened up then turned and wandered back the way that she had come in. The window on the screen froze, then closed itself down.

‘There was a fair bit of screaming after that,’ said Rodney, ‘it really put the wind up those guys who came later.’

‘Lucky for her,’ I said. ‘“Clues in the crossword”? Why does that ring a bell?’

“No idea,’ Rodney contributed. ‘What now?’

‘Now,’ I said, ‘I’m gonna have a shower and get changed. Then I’m gonna sort out this crap...’

To Be Continued...