Darkness - Book One of the Dark Series of Novels

Chapter Ten

Arnold the lighthouse keeper woke to a quiet, dark room. He stood and walked naked over to his calendar, where for the third time he crossed off October 25th. Each of the past two mornings he'd wakened to find that he had not crossed off the date at all. It did not disturb him in the least that he was forced to repeat the day. He'd heard his wife complain about how bored she had become with his routine, but it gave him the greatest satisfaction to know precisely what he was doing with his day every day – and what more certainty could exist than repeating the same day?

He dressed and descended the stairs, going into the kitchen. He stood in the window, filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove, preparing a mug with his favourite green tea. He looked out the window, to the playground he'd built for his son, letting his eyes drift to the sandbox. It was empty.

Arnold sat at his table eating a piece of bread and drinking his tea while reading parts of a book his wife had been reading. It was a romance novel. When finished his tea, he put on his boots and walked out to the lighthouse. He ascended the stairs, checked that there were no messages on the office phone, and, as the sun had risen, turned the light off for the day. He went back downstairs and walked slowly down the path home looking for the rock that represented Pandora Hill. He found it and continued back to the sandbox, placing it close by then returning to gather the rocks for his rock garden one at a time. When all thirty-six had been gathered, he stopped, surveyed the situation, and started walking back to the dock.

As he came around the corner of his house, Rodney rang the bell at the dock. Arnold waved and went over, helping Rodney unload everything for the day. Today, Rodney had the rye whisky and all three ties. He thanked Rodney, went back inside and made lunch – a turkey sandwich. He had four cookies – reasoning both that you cannot pack on pounds when there is no tomorrow, and that he had no wife to impress with his sturdy physique. Arnold poured himself a glass of whisky and went about assembling his rock garden slowly, with purpose and resolve.

He finished before four p.m., satisfied that it was by far the best of the three he had made. He took a lawn chair and went down to the shore, getting another glass of whisky on his way. He set up the chair approximately where he had found the body the day before. He waited, but he did not have to wait long. At 4:35 pm, he saw a boat in distress on the horizon. It sank as it tried to come ashore, with a lone swimmer struggling not far from where Arnold sat. He put his whisky down and scrambled out to rescue the swimmer, guiding him back to shore. It was the same person he had found the day before, this time, not dead, simply unconscious.

Arnold brought the man inside and laid him on the couch, removing his wet clothes and covering him with blankets while stoking the fire. He stepped outside briefly to turn the light on at the lighthouse and returned to search through the man's items. He found the guns first, putting those in his home safe. There was no wallet, though there were a set of keys. A few wet papers were mixed in the pockets, as well as canteens and a bandolier filled with sixty calibre bullets that the man was wearing across his chest. Searching the inside pocket of the man's tan coat, he found a flask.

He shook it, inspected it, and opened the cap. He thought he heard some bubbling. The liquid smelled like seawater. He took a small sip and spat it out. "Bathtub gin," he said absently. He rinsed the flask, admiring the detail of the etchings, and filled it with some of the whisky his wife had bought for him.

The man stirred on the couch, groaning awake. Arnold went into the living room with the flask in hand. "Good evening, sir. Name's Arnold. Found you floundering in the sea and brought you into my home."

"Edmund," the man said, hardly able to sit up.

Arnold gave him the flask. "Filled this with good Canadian rye. The best stuff on earth, if you ask me, and if you have the money for it. Not much of it left. Poured out that pisswater you were carrying."