Chapter 22
CHRISTOPHER
The first red flag was the lack of cameras.
For a house as grand as this one, it’s not normal for there to be a blatant absence of security. An air of ignorance for thinking no one would dare to enter the oceanfront mansion while nobody is home.
Makes me wonder what kind of monster lives here.
And why the fuck one of my crew members brought a harpoon to a break-in.
“It’s for the tentacles.” Gripping the spear tight to his chest, the middle-aged man looks at me with wonder and fear, “The Sea Witch swims along these shores, you know.”
I stare at him, wondering whether it’s too late to trade this one in for a smarter model.
“You know she’s human like the rest of us, right?”
“That’s what she wants you to believe.” Swivelling his head from either side, he looks over each shoulder conspicuously, “A woman waiting to lure you to her torture chambers. And once she gets you there, that’s when her true form emerges.”
“Her... true form?”
“An octopus.” Making the cross with his harpoon, the man shakes his head solemnly, “Most terrifying sea creature you’ll find in these waters.”
Right.
Turning from the rambling storyteller, I survey the rest of the crew. It’s a mismatched bunch, a couple of old men I found at the pub, a fisherman who can’t keep his mouth shut, and a guy just a bit younger than me.
The young one seems the most promising of the bunch, although his wrecked shoulder leaves him useless in terms of the pulley system.
A pulley system we crushed the fuck out of, might I add.
Drilled into the marble columns, two rope hoists sit silently beneath the upper balcony of the Seaborn Mansion. Heavy duty ropes hang from the metal additions, the harnesses around our hips snug and ready to do some serious lifting.
It’s a simple setup, one that I’ve used too many times to count.
Though I’ve never used it on a setting quite as beautiful as this one.
“You won’t find a better view in Wolf Hollow.”
The one guy speaks up, stepping apart from the crew to join me by the edge of the shore.
“Not sure you’d find a better view anywhere.”
My response gets swept away by a sudden breeze, the sweet tang of saltwater teasing my cheeks with a brush of humidity. Moonlight shines down on the glistening shore, the crashing waves doing their best to rock the shoreline in its entirety.
It’s a serene sort of beauty, one that takes your breath away just as easily as it replaces it.
An ancient dock catches my eye, and I turn to see a rusty old thing clinging to a rope tethering it to shore. It bobs along with each passing wave, the withered planks rough and sandy beneath the glittering night sky.
The dock Tristan Seaborn jumped from.
The tranquility of the scene shatters with the sombre thought. Fighting back a shiver, I turn from the graveyard and face the youngest member of my crew.
“I’ve stolen from worse.”
A wry grin accompanies my confession and it works to break the tension.
“So have I.”
Finley Reef grins back at me, his eyebrows uneven thanks to the notch hooked through the left one. Clapping him on the back, I leave the rookie to go help the men struggling to tie their ropes.
A simple eight knot does the trick and pretty soon we’re ready to get this show on the road.
“Alright, let’s go over this one more time.
” Making eye contact with each member, I speak slowly so nothing gets missed, “Finley and I are going up and entering through the upper balcony located on the second floor. We’ll sweep for alarms and traps before unlocking the main door and letting you handsome fellas inside. ”
“The objective is to breach the chamber located beneath the aquarium. Get in and get out with as many shiny things as you can find. We are making the journey back on foot, so don’t get greedy.”
“Hold on.”
The fisherman steps forward, looking ridiculous with a harpoon slung over his shoulder.
“We’re supposed to trust you to let us in. Who’s to say you young’uns don’t go stealing the loot for yourselves?”
Murmurs of agreement echo from the older men in attendance.
“The only reason Finley and I are going up is because of the physical demand.” I gesture towards the columns looming above us, “It’s not easy climbing up those things, and with some extra weight on the ground, it will help to balance everything out.”
“You saying we’re not capable?”
Another one pipes up, his miserable face looking about ready for a sucker punch.
“That’s not what I’m saying.” Breathing through my nose, I remind myself to be patient, “There are certain benefits to having the bigger guys on the ground-
“Now you’re calling us fat?”
“I told you this fool was just trying to play us.”
Grumbles and accusations fester and grow as my crew of the last two hours starts to crumble.
“How do we even know he’s a real thief?”
Bloodshot eyes look me up and down as the old man gives me a sneer, “He doesn’t look like he made it far off the street.”
“Hell, he’s not even armed.” The fisherman wobbles slightly, his pudgy feet ambling towards me, “So why the fuck would we let you go in first?”
My hands twitch with the need to pull out my gun and open fire.
“If I’m down here, I won’t be able to help if something goes wrong.”
“If something goes wrong, I’ve got Fiona here to take care of it.” Stroking the tip of his spear, the man just about moans in ecstasy, “This ol’ gal has never let me down before.”
“Let Fiona go in first!”
A battle cry comes from the eldest of the bunch, his missing teeth sending spittle spraying in every direction.
“Guys, I don’t think-
Finley gets cut off when another man shoves him.
“Nobody asked what you thought, pretty boy.”
“Enough!”
My shout triggers a blissful moment of silence.
“If you want the harpoon to go first then she can go first.”
Three of the four crew members start to cheer, their high fives and feeble celebrations lasting only as long as it takes for me to strap in the fellow who’s a good fifty pounds heavier than I am.
Those fuckers didn’t think about that, now did they?
The tendons in my arms bulge and burn as we start to pull. Grunts and heaves break through the night air as the two men go airborne, their position by the columns giving them some leverage to do a bit of climbing on their own.
Finley does well, his agile strength helping to loosen some of the slack from the pulley. His technique is awkward but efficient, and in little time he manages to pull himself up and over the balcony.
The fisherman does not fare so well.
“Mother fucker.”
The curse comes from the guy on my right, the one barely breathing from the deadweight pressing down on us.
Hanging like a piece of bait on the end of an uncomfortably long line, the rambling storyteller finds himself swinging uselessly from column-to-column, his dense size and slow mobility giving the man no leverage whatsoever.
It’s a sorry sight to see, and as one of the guys having to pull his ass up two stories, I can confidently say mistakes were made.
“Come on, boys! Just a little ways to go.”
The cheerful shout is no match for the scowls marking the faces next to me.
Digging my heels into the turf, I force my hands to keep moving, ignoring the strain and damage I’ll have to face tomorrow.
My muscles clench and scream but I keep pulling. Over and over until a withered hand grasps the edge of the balcony.
“We did it!” Letting out a whoop, the fisherman is the only one celebrating.
The rest of us untie our ropes as quickly as possible, desperately collapsing to the ground and breathing through the exertion.
One breath. Two breaths.
And that’s when the screaming begins.
Scrambling back to my feet, I can’t see anything but blood raining down from the second story balcony. Fiona’s deadly edge peeks out from the ornamental railing, her size almost comical compared to the murderous mural depicted beneath her.
“What do we do?!”
Shouting in panic, the men look to me for an answer. I’m too busy scanning the balcony to offer them one, searching for the crew members who are no longer in sight.
Or hearing range.
The screaming stops as quickly as it began. Unease spreads across my skin like a rash, the steady pitter patter of blood the only sound for miles.
Off the balcony and onto the ground by our feet.
Drip. Drip. Drop.
Our heavy breathing breaks the silence, the panic level rising as quickly as the marble is staining itself red.
“Do you think-
One of the men screams when the door to the mansion bangs open.
Bile rushes up my throat as the fisherman comes running out, blood staining every crevice of his face. Stumbling and tripping over the turf, I barely manage to catch him before he hits the ground.
“H-He’s here.”
My stomach lurches when I realize one of his eyeballs is missing.
“Who’s here?”
Sobs ring out as the unfortunate soul claws at his empty socket, the missing orb nowhere to be found. Tendons and torn tissue hang from the open cavity, and with every pass of his fingers, the man screams a little bit louder.
“Just breathe, mate. We’re going to get you out of here...”
Swivelling my head, I can just make out the silhouette of my other crew members hightailing it out of here.
“Wait. Where’s Finley?”
“H-He got him.”
Dread unfolds in my gut as I watch a proud man drop to his knees and start to crawl. Covering his open wound with one hand, he starts dragging every tooth and nail towards the taste of freedom.
“We can’t just leave him!”
“Yes, we fucking can!” Hysterical laughter breaks off into more sobbing, “You told us the house was empty.”
“It was supposed to be empty... Wait!”
A bitter wind sweeps through the clearing, breaking a shiver clear from my bones and sending it racing across my body. Blood continues to drip from the balcony, it’s sweet metallic scent a nauseating addition to this evening.
“Do you think he was looking for this?”
Low and amused, the subsequent chuckle has the hair on the back of my neck standing to attention.
Turning around slowly, I look back at the Seaborn Mansion and watch the figure unfold himself from the shadows. The resounding click of dress shoes rings through the night, the man’s steps as sure and smooth as the polished state of his suit.
A hunk of flesh hangs from his fingertips, the glistening edge of his ring wrapping its tentacles around the missing eyeball.
He steps into a ray of moonlight, casting an ethereal halo around the pale strands of his hair. Violet irises glow against the dark sky, the man’s clean cut face surprisingly young for someone with that level of confidence.
Then again, I would be confident too if I was no longer in the grave.