Turtle Island (5 page)

The storm moved closer, the rain heavy, almost
tropical.

Roads started to flood, torrents gushing down, filling storm
drains taking debris, stones and earth with it.

Lightning flashed illuminating the bedroom. The air was
heavily charged with electricity and sticky.

The voice inside grew louder.

‘It's time, do it now!’.

The relentless splatter of rain against the window enforcing
the voice, hammering home the message. Thunder exploded overhead,
followed swiftly by the electro static crack of white
phosphorescent lightning. He sat down. He was the one with the
power, he was in charge, they couldn't question him. He made sure
that they couldn't question him.

'Now' was the right time.

A klaxon wailed, the distress warning nearly sending him into
apoplexy.

Stephen England sat on the edge of the abyss, his legs
dangling into dark space, suddenly the sound of a wailing siren
added impetus to his escape. He could hear running water below but
could not see how far it was to the bottom. He lifted the hammer
and let it drop in to the blackness, waiting to hear it land. The
clatter of metal against concrete followed by a splash a second or
so latter assured him that the drop was no more than fifteen to
twenty feet. He secured the rope from the banister and let it fall
in to the hole where the trap door was. Stephen guessed that there
was at least forty foot of rope, hopefully, more than enough. It
sounded like the end of the rope hit the water but he couldn't be
sure. With no flashlight, no clothes and time running out until he
returned, Stephen knew he had no option but to grasp the rope using
what little strength he had left and try to climb down into the
chasm. With a deep breath, he launched himself forward and hoped to
have the strength to support his own weight. He swung sideways
bouncing off the wall and held on tightly while waiting for the
rope to steady. He tried to remember the correct way to climb down
a rope, curling the rope under his foot, up his leg and across his
thigh, so that his foot supported most of his weight and not his
weakened arms. Slowly he started to lower himself into the unknown.
After about ten feet he noticed the temperature began to drop, he
looked up, the light above him was now inviting, below was only
darkness and uncertainty. The further down he went the colder it
became, the sound of the water increased. It sounded fast, rushing.
England hoped it wasn't too deep; the prospect of having to swim
was not one he relished in his current state of health. He kept
looking up, expecting to see him at any moment towering over the
entrance above him. To his surprise his foot suddenly felt the
water and he allowed his arms to take most of his body weight. The
water was cold, but fortunately not freezing, hypothermia was
hopefully not going to be one of the conditions to add to his long
list of ailments. He lowered himself to his waist, his feet were
still unable to touch the ground. England’s arms finally gave up
their hold and he sank under the water. Instinctively he took a
huge gulp of air before being submerged. Even though the water was
cool it had a calming effect on Stephen. It supported his body,
encompassing him in a womb like protective environment. If he died
now -he thought- it would not be too bad, there would be none of
the pain or suffering that was the fate of the other men in the
photos. His body bobbed back to the surface and the instinct for
survival quickly dispelled any thoughts of morbidity. England took
a huge gulp of air and started to tread the water. Lights above his
head flickered on and off before finally settling and illuminating
the tunnel. The question now was, which direction to go in?
Forward, to the left, right or backward? Cold air blew against his
face, chilling his skin but giving him the answer. Forward it
was.

Something brushed against his arms it was soft, fleshy.
Stephen England started to move towards the direction of the
breeze. Half-swimming, half treading water. Every now and then he
would stop to check the breeze. The further he went the warmer the
water became, even the breeze started to get warmer.

He opened the door leading to the sub chamber under the house
knowing what he was going to find, there was no point in being
optimistic about the situation. The room was empty. He saw the rope
attached to the trap door and marvelled at Stephen England’s
ingenuity and fight for survival. He stood over the open chamber
and gripping the rope lowered himself into the sewer system below.
His journey down quicker and more assured than England’s. Lights
above flickered on, motion sensors detecting a mass greater than
that of any sewer life than normally habituated the environment. He
could hear splashing further down the tunnel, England was not far
away…Oh this could be fun. He would follow from a discreet distance
before pouncing. Oh yes, this could be fun.

The scream that echoed down the tunnel behind England cut
through to his bones. He had returned. The shrill sound gave his
legs and arms fresh impetus, moving him on at greater speed.
Suddenly there was a flash of light up ahead, followed by another
and the rumble of thunder. The current became stronger, making it
harder for him to progress.

The lightning exposed the walls of the tunnel; Stephen figured
he was in an underground river or storm drain. The entrance -his
exit- was only fifty yards away.

Gillian Dace shifted the Subaru Jeep to fifth gear. Her
husband, James, was sitting next to her asleep, as was her
two-year-old son, Robert. They had been driving all day and it was
her two-hour shift behind the steering wheel. It was their annual
vacation, two weeks with Jimmy's mother – Barbara - on Turtle
Island. Jimmy's mother and father moved there 15 years ago. George
Dace -Jimmy's father- had died eight years ago and they have been
holidaying there ever since. Now with little Robbie, it seemed even
more important to have solid contact with Barbara. During the
sixties it had been a place where artists, writers, painters,
photographers had flocked mainly to experiment with drugs in a
certain amount of peace but a solid community had built up over the
years and now it was more like a small insular outpost full of
travellers who found their own Nirvana and decided to settle. It
was a close-knit community with a real sense of purpose. Gillian
loved it there and so did Jimmy; it was only their jobs that kept
them from relocating and settling there. Gillian turned the wiper
speed up a notch, the blades increasing their speed as they
travelled across the screen vainly trying to keep her with a clear
field of vision. She looked at the illuminated clock, only ten
minutes of her shift left before Jimmy could take over the driving
duties for the last stretch of the journey.

‘Wake up, Jimmy?’

She took her hand from the wheel and shook his arm gently. He
mumbled, moaning. Gillian shook him again. ‘Come on, Jimmy, it's
near your turn.’

Jimmy opened his eyes and blearily looked out at the rain
lashing against the windscreen. They passed a signpost, it was
illuminated by the Subaru's headlights.

Turtle Island 15km.

‘Sure you don't want to carry on driving? We're nearly
there.’

Gillian took her right hand away from Jimmy's arm and rubbed
her neck. ‘I'm bushed, kinda finding it hard to
concentrate.’

‘Okay, I'll just ring Mom, tell her we'll be there in half
hour or so.’ Jimmy lifted the handset from its cradle and dialled
his mother's number.

‘I hope she's still awake?’ Gillian said looking at the clock;
it was nearly two o'clock in the morning.

‘She'll be awake...Yeah, hi mom...yeah, we're nearly
there...just passing Campbelltown...Okay...see you soon.’ Jimmy put
the phone back in its plastic house attached to the dashboard. ‘She
said she hopes we're hungry.’

Gillian groaned, visions of a spread fit for an army flashed
through her mind. The only thing she felt at the moment was tired
and ready for her bed. She slowed the four-wheel drive down and
pulled it to a halt on the verge.

‘I'm not getting out in that.’ Jimmy protested looking at the
rain.

‘Okay, shuffle over.’

The two of them made a simple manoeuvre look complex as they
collided in the middle of the car, collapsing in a heap of
laughter. After a few minutes they were back on the road, with
Jimmy behind the wheel. Gillian opened a can of cola and sipped
from it.

‘Music?’

Jimmy nodded

Gillian passed her husband a can of coke while she opened the
glove compartment and fumbled through a pile of CD’s, until her
hand rested on the one she was searching for. She opened the cover
and popped the CD in the stereo. Iris Dement started to sing,
filling the confines of the vehicle with her lyrical personal
stories of America's heartlands and her life. The songs seemed to
strike a chord of recognition with both Jimmy and
Gillian.

Jimmy took a quick swig from the can.

‘JIMMY!’ Gillian's scream rose above the engine noise and the
CD, waking her confused child and shocking Jimmy. She grabbed his
arm ‘STOP.’

James instinctively slammed on the brakes as the figure of a
naked man, half bent over, holding his knee with his left hand and
his right hand outstretched appeared through the blur of the rain.
The ABS system stopped the wheels from locking but the vehicle
skidded, veering wildly sideways on a blanket of water. Jimmy
fought with the steering wheel to straighten the car. The Subaru
aquaplaned as the tyres tried to form a bond with the tar macadam
surface. The figure did not move, showed no sign of wanting to
move. Gillian covered her eyes, fearing impact. They were almost on
top of the man. Jimmy felt the tyres finally grip the road, he
pressed down harder on the breaks, hoping the hydraulic system held
up under the pressure. The wheels started to squeal a protest as
the car finally shuddered to a halt but not before bouncing hard
off the body of Stephen England, knocking him onto the grass
verge.

‘Oh my God.’

Jimmy stared at the naked figure of Stephen England., His
hands were still gripped, white knuckled to the wheel. ‘Shit…I
never saw him….I’

James leapt out of the car, the rain immediately drenching
him. Gillian turned around to comfort her son and found that the
contact with him comforted her far more. She unbuckled the
restraints and lifted the child from his seat. Gillian watched
through the rain soaked windscreen as James took of his jacket and
placed it over the man's body.

Gillian started singing to Robert to quieten him. ‘Hush little
baby don't you cry, mama's gonna sing you a lullaby.’ In the
background Iris Dement was singing about the death of her
father.

Jimmy shouted through the driving rain. ‘I think he’s
dead.’

He watched from the sanctuary of the darkened countryside.
England was lying motionless in the road. Some poor sap was running
around like a headless chicken panicking. He sat on the damp earth
watching, willing the driver to get back in his car and leave. He
could not help but laugh at the irony of the situation. Someone up
there must really have it in for England. The driver returned to
his car and used the cell phone. He waited until the ambulance
arrived before getting up, turning and heading back towards the
house.

The ringing sound was distant and annoying. The noise grew
nearer and louder, until it registered in Agent Georgina O’Neil
mind and her eyes snapped open.

Darkness.

The ringing again.

She scrabbled around the bedside table until her hand fell
upon the phone.

‘Yeah?’

Her eyes focused on the green illuminated LCD display. 4-35am.
Somewhere down the other end of the line Leroy LaPortiere was
imparting news that had just been relayed to him. His own mind was
just beginning to assemble the facts through the fog of sleep. She
placed the phone down and was tempted to crash back into the world
of dreams and sanctity of darkness. Night was still pushing against
the curtains.

Georgina sat on the edge of the bed watching the local TV
station's news bulletin, while waiting for the kettle to boil. Her
motel room was small and basic but at least provided the luxury of
an electric kettle, two cups (one chipped.) and one saucer, some
small packets of instant coffee, sugar and milk powder plus a
portable television, which she had turned on, along with the
kettle. Part of her morning ritual was to drink at least two cups
of coffee before showering, because it was still the middle of the
night Georgina saw no point in changing her routine. As she poured
the boiling water onto the grouts that were meant to be instant
coffee, her attention was drawn to an article on the TV. She saw
Gillian Dace being interviewed.

‘Well, we had been on the road all day driving to Turtle
Island to see Jimmy's mother and all of a sudden I saw what turned
out to be a naked man standing in the middle of the road, right
about here.’

Gillian moved to a spot to indicate the exact position. ‘He
was kneeling in the pouring rain. Looked to Jimmy and me, like he
had been beaten badly. He had no teeth, his mouth was a mess...I’m
sure we didn’t do that to him.’