Chapter 33
Chapter
Thirty-Three
LIAM
We shove the bodies into the water on our way along the docks. I hate leaving Matty alone. As soon as my foot steps off the dock, I hear Matty’s voice in the earbud. “Two are coming outside.”
His voice at least assures me he’s okay. Granted, we left him in the company of ghosts who are just as likely to make him have a panic attack as they are to keep him company, but hopefully, those with him aren’t the nasty ghosts.
The moon is primarily hidden behind the clouds tonight. That’s both good and a pain in the ass. We’re less likely to be seen if there’s no light to see us by. On the other hand, it’d be nice to have some natural light to show us the way.
I follow the guys as we stick to the shadows as much as possible. We didn’t bring lights. We opted for knives in our hands instead. As we follow the path, I look around the island.
Dark Island is primarily made up of old trees. The forest is thick. Toward the center of the island, hidden among the trees, is the tower we don’t know the origin of. We’re pretty confident it was built before the castle, but the stories passed down from previous generations say the opposite.
The castle itself sits on the west bank on top of the hill. At the shores on either side of the hill are the two boathouses. The only green area is the yard surrounding the castle. Otherwise, it’s trees for days. Not that the island itself is enormous. I’m pretty sure it feels bigger than it is.
Hidden within the trees are holes dug into the ground of the island.
Some are wells—circular holes with a stacked stone lip.
We have those covered with heavy lids. There are another handful of pits, two of which have water at the bottom, but the other three do not.
There is a whole lot more hidden under the brush and forest debris that we don’t know the locations of.
It’s not a lie that the island is riddled with these holes. None of the stories passed down through the generations before know why they’re there or who put them there. It’s one of the many mysteries of Dark Island.
Chokecherry Island is considerably smaller in comparison.
Up until about five years ago, it had been largely a field with beautiful flower gardens in the spring through the fall.
Then, five years ago, half the island was planted with saplings.
They’re about as tall as my shoulder or just taller than me.
It’s so strange to see how quickly they grow when it doesn’t feel like trees grow much at all every year.
It’s also somewhat disorienting to be walking beside a forest of trees my height. It makes me feel giant.
There’s only one boathouse on the island, and it’s at the docks where we docked.
Likewise, their single structure for occupancy is a large house.
We call it a McMansion, but I’m not sure it’s a title.
As we approach, I note that there are strange dark shapes on the roof that look suspiciously like battlements.
One was hit with a cannon, from the way it appears to be broken.
I snort, shaking my head. Matty amusingly calling it a fortress makes sense. I might adjust that to a wannabe fortress, but that’s just me. Someone is trying too hard. It’s a dick measuring contest, isn’t it? Mine is obviously as good as yours. It just needed some decorations.
Matty’s voice telling us it’s quiet without much movement has me looking at the windows. There are very few lights on within.
The idea is that we break in through side doors, servants’ doors, basement doors, low windows—basically every entrance we can find that’s not primary.
As much as Arek would love to stroll straight through the front door and simply tear everyone to pieces with his bare hands, that’s not what we’re doing.
When we get close, we split and head in two different directions to make a perimeter around the house.
Our radios work in both directions, something we decided was necessary since we wouldn’t be on our own turf and we’d be split up.
However, the goal is to keep the line open for Matty.
Whatever he says should tell us everything we need to know.
“Liam, stop. Someone is coming out the door,” Matty’s voice says.
I sidestep and am swallowed by shadows just as a door opens. It’s right at ground level. I can see inside with the way the door swings open, and it looks like what I’d imagine an old servants’ kitchen in the basement might have looked like a hundred and fifty years ago.
I’m a little disturbed that it appears there’s a fire burning in the grate and what looks like a large pot hanging over it. Is the kitchen still used?
I’ve known Clark for years. He was a dick even before he somehow managed to become the president of the boat club.
A position he’s decided means king of Chokecherry.
There’s been whispered grumbling since he became president about the way he’s running Chokecherry and the so-called ‘improvements’ he’s making.
Such as the trees. What would have been award-winning gardens were torn down to make room for these trees.
And why? Why plant trees? Is there not enough oxygen for you here on the St. Lawrence River?
It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s forced people to work in the servants’ kitchen. It would only make him feel powerful. He’s just the kind of idiot who would enjoy that.
The man steps outside, leaving the door wide open. Even from where I’m standing, a dozen feet away in the deep shadows, I can feel the blast of hot air. I’m betting it’s an oven in there. Maybe he needed some fresh air. He didn’t put a jacket on after all.
He lets his head fall back. I don’t think he’s looking at the sky. Though I can’t quite tell, I think his eyes are closed. His breath comes out in steamy puffs of fog over his mouth.
Silence settles around us as I watch him. He doesn’t move for several minutes. Eventually, he sighs and picks his head up. His arms rise over his head, and he stretches tall before leaning over in front of him and stretching in the opposite direction.
Without looking around, he turns and heads back inside.
The door makes a grinding sound as it closes, as if it doesn’t quite fit into the frame.
Hmm. I think this door might not be one we want to go in unless we want to kill them outright.
It’s not something we’re opposed to. The plan is to lock all the doors—lock everyone in their rooms without escape—then set the entire island on fire before we head home.
I’m guessing this door is simply going to need to be locked from the outside. I think ‘simply,’ but I’m not sure how I’m going to do that quite yet. Quietly, I head for the door and pause.
It’s too quiet. The quiet is disturbing. With my hand on the door, I listen. What am I listening for?
“Matty,” I murmur. When’s the last time I heard his voice in my ear? It had been steady and constant since we left the boat. Every thirty to forty-five seconds, he reported something. As I stand here, I wait for him to speak, counting silently in my head.
After two minutes have passed and I don’t hear his voice, I turn and look back in the direction we came from.
I can see the dark outline of the boathouse with its lights in the distance.
I don’t see movement. Was there something I missed while I was observing the man who stepped outside?
Did he say something that I didn’t hear?
When he still hasn’t spoken since I realized he’d gone quiet, a sinking feeling settles in my stomach.
Perhaps irresponsibly, I leave my post and head for the docks.
I’ve taken half a dozen steps when I hear the echo of a gunshot.
My heart leaps into my throat, and I race back to the shore.
The gunshot is followed by a scream that I’ve heard many times before. Matty.
I run as fast as I can, my panic giving me speed. Two lumbering figures from the dock are racing in the direction of the scream as well. Where did they fucking come from? We killed the men on the dock. I’m pretty sure.
Doesn’t matter. I need to get to Matty first. I’m practically running parallel to them at this point, though I’m closing the distance between us. If they see me, they likely think I’m someone from the house responding to the gunshot and scream as well. Which isn’t incorrect.
The difference is that I intercept them and don’t waste time plunging my knife into the chest of the first man. His cry is cut off with gurgles. I hit his lung at least. Maybe I nicked something vital. He stumbles backward away from me.
The second man abandons his response to the gunshot to face his buddy, who’s now on his knees holding his chest. His shock at what he’s seeing makes me roll my eyes before I’m on him.
Unlike the first guy, even though I’ve apparently equally taken this man by surprise, there’s fight in him.
He pushes back, brandishes his own knife, and thrashes it at me.
“Liam!” Matty yells from somewhere to my left.
I don’t look in that direction, but the man I’m fighting with does. It’s enough of a distraction that I can slam the blade of my knife into his hand. He screams, dropping his knife. I pick up his knife and use it to kill him by slitting his throat.
For a second, I stand over the men to catch my breath.
“Liam?” Matty whispers.
I turn and find him crouched on the ground with something clutched to his chest. Something dull but metallic. I step in his direction and… “Where did you get a gun?” I ask.
The way he hugs it to him is like he’s trying to take comfort from a stuffed animal. He’s visibly shaking. He’s also covered with a spattering of blood. Perhaps it makes me an awful person, but I’m relieved when I realize it’s probably Matty who made the shot.
Crouching down in front of him, I gently pry the gun from his hands while making sure it’s not pointed at either of us. His eyes are wild. But… he doesn’t look like he’s breaking down. He’s just scared.
“What happened?” I ask gently.
“I thought they were talking about guys coming to you guys. I kept telling you they were coming. But they were coming to me. A big dead guy helped me out of the boat and pushed it from the dock so they couldn’t find it.
Then, that guy with a gross, scary black aura hanging around him, made all the dead people freeze in the air like a bad horror movie.
He was going to kill me. But something on the dock distracted him and I-I—.
” He swallows. “I don’t know how I got his gun, but I shot him before he could kill me. ”
I set the gun down and pull him into me. “Are the ghosts still frozen?”
“Some of them are,” he whispers. “Mine are. Vivienne is back. She says we need to get rid of Clark, and the darkness that hangs around him will release my dead.”
“How do we get rid of him?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer for a minute. “I think it’s proximity. Maybe we need to push him into the river?”
“Where is he?”
Matty inhales deeply, and his face turns to the house. I watch as he tries to pull something from his jacket pocket. When he manages, I find it’s the radio, and he brings it to his mouth. “Behind you, Arek or Lanzo. Turn around!”
“Or?”
“The dead can’t tell them apart.”
While it’s not the time to take amusement in it, I laugh anyway. “Arek and Orev are the twins. Arek and Lanzo don’t look alike.”
Matty is still staring at the house, but eventually he turns his attention back to me. “Orev has a scar.” He shrugs. “The other two don’t have any significant features or clothing habits to distinguish them, and the dead don’t typically use names.”
I shake my head. “Is Arek or Lanzo okay?”
He nods. “Yeah. I think so.”
“Come on. Let’s go back to the boat.”
Matty climbs to his feet. “Do you need to go back?”
“No, but how about you tell them I’m down here? We’re going to tend to the boathouse while they take care of the house itself.”
I retrieve the gun as Matty relays the message, following it up by telling Darwin that there’s someone on the battlements.
Together, we head back down to the docks. When we reach the end, our boat is just visible in the darkness of the lake. It’s slowly making its way back toward us. A small smile plays on Matty’s lips as he watches.
“He was a captain. He raced the boats when the boat club was brand new. He has a lot of first places. His boat is still in the boathouse.”
“If he can point it out, maybe it’s in a position where we can save it,” I suggest.
Matty looks at me and grins. “He’d like that.”
“Let’s go, baby.” I kiss his forehead. “Keep listening to the dead and keep our boys safe. I’ll take care of the boathouse and Clark.”