Authors: Kendall Talbot
Now here she stood, with him and Helen. Yet the act of actually opening the door, the vault to a dead man's life, weighed heavily upon all of them. Rosalina noticed Helen's bony knuckles as she clutched to her arm and felt the old woman's apprehension as if it were her own.
The key turned with surprising ease, considering it hadn't been used in nearly twenty years. The roller door, however, was another story. Archer's bulging muscles strained to capacity to lift the rusted roller open. When Rosalina reached for the door to help, its coldness struck her as a warning. But Rosalina shoved the thought aside, and with bent knees, she strained to lift it too. It was an eternity before whatever trapped it in place finally released, and with every inch it raised the metal screamed in protest, matching the silent screams in Rosalina's mind.
Archer gave it one final shove and the door whipped up to the top. Sunlight filtered into the darkened space, creating an equal amount of light and dark shadows. It was the musty smell, that of a long vacated tomb, that had her hesitating to step into the room. But she forced herself to break down exactly what it was. The shed was nothing more than a rusty old shed that never saw the light of day, or got refreshed by the wind off the bluff it was situated on.
Yet even with the rational thoughts forced through her brain, she still stalled at the doorway. They all did. It was as if each of them was waiting for the other to move. Rosalina hoped either Archer or Helen would enter first. The things contained in these walls once belonged to Archer's father and she wondered if Helen could even recall what she'd stored here. It's possible that the darkness that consumed her mind now, may have already affected her then.
It wasn't until Archer made the first step that Rosalina realised she'd been holding her breath. She released it as a slow and steady stream, forcing herself to calm down. A quick glance at Helen was enough to know Archer's mother was also struggling to comprehend this moment. Her pale blue eyes stared blankly at the shed's contents. Rosalina wondered if her mind had slipped back to the time when she had packed them up. A time when the life she'd known fractured into a million pieces, destined to never fall back into place. Rosalina reached for Helen's hand and guided her into the dimness.
The shed was crammed full, loaded with dozens and dozens of randomly sized cardboard boxes. Each box was unique in either its size or the words branded across the exterior. Only one box stood out from the others. Not because it looked unique in any way, but because of its position in the room. It was all alone, several feet from the rest, as if it had been shoved under the door as an afterthought.
Archer walked over, crouched down and reached for the lone box. He placed his hand on the lid and paused. Rosalina waited, she had no intention of pushing him through this. It was hard enough as it was.
Finally he rolled his shoulders and leant over to peel off the strip of yellowed tape that sealed the box. The sound, like fingernails scratching down a blackboard, rained shivers down Rosalina's back. The released tape curled into a perfect spiral pattern onto the concrete floor. Archer folded back the flaps of the box and froze. Neither Rosalina nor Helen moved. Once again Rosalina's breath trapped in her throat. Archer sat rigid, staring unblinking for a long excruciating pause. At last he reached into the box.
Slowly, as if mesmerised, Archer lifted something from the box. Rosalina's stomach lurched at the realisation of what it was. Helen gasped, covered her eyes with the palms of her hands and turned her back. Rosalina embraced her and pulled her to her chest. But she didn't take her eyes from Archer. He was frozen. The item in his hands was once a life-saving device. But the shredded buoyancy vest, almost ruined beyond recognition, was now a shocking reminder of how Archer's father died. Rosalina tried to shrug off the images of Archer as a young boy watching his father being attacked by a shark, but it was impossible. Razor sharp teeth and swirling blood bombarded her mind. It was only when Helen moved that she returned to the present. Archer had never forgiven himself for what happened that day, now after seeing this, she wondered if he ever would.
Archer's shoulders sagged as if the adrenalin that had been keeping them rigid dissipated. He dropped the shredded fabric into the box, folded the flaps back over and kicked the box aside. The speed with which it flew across the room highlighted both the force of his kick and how lightweight the box must be.
Archer turned to her and a twisted smile inched across his face. Rosalina was grateful that he refrained from speaking, as she wouldn't be able to utter a single word either.
Nox made a conscious effort to slow his racing heartbeat by doing another, more methodical scope of his surroundings in search of signs of life. To his right he saw a path. As he walked towards it, it became more like a goat track and with his eyes he followed it through the scrappy weeds and brown grass until it disappeared. Down below, far in the distance, he saw a sandy beach.
As he walked along the track he scanned the horizon, but with each step, hope sunk deeper when he didn't sight a single boat despite the enormous expanse of ocean before him. He arrived at a fork in the path. One side continued on down towards the beach, but as he scanned along the other side he saw a flash of white. A couple more steps and he identified it as the top of a building. His heart raced with both excitement and exhaustion as he climbed up the steep cliff towards it.
The building became more visible with each step and he quickly established what it was. A lighthouse. As the slope levelled out Nox increased his pace, alternating his glances from the rugged path to the building in the distance. But it wasn't long before his hopes of finding civilisation, let alone help, were crushed. The building was crumbling; in fact, a good chunk of the tower was missing, as if it had imploded in on itself. Nox continued towards it, though no longer with the sense of drive that had empowered his steps just moments ago.
He could now see the entire tower. Even at this distance of a hundred metres or so, the peeling white paint, rust stains and decaying cement dominated the structure. The base of the tower was a small square building. It too appeared close to collapsing. The lighthouse looked long ago deserted but he couldn't stop walking towards it. At the very least, the top of the tower would offer the highest view around, and hopefully help him find a way from this desolation.
Nox reached the building and noted all the windows and doors were gone. Gaping square holes marked their existence. He assumed this was where the twins found the wood they recycled into their shabby furniture. Nox stepped over the threshold and into a small empty room. The dominating feature was a spiral staircase with stairs that fanned out from the central core like a splayed deck of cards.
The building was dying. Piece by piece it was crumbling to the ground. The entire far wall looked to be held together by an imposing vine that had long ago died. What was left of it snaked its way along the white blocks like dark veins.
Nox ventured towards the stairs and looked up the tower. It was only because a large chunk of the tower had collapsed that he could see the sky. To figure out where he was, he had to climb to the top. It didn't look safe, but it didn't even enter his mind that he should stop here.
Nox placed his cloth-covered foot on the first step and tested it with his weight. It seemed solid. With a clenched jaw and the tension in his stomach playing havoc with his wounds, he climbed the stairs with the speed of an elderly arthritic woman. Recognising that the central concrete core was the only thing holding the staircase together, he hugged it as he made his way up. Old paint and dry moss quickly caked his hands in white dust and dirty green.
The place smelt of sea salt and urine. The stench reminded him of the toilets at the orphanage that he'd been forced to clean hundreds of times as a child. The punishment was meant to break him. During his childhood he'd suffered at the hands of cruel tormentors who'd found enjoyment in his misery. During his adolescence he'd suffered repeated punishment meted out from his elders because he wouldn't yield to their narrow-minded ways. In his adulthood he'd suffered from being ostracised and ridiculed because of his body odour disease. Nox knew what it was like to suffer. But he also knew what it was like to be a survivor. What he was suffering now was a minor setback. It would take more than this to break him.
He passed through the ceiling of the small room and entered the tower. As he climbed higher he caught glimpses of the dark blue ocean out the small square holes that dotted the tower. Round and around he went, higher and higher. Nox, crawling on his hands and knees now, was dizzy with exhaustion but he kept on regardless, driven by hope. Hope that the view from the top of the tower would show him some form of civilisation. Hope that he'd be rescued from the nightmare he'd somehow floated into.
At last the top was within view. A large section of the tower was missing, as if it had been slammed with a colossal wrecking ball. It felt like he'd been crawling for hours and when he reached the highest step and saw the sun melting into the horizon, he wondered if he had been. He sat with his back against the central core and stared open-mouthed at the vastness beyond him.
There was nothing but blue ocean and sky. No buildings, no people, no boats. No rescue. Nothing. Nox tugged his knees to his chest as tears of frustration trickled down his cheeks, just like they did when he was a child.
Archer stretched his back before he bent over to pick up the second last box. Thankfully it wasn't as heavy as some of the other cartons had been. Jimmy reached for the last one and, by the smile on his face, Archer guessed Jimmy's box was just as light. Together they carried them to the waiting truck. He heard the screech of the shed's roller door and knew Rosalina would push the padlock into place and lock it again. Not that she needed to, Archer had no intention of returning to the shed ever again.
As Archer walked past the whitewashed walls of Zoodochos Pigi Nunnery, he caught movement in a window out the corner of his eye. Instinct told him it would be Mother Maria. The frail old nun was an innocent bystander in this dreadful mess and he didn't blame her or any of the other nuns for what happened over two decades ago. But he knew they somehow felt responsible. He decided to go back and say his goodbyes once he'd loaded these last two boxes.
âThat it then.' Jimmy slammed the door of the rental truck shut.
âThank God.' It'd been a long day carting all the boxes from the shed to the truck and they weren't anywhere near finished yet. Every one of these boxes now needed to be loaded onto
Evangeline
. That'll probably be just as time consuming, especially considering where she was moored. Being such a large superyacht did have its disadvantages. Archer wondered how many miles his little motorboat would have to travel covering the waters between the jetty and
Evangeline
to get all these boxes on board. He shoved the thought aside and reflected on how good the workout would be. He couldn't remember his last decent training session. So there was every chance his muscles would be screaming in protest come tomorrow.
Rosalina arrived at his side and when he turned to her, he wondered how she could look so refreshed after the day they'd had. He reached for her hand, entwining her delicate fingers within his. âI'm going to say goodbye to Mother Maria. Want to come?' He didn't really need to ask, Rosalina would never leave without saying goodbye.
âOf course.' Her smile lit up her pale blue eyes. It wasn't until his recent visit to Rosalina's hometown in Italy that he'd realised just how unique her eyes were. Every other full-blooded Italian he'd met was of the dark iris kind. Hers were special, just like everything else about her. She did, however, possess the heavy dark lashes, typical of Italians, which she fluttered at him now.
Archer turned to Jimmy. âBack in ten minutes.' As he walked off he banged on the side of the truck with his palm. It resonated with a surprisingly empty sound, considering it was crammed full.
âI'll wait right here then.' Jimmy laughed a hoarse throaty laugh that highlighted his years of cigarette abuse. Archer appreciated him finally giving up the nicotine. Truth be told, he would never have let him captain his yacht if he still did the filthy habit. By the time he'd motored from Australia to the Greek Islands,
Evangeline
would've smelt like an ashtray. The rum, however, was still the love of Jimmy's life. Archer didn't have a problem with the drinking, he'd seen Jimmy guzzle enough grog to take down an entire football team, and the tough old bugger could still beat him at a hand of canasta.
Archer tugged on Rosalina's hand, directing her back along the path towards the nunnery. They passed beneath an ancient stone arch and stepped onto the gravel walkway. The low afternoon sun filtered through the vine-riddled trellis, creating an odd stepping stone pattern on the ground. The flowers lining the path no longer had the sickly sweet smell that had turned his stomach as a kid. As they strolled along in silence, his brain shot back to the first time they'd walked along here together. What happened that day changed their lives forever.
For a thirty-one-year-old, he'd seen his share of punishing years. Surely life can only get better from here. He quickly shoved the thought aside, fearful that he may jinx himself. Not that he believed in superstition. Unlike Rosalina. Walking under a ladder, broken mirrors, black cats, think of any superstition and Rosalina most likely believed in it. For such a down to earth woman it was hard to understand how she could trust in such farcical ideas.
Mother Maria would most likely be in the kitchen fussing about preparing a pot of tea. The nuns didn't get many guests up here at Zoodochos Pigi, but those who did make the journey were treated like royalty.