F Wilson - The Dark at the End

His Heir must have led the attack. An impressive assault, Rasalom had to admit. Only by the sheerest good fortune had he survived. If not for the presence of this island, if not for the wind and current that carried him here, he would have drowned. And even then, had it not been inhabited, he would have frozen solid on the beach out there.

The island’s sole inhabitant, the cow, Sadie, bustled in carrying a plate and a glass of milk.

“Brunch! More like a real breakfast-bacon and fried eggs-but since it’s after twelve we’re going to call it brunch.”

The communal “we” again.

“And since you’ve only got one hand, I put it between bread. So you’ve got a breakfast sandwich and some milk. Now, you may be saying to yourself, I want coffee, and maybe we’ll get you some later, but right now you need nourishment to get your strength back and milk’s got a lot more nourishment than coffee.”

The chatter, the incessant chatter. Did she never tire of prattle?

She placed the plate and the glass on the table next to the couch and moved on to the window.

“Looks like the storm’s finally giving up the ghost. About time, I say. About time.” She turned and looked at him. “The phone should be working now. Time to get you some medical help.”

“No!” he said. His voice was stronger now, but still raspy.

“You keep saying that, but you’re not thinking straight. Those burns are going to get infected for sure and then you’re going to be one sick puppy.”

Infection was the least of his worries-his immune system would not allow it. But discovery… how was he going to stop her?

Perhaps the truth…

“You have been watching the television?”

“On and off. You’ve occupied a lot of my attention.”

“You saw the fire in Nuckateague?”

Her eyes widened. “I surely did! Did you see what someone did to that house? I declare I’ve never seen anything like that in all my born…” Her voice trailed off as she stared at him. “You’re not going to tell me…?”

He nodded.

Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, dear God!”

He faked a sob. “They killed my family and were going to kill me but I managed to escape-though, as you can see… just barely.”

“Oh, you poor man! Who were they?”

“I don’t know.” He had to improvise now… something lurid yet plausible. “Home invaders. I am a wealthy man. They thought I had a house full of valuables. They cut off my hand trying to get me to tell them where I had hidden all these supposed valuables. They did not want to hear the truth-that it was all in the city in a bank vault. When they finally were convinced, they became enraged and went on a murder rampage-my brother, my wife, and my baby boy.”

“Oh, dear God!”

That would cover him should they identify the bodies.

“Then they left me for dead and blew up the house to destroy all evidence.”

“Oh, you poor man!”

“That is why you cannot call for medical help. They believe I am dead and must go on believing that. I’ll reward you well-”

“I don’t need money. Got plenty of that. But it sounds like I should be calling the police instead of emergency services.”

“No, I don’t want to endanger you. If they learn I’m alive they might try to finish what they began. They will kill you too. They are merciless. You must keep my presence secret until I’m well enough to go to the police and ask for protective custody. Do you understand?”

She was nodding vigorously. “Yes. Yes, of course. When you’re well enough, we’ll put you aboard the boat and-”

“Boat?”

“The weekly boat out of Sag Harbor. How do you suppose I get mail and food and such? The boat stops every Tuesday. I’ll just tell them you’re a relative who’s been staying here, recovering from some terrible accident. You can ride back to Sag Harbor and get in touch with the police there.”

“Thank you. You are very kind.”

“It’s the least I can do after the terrible ordeal you’ve been through. I’ll help you any way I can to get through this.”

How easily gulled were these cattle. Especially the cows. Ruled by their emotions. Tell them a sad story and they were at your service.

“Now eat up.” She took the sandwich plate and placed it in his lap. “Whether you’re hungry or not, you need your strength.”

Yes, that was true. But he was in no hurry to leave. Glaeken might or might not be aware of his survival. Even if so, he would not be able to pinpoint his location. Better to stay here until he was stronger-strong enough to transport himself from this lump of rock.

That would certainly not be by Tuesday.

“… more mysteries surrounding the deadly events in Nuckateague Saturday night. Police seem to be having as much trouble locating the owners of the house as they are tracking down the killers who demolished it with fire and explosives. The house appears to be owned by a corporation, which is in turn owned by an offshore holding company. The holding company is owned by yet another foreign corporation. Very confusing, very mysterious. As for the perpetrators, at this point in time the police still have no leads. A large black sedan was seen driving away from the scene, but whether or not it was connected to the devastation is anyone’s guess.”

Rasalom suppressed a growl of annoyance. Those incompetents would never find the “perpetrators.” He’d been watching this banal Long Island TV station all morning, hoping for word that progress had been made on tracking them down. A waste of time.

But then again, he had nothing but time while he healed.

He reached for the remote. He would have liked to turn off the TV while the cow was in the kitchen and be alone with his thoughts, but she’d only turn it on again when she returned. At least he could turn down the sound-especially when the talk was of Nuckateague. He reduced it to a barely audible level, and was glad he had when he heard the announcer go on with the story.

“Progress has been made, however, in other aspects of the case, and a surprise was unearthed in identifying the three bodies found in a garage across the street from the fire. The owners of that garage are not involved, as they were out of state at the time of the incident. The youngest of the three victims turns out to be Dawn Pickering, whose name might sound familiar. She was in the news last year when she and her boyfriend disappeared after the death of her mother in Rego Park. Foul play was suspected. Still no sign of her boyfriend, but her connection to the house in Nuckateague is yet another mystery in the evolving story of this grisly, violent tragedy.

“In other news…”

Rasalom quickly changed the channel and leaned back, thinking.

Dawn… what was she doing there? How had she known about the house? She must have tracked the baby there. He doubted she could have done that on her own. She must have had help.

He was beginning to piece together a chain of events that could have led to the ambush when the announcer’s words came back to him with a shock.

The youngest of the three victims turns out to be Dawn Pickering…

Youngest? What of the child? No mention of a dead infant, who certainly would have been the youngest of the three victims.

That meant the baby was alive. And that meant his plan was still viable.

But for how long?

A sudden urgency possessed him. This changed everything. He was certain his window of opportunity had not closed, but it could be shrinking by the moment. What had the cow said about a boat? Tomorrow? He could not wait until tomorrow. He needed to be back today.

He tried to rise from the couch.

“Here now!” she said, bustling into the room with a plate in her hand. “You need to visit the john again?”