White Tower (Dark Isle Series Book 2) by David Longhorn

Author:David Longhorn [Longhorn, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ScareStreet.com
Published: 2016-12-26T08:00:00+00:00

***

“I guess I'd better turn in,” said Mark. “I really need to get some sleep.”

“A great healer,” agreed Bill. “Sure you won't join me in a nightcap? Genuine Scotch single malt, none of your Bourbon nonsense.”

The doctor held up a half-full glass of whiskey. Mark politely declined.

“I don't sleep better and booze makes it harder to get out of bed the next morning.”

“Fair enough,” said Bill. “I'll have to be getting home, too. Pleasant dreams!”

Mark spotted Lucy in the bar and waited to talk to her during a lull.

“Hey,” she said. “Off to the Land of Nod?”

“Yeah,” he replied, “and I wondered how I was going to get my stuff up the lighthouse tomorrow?”

“Oh, I'll ask Vic to bring it round in his car,” she said. “If you want to check in with me, I'll be at the abbey first thing, though. With Victor out of action I've got a lot to do.”

He grimaced in sympathy.

“Well, if I can help out, let me know.”

“Thanks,” she said, “but I suspect I'll get in trouble if I let you mind the store.”

“You would,” he admitted, “I worked retail as a summer job, once. Nightmare. It makes teaching seem easy.”

“Right, maybe you'd better stay in the background,” she agreed.

Mark had the feeling that they were both trying to make light of a bad situation. Discussing everyday problems was a classic displacement activity.

It's how people have always coped with crises, he thought. Keeping busy, trying not to think about the Big Bad Thing out there.

“Well, goodnight,” he said, as a group of last-minute drinkers flocked to the bar.

“Nighty-night,” replied Lucy. “Mind the bugs don't bite!”

“Hey, no bugs in our beds!” said Vic in mock outrage, prompting a many-sided discussion of his B&B facilities.

Mark left them bickering playfully and climbed the narrow stairway to his room. He undressed, showered, put on a bathrobe, and decided to check his email. There was another message from Sue, which he was reluctant to open. It was a complication he could do without, and he felt angry and ashamed at the thought. He left the browser open and went to brush his teeth.

The steam from the shower was still fogging up the bathroom mirror. He stood gazing at his blurred reflection. It looked wrong, misshapen. He put down the toothbrush and leaned forward, rubbing away the condensation, then started back. The face he revealed was not his own, or not entirely. It was a thinner, paler Mark that gazed back at him, eyes gleaming darkly in hollow sockets. Thin lips were pulled away from uneven yellow teeth in a humorless grin.

Almost a skull.

“You're still dead, though, aren't you?” he said, trying to stop his voice quavering. “Dead for six hundred years or more. No matter how many people your little pet kills, you're a corpse. Why don't you just lie down, Tommy? The spooky stuff is getting old.”

Mark knew he was shouting defiance to try to bolster his courage, but at least he was doing something. He went back into the bedroom and opened the message from Sue.

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