The Lighthouse

She continued to make her way blindly toward the faint outline of the doors, her hands picking up prickly little splinters from the rough studding. Somewhere, she realized then, she had lost Mandy’s headband. Why she should even think of that she didn’t know. Abruptly, the studding ended and she touched something that felt like pegboard. She paused, listening to Cassie’s movements and trying to gauge the distance to the double doors. Not more than ten feet.

It sounded as if Cassie had reached the rear of the car. Her breathing was more ragged now, almost asthmatic. Alix suspected she wouldn’t be able to hear small sounds; she shifted her weight, moved forward, testing. Cassie remained where she was.

Alix felt the wall again. It was definitely pegboard, the kind of material people use to hang things on. Tools, garden tools. Maybe “You can’t hide from me, Alix. You can’t! You’ll just make me kill you and I don’t want to do that.”

The hell you don’t, Alix thought.

She inched along, her fingers touching the tines of a bamboo rake. No weapon, that.

“I didn’t want to kill Adam, either. He made me. They all made me. I never wanted to kill anyone.” The words trembled with pathos and self-pity.

Go ahead, Alix thought, keep on maundering. Keep on listening to the sound of your own voice so you won’t hear what I’m doing.

She kept moving, groping along the pegboard. A broom hung there, and a mop. A row of smaller toots-pliers, screwdrivers. She took the largest of the screwdrivers, tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans. Hardly adequate, but at least it was something sharp.

Behind her Cassie had begun to whine. “I didn’t want any of this to happen! I just wanted to be left alone!”

Alix’s fingers touched something more sharply pointed than the screwdriver-hedge clippers, heavy iron with solid wood handles. She felt for the hook, timing her movements to Cassie’s now-loud rantings. Took the clippers, slid them upward and out The metal hook slipped from the pegboard, fell to the concrete floor with a ringing metallic noise. Alix caught her breath. Lowered the clippers, brought them up in front of her.

Cassie had stopped speaking and was coming her way quickly. But she misjudged the distance and crashed into the pegboard a couple of feet away. Tools rattled, something else clattered to the floor. Cassie gave a dismayed cry; Alix felt the woman’s arms flail, lashing out at the air around her.

Gripping the hedge clippers by their handles, she reeled backward, her feet slipping on an oil slick. In the next instant she slammed into the double doors. Over by the wall, Cassie was grunting and thrashing about. Alix turned, threw her weight against the doors, felt them buckle outward but not come open. She heard someone else grunting and realized it was herself.

She lunged at the doors again, and again they bowed but held. Through the foot-wide crack that appeared between them, she could see moving wisps of fog-a glimpse of freedom.

Now Cassie was on her feet. Coming toward her. She tried to dodge, but the woman collided with her; Alix felt the gun in her hand, smashed at her wrist, but didn’t have enough leverage to dislodge the weapon. Cassie had no leverage, either, when she tried to use the pistol as a club. Instead, she managed to loop an arm around Alix’s neck, began squeezing.

Alix’s breath came shorter; the pressure caused blackness to swirl behind her eyes. She dropped the clippers, clawed at Cassie’s arm. The gallery owner’s grip was steel-hard. Alix’s legs broke at the knees and she sagged against Cassie, and they fell together against the doors.

Weakened by the previous battering, whatever had held the doors together now broke with a snapping sound and they flew apart. Cassie’s arm pulled free of Alix’s neck as they both toppled onto the gravel outside. Alix rolled away, pawing at her throat, gasping. When she came up she saw Cassie trying to scramble to her knees; the woman seemed dazed, but the gun was still clutched in her hand.

The raw edge of panic cut at Alix again. She tried to get to her feet-and saw the hedge clippers lying in the doorway. Without thinking, she crawled to them on hands and knees, snatched them up. At the same time she gained her feet and turned, Cassie pushed onto her knees, lifted the pistol, and took wobbly aim at Alix’s body.

Alix lunged forward with the clippers upraised. Brought them slashing down in a desperate chop at Cassie’s head just as the gallery owner pulled the trigger.

Jan

He didn’t remember running the two miles from the abandoned van to the junction, or turning off the cape road onto the county road. But the county road was where he was now, heading toward the village, his legs cramped, his breath coming in little wheezing pants, a band of pain across the bridge of his nose. Another blackout…