In Deep - 19: Ms Hepplethwaite

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...