The Lamplighters (12 page)

The guards had been so rough with her, Marla felt almost relieved to be finally shoved into Fowler’s office. As the door slammed shut she rubbed her wrists and forearms where they had grabbed her and frogmarched her off the jetty. Her skin was already red and mottled with fingerprint patterns from the guards’ rough hands; they would surely bruise, this was not cool. Then, seeing Fowler’s face she realized just how uncool this whole thing was. His eyes blazed from beneath his graying eyebrows and he looked for all the world like he wanted to murder, cook and eat her. It was a long time before he spoke, and when he did his voice echoed the same carnivorous aspect of his eyes.

“The jetty is out of bounds.”

“I’m sorry I…”

“You don’t speak, Miss Neuborn. You listen.”

Marla’s voice became a croak, then merely breath.

“I don’t know what you think you were doing down there, but let me tell you this, you are lucky my men didn’t open fire. This could have been a messy incident today, very messy indeed. There are many places to run on this island, but the jetty, this compound—in fact anywhere the fuck near my security operatives and I—are out of bounds. Do I make myself clear, Miss Neuborn? Don’t speak, just nod.”

She nodded.
Security operatives and I.
Pompous bastard.

“Protocol dictates that I file a report on you, Miss Neuborn, send it back to the mainland and await further instruction from The Consortium Inc. I am going to do just that, because protocol is very important to me, and now it is of the utmost importance to you too. I will be monitoring your progress from here on in, and if you fuck up again I’ll make damn sure you’re off this island before you can even pack your panties. Do not piss me off again. Do I make myself clear? You can speak this time but keep it very short.”

“Crystal.” She tried not to hiss at him.

“Good. I suggest you get back to your chores, and spend some downtime studying the manual I gave to you on your arrival. Protocol, Miss Neuborn. Learn to love it, learn to live it, or get the hell off my goddamned island.”

My
island? Marla’s head began to spin with rage at the way he was talking to her, and at herself for being so green. Why had she agreed to run down to the jetty? Of course it was off limits. And why did Jessie ask her to do it if she knew Marla would get in so much trouble?
Oh, wait a minute…

“Dismissed.”

She didn’t need to be asked twice. One thing was certain, she’d bloody well strangle Jessie when she saw her. Storming out of Fowler’s office Marla threw a murderous look at Adam, who swallowed hard and absent-mindedly fingered his gun holster. With just one look, Marla had virtually pointed a gun straight back at him.

On the other side of the island, Jessie cursed at the laptop’s hard drive, which was creaking and groaning like the timbers of some old beleaguered ghost ship.

“Come on come on come on, fucking stupid machine.”

She could do without the threat of a motherboard crash; it had been stressful enough getting over here in the first place, she felt sure one or two of the cameras had caught her as she wriggled through the bushes. With her backpack, shades and khakis on she’d felt like Lara Croft—but crouched here now with The Consortium Inc. logo taunting her from behind the progress bar she just felt like a klutz. Then, her breath stopped in her throat as the hard disc’s disconcerting scraping sound picked up speed and the progress bar lurched towards the end zone. Something was happening, hopefully something good.

Jessie punched the air.
Tomb Raider.
She was in.

There was no time to lose, no time at all. Her fingers worked at the greasy track pad, tapped the keys, and began to unlock the floodgates to freedom.

The march back to the house hadn’t cooled Marla’s blood any and neither had her shower. It wasn’t until she was on her hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor that her anger turned to shame and despondency. She always messed up, whatever job she’d had, even here on the island when all she really had to do was be a glorified cleaner for a few months. No, she couldn’t even get that right. She remembered her foster mother hitting her with the hairbrush, hitting her so hard that she couldn’t sit down for a while, yet sit she’d had to, while the crotchety woman angrily tore the spilled paint out of Marla’s tangled hair.
Useless. Clumsy, useless girl
. Nothing had changed. Marla started to cry. Her tears fell onto the sterile white surface of the tiled floor, almost invisible. Inconsequential, just like she was.

She spent the rest of the morning curled up on the uncomfortable wicker sofa in her summerhouse, the discomfort of her seat acting as a kind of self-imposed penance. It was not long before her mind wandered back to thoughts of Jessie again. That stupid girl had ruined everything—sure, Marla shouldn’t have agreed to such an idiotic plan, but Jessie had been on the island longer than her. Did she want Marla to get into trouble? Want her off the island for some reason? Maybe she’d gotten so bored on the island that fucking with Marla was the only form of entertainment left to her. She wondered bleakly what else Jessie had been up to; she’d probably told Fowler all about the clandestine drinking and smoking too, making it all sound like Marla’s idea. She punched the cushion in frustration and got up off the sofa. There was only one thing for it, and Jessie’s place wasn’t such a long walk away. She might even bloody well jog over there, and when she did, she was going to get some answers.

Carried on her wave of defiance, Marla made light work of the walk to Jessie’s place. Her stomach was growling by the time she got to the halfway mark and she realized she’d missed lunch. The acid in her empty belly frothed at the thought of all the food back at the summerhouse. Then, passing the place where she and Adam had seen the mutilated cat, her hunger quickly turned to queasiness. Her belly seemed to wince, writhing in its own juices as she recalled the animal’s ruined skull, fragments of bone jutting through the blood-slicked fur like dead fingers. Gritting her teeth, she pushed on towards Jessie’s summerhouse.

Approaching the little path that ran through the garden, giving access to the main house, Marla stopped for a moment hearing Jessie’s unmistakable laugh. Scowling at the sound, she changed her route and headed round back.
Giggling about me no doubt
, Marla thought bitterly,
and I’d like to know who’s in on the bloody joke
. Passing through the shadows of the trees that towered over the house, Marla peered in at large dark windows realizing Jessie wasn’t inside the main building after all; the place was deserted. Then, a dark shape against the shutters near the patio door caught her eye. Creeping closer to investigate, Marla was horrified and puzzled in equal amounts by what she had stumbled across. A dead bird was pinned out with its back against the wooden shutter, wings splayed wide open. The aspect gave the odd impression that the creature had flown backwards in terror into the wall, killing itself. Flown in terror from what? It was clear someone had gone to some trouble to do this to the poor animal, as long metal nails had been driven through each wingtip to hold it in place. The nails had begun to turn the same angry rust color of the bird’s innards, which were visible through a puncture in its body the size of a small fist. Who could have done this to the poor little thing? And why? She peered at the bird’s blank, expressionless glassy black eyes. Whatever secrets it had witnessed, it wasn’t about to give them up now. Marla felt unease pricking at the fine hairs on the nape of her neck and startled at the sound of another distant shrill giggle. She welcomed the distraction from the horrid find and made a quick about-turn. Marla made her way back through the trees and ended up back on the little winding path to the summerhouse. She crept around the treeline and caught sight of Jessie through the window. Adam was inside with Jessie, tickling her playfully. Marla stood silently watching as the tickling gave way to passionate kissing. She stood, shocked, for a few moments then stepped backwards into the trees. She turned and ran into the anonymity of dark foliage, tears welling up in her eyes.

As Marla ran a cloud drifted across the sun, gray and heavy with the promise of rain. Close by, cold, watchful eyes turned their attention away from Marla, Jessie and Adam and looked skywards. A storm would be coming to the island soon…

Chapter Seventeen

The very air she breathed seemed to cool as Marla moved through it, stomping past the house where she’d been dutifully scrubbing earlier, across the track she’d jogged along in the morning and on towards the sea. She still felt disturbed by the sight of the dead bird, pinned out like that against the wall of the house. Perhaps more so, she also felt deeply resentful about Jessie and Adam’s tryst, and foolish at the same time for feeling that strongly about it. Recalling the quiet times she’d enjoyed with Adam these last few days, drinking coffee outside the summerhouse, she did feel she had good reason to feel betrayed, however. Well, perhaps
betrayed
was too strong a way of putting it but she certainly felt she’d been made a fool of. Rejection she could take, that was one thing, but to be humiliated like this was more than she could bear. Walking on, her foul mood clinging to her like the cold clammy shower curtain from her bed-sit, Marla found herself approaching familiar ground. The path wound its way down the rough terraces of the headland and on towards the beachfront, which lay beyond the white stucco giant and its gardens up ahead—Pietro’s place.

She’d found him in the garden sunbathing half naked beside a large palm tree, the shadow of a huge leaf creating a dark tribal tattoo on his olive skin. He’d invited her inside for a drink, and a few more drinks later (
no smoothies this time, the real stuff
) saw them
both
half naked, rolling around tipsily on the huge bed in the main house. She bit his lip drunkenly as they kissed and dug her fingernails a little too hard into the muscular flesh of his back.
He knows what this is,
Marla thought mischievously as she straddled him and began pulling at his shorts,
he knows this is revenge sex. But he doesn’t care and neither do I.
Her aggression was doing nothing to pacify him and she could feel his arousal through the drunken haze. Marla had not had sex for quite some time and Pietro’s enforced abstinence had gone on for even longer it seemed. She kissed him and bit him again, a little bit harder this time. To her delight, he began to fight back with passion more than equal to hers, as the rest of their clothing fell away. The rest was an alcoholic blur.

A sick feeling in her stomach woke her—that and the violent need to pee. She lurched from the bed, head swimming, still under the influence of all the alcohol she’d knocked back.
Never mix your drinks, idiot
. But Marla had already begun to blame Pietro, wishing upon him the worst hangover Bacchus could visit. The room smelled stale. Afternoon sunlight bled into the room from gaps in the blinds like a sick breath. Glancing back at the bed she saw Pietro lying there face down, one arm dangling over the side of the bed like a broken wing as he snored softly. A used condom lay on the floor near his fingers, giving the impression that a vile worm had shed its skin there. Marla’s face wrinkled in disgust at the sight. She looked back at Pietro coldly—he looked like a corpse lying on a mortuary slab, dust motes swirling around him aimlessly in the queasy yellow light. Fighting her bladder’s desire to open up the floodgates right there on the bedroom floor, Marla quickly gathered her clothes and clutched them to herself tightly, concealing her nakedness. Stealing down the hallway as quietly as possible, she closed the bathroom door behind her and relieved herself. She was about to get dressed when she suddenly smelled Pietro’s scent all over her. With the smell came memories, indecent flashes of their aggressive coupling before she’d passed out from the alcohol. Dreadful suspicions about what he may have done to her while she was unconscious sprang into her mind, but she reminded herself he had been as wasted as she was. Unless he was feigning inebriation. She felt suddenly dirty, sullied by what she’d done in anger, ashamed of making such a scene. Moments later she was scrubbing herself clean in the shower, muttering under her breath that she shouldn’t have come here, that she certainly shouldn’t have slept with him. Her tears mixed with the hot water and trickled away with it down the plughole and into the silence and black of the sewage system.

Pietro awoke at what sounded like a clap of thunder but was in reality the main door to the house slamming shut. He stretched and yawned dryly, wondering where he’d left his cigarettes before he’d gone to bed with Marla. She’d spared him from the boredom of small talk, he’d known why she had come the instant he saw her, but he hoped to God she hadn’t taken his fucking cigarettes with her. Frustration and shame wound a tight knot in his stomach as he remembered losing his erection moments before Marla had passed out on the bed. He recalled flipping her unconscious form over and trying again from behind before he too passed out from the excess of alcohol. He reached over the side of the bed and grabbed the used condom off the floor, checking it to be sure. It was devoid of semen, a sad, pathetic thing shriveling up in its own spermicidal lubricated juices. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d never had this kind of problem before. Not before coming to this godforsaken island, anyhow. He pictured the island now as a great sponge, slurping up all his energies greedily, leaving nothing for him except a list of tedious chores to do and long dull hours staring out at an ocean he was forbidden to swim in. Where the Hell were his damn cigarettes?

“I thought you said this cruise would be relaxing,” Brett said as he peeled his umpteenth potato. Scott just looked at him, blankly.

“It is.”

Brett hissed through his teeth. Cooking, cleaning, hoist the sail, drop the sail—none of it was relaxing.

“It’s so fucking not! I was having a great time at the resort, picking up girls, partying every night. Where’s the bloody party on this tub, eh?”