25

The two brothers had made a name for themselves around Tranquility from the time they were old enough to communicate a plan from one to the other and carry it out. They didn’t really care who they hurt, but they weren’t bloodthirsty or particularly vicious. They just did what they wanted to do, when and where they wanted to do it. The who they did it to part was indiscriminate, but it had certainly gotten them in hot water. 

Right now, Joe and Jimmy Moma were sitting in a juvenile detention center on the mainland. They weren’t allowed to room together, for fear that they would wreak havoc on the other youth in the center, concocting plans of wholesale mischief. It wouldn’t have taken much effort on their part; while on the island, they had graffitied the lighthouse, let loose all of the boats moored to the dock, jerry rigged the old chapel bell to play every hour on the hour through the night, greased the path leading up to the mansion, removed all of the lightbulbs in the town lampposts, and loosened all of the screws holding the bar chairs together at the Ocean’s Spray Grille. That didn’t even include the time they’d been visiting their aunt on the mainland and sent correspondence through the mail to the Bed & Breakfast, announcing a need for reservations for every room in the place, as a prank.

Needless to say, the people of Tranquility had breathed a sigh of relief when the Moma brothers had been mandated to spend three months in the center, out of their hair and off of the island. They were to be let loose on the world again in just three short days, thanks to good behavior. It’s hard to cause any kind of trouble when your every move is under lock and key, with no hope of restoration or breaking bad. 

Joe was sitting at the cafeteria table under the watchful eye of an unnamed prison guard, slowly slurping down his gruel and setting the vegetables aside. He hadn’t decided just yet what he’d do with the veggies, but he figured with just a few days left, he would be able to get away with a food fight if it didn’t turn too violent and he didn’t hit the wrong administrator who was traipsing their way through the cafeteria.

The facility coordinator buzzed into the closed cafeteria, sliding his card up and down the reader outside. In truth, you couldn’t get much of anywhere in the center without a key card, which was a fact that the Momas had discovered all too well when they attempted to break out just a few days into their sentence. 

The coordinator was walking quickly toward Joe’s table. He couldn’t quite remember what the guy’s name was, but something had clearly made the short skinny man even more anxious than normal. He was dabbing at his face, and also patting at the excuse of a mustache he wore, even though most of the juveniles had more facial hair than he did. The man wore a vest over his long sleeve dress shirt. He was the only person who was allowed to wear whatever he wanted in the center. Everyone else, from first time offender to prison guard, had to wear the kind of uniform as outlined by the prison manual, which of course, the coordinator had edited to suit his fancy.

Now, standing mere feet away from Joe, the coordinator was sweating even more profusely, the armpits of his dress shirt stained a darker color. Worse, Joe could smell the man, and he was around testosterone-fueled young people in the wings of the living quarters, in class, and in the cafeteria. Smelling the coordinator showed how little presence the guy actually had. 

“Mr. Moma,” started the faculty coordinator. 

“Is my dad here?” asked Joe, looking up with a smirk on his face. “Oh, of course not! He’s dead already, isn’t he?”

The coordinator’s stammer only deepened as the red spot around his neck deepened. “Mr. Moma, that just won’t do!” he cried out. “We have to be respectful here to be a meaningful part of the society out there.”

Joe stopped listening as the coordinator launched into his well-used speech about respect and community. He had already counted the number of ceiling tiles in the cafeteria (eighty) and throwing the veggies that he had saved now seemed, at best, inopportune. Now the coordinator’s tone was changing, and Joe heard him say something but he couldn’t believe he’d heard directly. 

“That’s right, Mr. Moma,” said the coordinator, recognizing that he was gaining the upper hand. “You are being released early tomorrow because you have to make it back to your home on Tranquility before the storm hits and you can’t get back to the island. See, we can release you early but you can’t stay here any longer than your sentence. Tax dollars and all of that, I guess. I’m sure you understand?”

The older half of the Moma brothers had started to consider what they could accomplish in the next twenty-four hours. But he had to get reunited with his brother to make those pranks a reality. “Mr. Anderson,” Joe said, reading the man’s nametag in an attempt to schmooze. “Do you think my brother and I could spend our last night here together? I’m sure we are able to keep ourselves out of trouble for the next twelve hours…”

26

Carol served steaming cups of coffee and English toffee cookies to each of the guests, as they were sitting or standing around the parlor. Leo had to admit that the cookies were every bit as delicious as the meal had been, but he watched as Gillian wolfed hers down and set aside her coffee cup. Apparently someone liked her sweets more than her green vegetables! With her notebook and pencil out now, she launched into a cross-examination of sorts, aimed at the others from the island. No one was safe from Gillian’s line of questioning and as the night grew on, her questions became more invasive. 

Carol was the closest, and the least conversational. She was initially resistant to answering questions, but finally admitted that she had once worked in the galley of O’Rourke’s cruise ship and been offered a chance to work on the island. She glanced periodically at O’Rourke, seeking his approval without receiving it, but for the most part, she stayed quiet and on the fringes of conversation.

Next up was the island doctor, but Dr. Steinman used a mouthful of English toffee to fend off her questions. Miss Isabelle gamely answered Gillian about growing up on the island, the number of whales she had seen over the last fifty years, and more. Turning to Johnny, Gillian asked him what he thought of the island and the impending migration. He bashfully admitted to a love of dance and theater that had driven him to Hudson where he’d become friends with David. He was here for a first visit and knew even less about the migration than she did. She tried to pry Leo’s mouth open with questions about his first-time impressions of the island but he gave only monosyllabic answers. Captain Burchard proved to be even less revealing, answering in monosyllabic tidbits that clearly frustrated the reporter. Clearly not getting the kind of answers that she was looking for, Gillian turned toward O’Rourke. 

“So, Mayor O’Rourke, tell me about yourself,” she began, flipping to a new page, and tucking a loose curl behind her ear. 

O’Rourke turned red in the face, flushing the whole way from his cheeks to his bald spot. He turned to Miss Isabelle, who was giggling into the back of her hand. He responded, each word its own thought as he now glared at Gillian who feigned ignorance to his anger. “I’m. Not. The. Mayor,” he growled. After a deep breath, he added, “I’ve just been here the longest, I guess, so some people have tagged me with the moniker.”

“Red pays for the things that the town needs that no one else will work for,” Miss Isabelle interjected. “He covers costs so that the rest of us can enjoy the island ways. The island wouldn’t be the same without him-”

“That’s enough,” Red said, curtly, clearly embarrassed by the tone this had taken, the lines on his face providing a roadmap of emotion as he frowned over his cup of coffee.

“Red, tell her about the plan for the library,” Isabelle responded, ignoring the hard look she was receiving from the man. 

O’Rourke sighed, and said, “We’re going to renovate the library. Maybe provide a space for young people to congregate to keep them out of trouble.” He spat out the information and went back to staring into the fire, drinking his coffee. 

Looking up from his own cup, Dr. Steinman asked, “When’s that supposed to happen? That place hasn’t been used in years.” 

The group turned to O’Rourke, but it was Carol who answered. “Mr. O’Rourke has a meeting with a couple from the mainland who are going to help see about turning it into a youth center. They’re here, surveying the island, to see if they think it’s viable. It’s really a great thing Mr. O’Rourke is trying to do.”

The man in the big armchair refused to look up or acknowledge what had been said about him, and Gillian decided that she should try a different track of questions. She looked up over her notebook. “Uh, why don’t you tell me about how you got here?”

“It’s a short story,” murmured O’Rourke. “Grew up here, moved away to have a life and find a job, and then finally returned and I guess I’m stuck here now.” His bushy eyebrows practically connected at the last sentiment, so deep was his frustration and disdain. For someone who had the position of respect on the island, his tone didn’t imply that he was happiest about it. He certainly seemed like he would rather be left alone, or even ignored.

Gillian looked a bit flummoxed by the response, having expected the richest man on the island to be there happily, by choice. “What about you, David?” she asked. 

David had been exchanging whispers with Johnny, and he appeared startled by the sudden attention. “Uh, I grew up here, went away for school, and I have one year left to finish my art degree,” he said. 

“What are you going to do when you graduate?” Gillian asked, probing. Johnny elbowed David, and David looked down. Gillian looked from David to O’Rourke, wondering what was going on behind the scenes. No one would make eye contact with her. 

“I’ll probably try and get on with a gallery,” he said. “But I’m still working on it.”

Gillian wasn’t done. “Well, what will that mean to your relationships here, and to the island?” 

David was still examining his coffee cup like it held the answers to the world’s unsolved mysteries. The room had suddenly gone incredibly still, and the only sound was the deep breathing of the sleeping dogs at O’Rourke’s feet. Gillian looked over at David’s uncle, and Red accidentally made eye contact, and turned red in the face all over again. 

“This is my nephew,” growled Red. “Not that you can tell it by looking at him, or by listening to his drivel about art school and no purpose. And then he’s thrown in his lot with this one -”

O’Rourke’s glare was fixed on Johnny, who had also turned bright red. Carol gasped, and Miss Isabelle jerked out of her chair. “There’ll be none of that, Red O’Rourke,” she snapped. “Give people respect for their own lives and learn to know who they really are.”

David and Johnny were already on their feet, as David’s lip trembled with a mix of embarrassment and anger. His look showed the disappointment he felt in his uncle’s condemnation. Together, the two men hurried out of the room. Leo glanced after them, but Gillian cleared her throat, set down her cup and saucer, and spoke. “Let me go check on them,” she said. “This is my fault anyway.”

Having risen out of her seat, Carol poked the burning logs in the fireplace, sending smoke and shards of embers up the chimney. When it was burning to her satisfaction, she left the fire and started cleaning up the cups and saucers, careful to keep her eyes from making contact with O’Rourke’s. Miss Isabelle said she would help, and Leo was left with Dr. Steinman and Red O’Rourke. 

“So what do you think of the island?” asked Steinman, pushing forward as if family drama had not just exploded like an inferno in front of them. He popped another cookie into his mouth, and settled in with a bemused smile to hear Leo’s answer. In the glow of the fire, Steinman’s comb over couldn’t keep his forehead from gleaming as bright as the reflection from his glasses.

“It’s quite beautiful,” Leo gulped, spitting out a run of the mill answer. “The people are quite friendly, and it’s a bit different than the hustle and bustle of the mainland.”

“Yes, that’s quite true,” Steinman nodded. “I’m not sure there’s anywhere else you can go and still be free of the distractions. But what do you think of that kind of lifestyle change?”

Leo agreed. “I can see why it would be so attractive. And once you’ve made it your lifestyle, why would you want anything else?”

Steinman replied, “There’s certainly a pace to the island that’s different, and allows our little children and elders to move about freely.”

A grunt from the other side of the room drew Leo and Steinman’s attention. The redheaded giant was grinding his teeth, and the dogs stirred as they sensed his agitation. O’Rourke glowered. “There’s nothing free about all of this! Hard work and tons of money went into making it what it is. And what is there to show for a life’s work? A man could only count on working hard for whatever he gets and then finding himself six feet under when it’s all said and done.”

Steinman raised an inquiring eyebrow in Leo’s direction. On the spot, Leo cleared his throat unwillingly, and began stammering. “I’m not sure that’s exactly true.”

Steinman was clearly surprised Leo would argue with O’Rourke, but he nodded, smirking, encouraging the younger man to wade into deeper waters.  “You know there’s grace, companionship, community…” continued Leo, to the doctor’s delight. 

“Oh, please,” O’Rourke was on the prowl now. “You think anyone really gives someone else a hand up? Does anyone actually care what happens to someone else? We’re stuck fending for ourselves and dealing with the consequences. Everything else is social expectation and falsehood.”

Leo raised a placating hand. “You have to have seen moments in your life where someone else did something for you, or where someone else showed kindness in a way that benefited you with nothing gained by them in return. Surely, someone has shown you mercy!”

“Mercy!” O’Rourke had slipped from disgruntled to incensed. “No one has ever shown me mercy. No one has given me a hand up or shown me grace. You’re stuck living with the consequences of your decisions, and hoping you slide out of this life to the other side without too much damage. You’d be better off trying to tell me that we’ll find life on another planet, than that people can really count on someone to help them or that they change the way they’ve become.” 

Steinman watched, quizzically, over his eyeglasses as Leo gathered himself and went on. “Of course there’s grace. Of course people can change. That’s one of the tenets of the church, that a person can actually be better than they were before.”

O’Rourke pulled himself to his feet, steadying his hands on the arms of his chair. For a moment, Leo was afraid that the big man was headed out of his chair to physically confront him. “You’ll understand when you get older, that there’s no help coming, that change isn’t possible. Things just are the way they are. We suffer alone.” With that he picked up his cup and headed down the hall toward the kitchen. 

Steinman looked at Leo, grinning wanly and shook his head. Leo heard O’Rourke’s cup and saucer crash into the kitchen sink, and wondered if anything was left intact. With a deep sigh, the doctor groaned his way out of the easy chair and limped out into the hallway, leaving Leo to stare into the kindled fire to consider the impact of his words. 

27

After leaving the parlor, Gillian had followed along behind David and Johnny, but she hadn’t actually pursued them. Neither one of them knew that she had left the parlor when they did, and she hung back to see if she could hear what they had to say about O’Rourke’s comments. She watched as David threw his arm around his friend, and they exchanged some words that she couldn’t hear. The two went up the grand staircase, and disappeared around the corner while Gillian lagged behind. 

Gillian froze for a moment, torn by indecision. Then, rather than continue to follow them or return to the parlor, Gillian began to inspect the different rooms on the ground floor. Off of the open entryway, in the direction David had emerged from when she arrived, Gillian found another hallway that ran parallel to the main one. Instead of opening on each side, the rooms off of the hallway all faced the cliff instead of the rest of the island. 

Cautiously leaning into the first door, Gillian pushed and turned the knob to no avail. Frustrated, she walked farther down the hallway, away from the entryway. The next doorway stood open, the thick wooden door ajar. Gillian glanced back down the hallway, and listened momentarily for any signs that others were headed in her direction. Sensing nothing, Gillian pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped in. 

As her eyes played over the room, Gillian’s ears picked up the faint sounds of the wind and ocean beyond the closed window. This room must be nearly on the edge of the cliff, she thought, pulling back a curtain to confirm her suspicions. By the light of the moon, Gillian found that the room was almost entirely stacks of frames, propped up against couches and chairs that had clearly not been used in quite some time. She shook a cobweb off of her hand where it stuck, and let go of the curtain. Slipping quickly from one frame to the next, the reporter pulled back the tarps to let the hallway light shine on the pictures

The stacks of frames held various paintings and even a few enlarged photographs of the O’Rourke family. Gillian could pick out Red in most of them, as he had clearly been the one to inherit his size from his father’s side of the family.  A few of the pictures included Red’s parents and grandparents, and most included a woman approximately Red’s age who also had bright red hair. Chances seemed strong that this was Red’s sister. Could that be David’s mother? The room was frozen in time, and had no answers to questions about the current situations in O’Rourke’s mansion, so Gillian decided to move on.

Leaving the room, Gillian listened intently again for the sounds of others approaching. Hearing none, she pulled the door back to its slightly open position and tiptoed farther down the hallway. It was clear that David had not come from the room full of pictures, and without a lockpick or key, she wasn’t getting into the first room. The paneled hallway appeared to end with a huge mirror set floor to ceiling, but as Gillian approached it, she realized that there was a more narrow hallway that cut off from the main one just before the mirror. Again, sensing no footsteps or voices, Gillian ducked down this hallway and followed the windowless passageway until it ended abruptly at a closed door. 

While the building appeared massive from the outside, Gillian was discovering that it had even more rooms than she could have imagined. The knob to the closed door wasn’t locked, and Gillian carefully turned it while pushing it open with her other hand. The room itself was completely dark and windowless. As her eyes acclimated to the dark, Gillian saw that she was in a bedroom, but its details were obscured by the depth of the dark. She breathed deeply and slowly, giving her senses more time to adapt to the darkness within the room, as details began to emerge from the shadows. 

The room had a feminine touch to it, much more than anywhere else Gillian had seen in the mansion. There was a full-length portrait of a woman, beautiful and glamorous, with red hair that cascaded down from her head over her shoulders to her waist. She was in a stunning evening gown, and had been portrayed on the steps up from the entryway in the mansion. She had O’Rourke’s cheekbones, but her smile dazzled, even pictured on the oil canvas as it was. Her joy had certainly been captured by the artist, and Gillian knew that happiness like that could not be faked.

A makeup table with an extensive mirror caught Gillian’s attention next, thanks to an ornate set of jewelry that had been carefully laid out on the table. Emerald jewels highlighted the earrings, bracelet, and necklace, and Gillian looked back at the painting, recognizing these were the adornments of the woman pictured in the painting. Looking back at the table, Gillian caught a flash of motion in the vanity mirror and gasped as she saw two pairs of eyes reflecting back at her in the dark. 

Startled by their sudden, silent appearance, Gillian stifled a scream, recognizing the dogs from the front porch. She figured if she could just pet them, they would be pacified, but when she approached them, they growled in unison. She tried to scurry away from them, and tripped onto the top of the bed. Finding purchase, she tried to scramble higher as they approached menacingly, but she screamed when she felt that there was someone else in the bed. Looking down, she saw the faint outline of a woman’s head lying on the pillow. 

Footsteps pounded on the hallway floor outside, and Red O’Rourke’s bulky frame filled the doorway. He flipped the light on, and yelled at Gillian, who was still shaking. 

“What are you doing in Martha’s room? Leave her alone!” he bellowed. “There’s no story for you here!” 

Crossing the threshold in quick, long steps, he grabbed Gillian’s arm to yank her away from the bed, and pulled her onto the floor in the process. His temple throbbed and his grip sent sparks up and down Gillian’s arm. He released her but stood there glowering down at her, with words left unsaid between them.

Others came running down the hall now, as Leo and the other women flooded the room. They pulled up quickly when they saw O’Rourke standing over Gillian, and Isabelle went to put her arm on Red’s but he shook her off. 

Gillian awkwardly rose to her feet. “I’m so sorry, Mr. O’Rourke, I was just trying to check out the house for background for my story.” She had her head down, unable to look the mansion owner or anyone else for that matter in the eye. A groan from the bed shook them both out of their current situation, as everyone turned to look at the woman in the bed. 

“Sissy, shhh, it’s alright,” O’Rourke said, rushing to the bed. He picked up the woman’s hand and rubbed it tenderly. “You don’t need to be alarmed.”

Martha O’Rourke had once been tall like Red, captured as a vibrant beauty in the painting, but her body had shrunk over time. Emaciated and frail, she still had long red hair that spread across the pillow and down by her sides. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth twitched as she moaned again. 

Gillian felt everyone’s attention shift from Martha O’Rourke to her. She knew that they were judging her, willing her to be anywhere but where she was. In truth, she wished that, too. She wanted to explain what she was doing, but she knew that she’d worn out her welcome in the mansion, and that O’Rourke’s patience had been drawn well past its breaking point. She walked ashamedly through them to the front door, leaving O’Rourke still whispering to his sister, throwing her purse over her shoulder. 

After a few moments Leo and Miss Isabelle joined her, having said their goodbyes to everyone else, whatever muted feelings they had silenced by Gillian’s shame and embarrassment. Poseidon and Neptune watched them silently as they slipped out of the mansion and into the night.

Chapters 28-30 coming April 26!