The Keeper of Dawn (6 page)

“What if you point your flashlight down?” I asked.

“That won’t happen. I mean, everyone’s agreed not to do
that.”

“Everyone?”

“Roland and Derek are coming, too.”

“So what are you going to do when you get up there? Stare at
your feet?”

“More or less. I could care less about the view, especially
at night. The only thing I’m interested in is Raker’s bloodstain. I’ve been
spoon-fed that myth since before I could walk, and tonight I’m going to find
out if it’s true.”

“So you’re not worried about your fear of heights because
you’ll be in a haunted lighthouse? And it’ll be pitch-dark?”

Benjamin hesitated.

“What are you, his mom?” Chris asked, turning from the
window. “If the lighthouse is so dangerous, then why does Max go up there?”

“Max isn’t scared of heights.” How could this idiotic idea
sound rational to them?

“It’ll be dark. Even if Ben looks down, he won’t
see
anything.”

“Hey, what do I know,” I said, not wanting to argue. It was
just like Chris to use a childish ghost story to his own advantage. Encouraged
by his success, Benjamin had even told the story of Pirate Raker in front of
Mr. O’Leary’s class. His arm shot up before Mr. O’Leary had finished roll call,
becoming the first and only student to volunteer his “history” to the class. With
his voice rising to unchartered heights, he was oblivious to his slack-jawed
audience.

Benjamin was smiling again. His eyes glistened with
excitement.

“You know, Jacob, you should come with us.”

“Wish I could, but I’ve got to cram for that government
exam.”

“You’re only fooling yourself, Jake,” Chris said, returning
his attention to the window. “You’re in this as much as the rest of us.”

Chris was right—I wanted to go. But the possibility of my
father learning of yet another trip to the headmaster’s office strengthened my
resolve.

I flipped aimlessly through my government textbook while
Chris and Benjamin went over the details of their plan. Benjamin’s voice
shivered with excitement, feeding off Chris’ words—few as they were—launching
into high-pitched outbursts the moment Chris lapsed into silence. More than
once I had to look up to remind myself that it wasn’t a grown man talking to a
child.

“Jake, I had no idea you had a gem like this,” Chris said,
examining a picture wedged into the mirror. “I dig black and whites. I don’t
care what they say—there’s no nostalgia in color. So who is it? Is he dead? That’d
be wild. If he’s dead, I’ll pay money for it.”

“It’s my father.”

“You serious?” Chris plucked the picture from the mirror and
set it on my desk. “So this is your old man.” He started to say something more,
but was interrupted by the ten o’clock bell that signaled lights-out.

While they made their final preparations, I examined the
picture. If not for the granular blacks and whites, the image of my father
standing beside the courtyard fountain could have been taken yesterday. Other
than the ring of stone frogs spitting streams of water from the perimeter, the
fountain looked the same. Even the vines shrouding the base of the lighthouse had
been dead all those years ago. Nothing had changed—nothing, that is, except my
father.

The stranger in the picture and the man who had sent me to
Wellington had become two different people. I couldn’t connect how one had
matured into the other. The thirty-year-old image in the palm of my hand seemed
more alive than my most recent memory of him. When I thought of Father, I
pictured his hands—smooth and delicate like a magician’s. He didn’t smoke and
he seldom cursed. The only time he drank was to consume a single glass of red
wine in the evening, which he did primarily for the reputed health benefits. Above
all, he carried with him a sense of purpose; even his laugh—as seldom heard as
the midnight strike of the grandfather clock—had a dignified intent.

I put the picture facedown on the desk. Then I went to the
closet and changed into the Wellington shirt I reserved for work in the clock
tower. Max’s greasy handprint was still visible on the shoulder. Out of habit,
I rolled up the sleeves.

“Hold on. I’m coming with you.”

“Operation Raker” was executed like some ridiculous military
exercise. Volunteering to be on “recon,” Roland proceeded in front of us,
signaling when it was safe to proceed.

As it turned out, Trevor was the only person we came across.
“Hey, Van Belle,” he said, emerging from the lavatory with a towel around his
waist.

Roland, who had been in a defensive crouch, tried to look as
casual as possible. “Hey there, Trevor. Late night shower, huh?”

“What are you guys up to?”

“We’re going to climb the lighthouse,” Benjamin blurted out.
“To see Pirate Raker’s—” This was all he got out before Roland shoved an elbow
in his ribs.

“Looks like a nicotine run if I’ve ever seen one,” Trevor
said. “Don’t worry, I’m cool. Us smokers have to stick together.”

“That’s right,” Chris said. “Gotta feed the addiction.”

When Trevor turned down the hall, Benjamin felt the weight
of our collective stare.

“I’m sorry, all right? I’ve always been lousy at keeping
secrets.”

We passed through the Senior’s Door and into the Kirkland
Hall alcove. Oak Yard lay before us. The gazebo stood out as a pale, ghostly
structure. The only sound was the fountain’s soft gurgle. High above, towering
over the dark windows, stood the lighthouse. With his eyes fixed on its peak,
Benjamin’s face was pale even in the shadows of the alcove.

“We have to cross Oak Yard?” Derek asked.

“How else we going to get there?” Chris asked.

“Never really thought about it, I guess.” He glanced back at
the Senior’s Door. “They’d probably boot me off the wrestling team. At least
put me on probation.”

“Look, I know you’re a lifer, Mayhew,” Chris said. “But
seriously, who cares about Oak Yard? I can understand it at the old campus. That
place had some serious history. But this is a few scrawny trees and a stupid
looking gazebo.”

“I don’t know,” Derek said.

“It’s just a lighthouse. What’s the big deal?”

“It’s a big deal if we get caught,” I said. Though Iron
Lungs hadn’t provoked a letter from Father, a second infraction surely would.

“You can’t be serious? Oh my God, you’re serious. I don’t
believe this. I’ve never seen such pussies in my—”

Suddenly, without saying a word, Benjamin stepped from the
sidewalk. There was no hesitation; he simply walked into Oak Yard as if on his
way to class.

We stared after him. To be outdone by Benjamin Bailey was
unthinkable. We exchanged a look before stepping forward in unison. Was that
whistling? It sounded like Benjamin was whistling through his teeth, and it was
this sound that led us through Oak Yard. I kept looking over my shoulder,
expecting someone to come running after us; as if somewhere, perhaps in Mr.
Lawson’s office, a silent alarm was alerting him to our presence. But the
courtyard was empty, and we reached the lighthouse without incident.

Shielded from the moonlight, the vines transformed the tower
into an enormous tree, not alive but dead, as lifeless as the weathered bricks
concealed beneath its grip. I was actually relieved when Chris turned the key
(which he had lifted from Max’s key ring) and the lock didn’t give way. But
when he turned it in the other direction, a metallic click sounded and the door
opened on rusty hinges. Then everyone was rushing inside and the door swung
shut behind us, sending a deep boom up the neck of the tower.

The time it took Chris to fumble for the flashlight felt
like an eternity. A heavy silence filled the confined space, broken only by the
whisper of a distant wind. Moonlight streamed through the windows above. The
darkness was so complete, all I could see of the others was a dim light
reflecting from Benjamin’s glasses.

When Chris turned on the flashlight, I’m not sure who yelled
the loudest. Extensions of dead vine were everywhere. Caught in the beam of the
flashlight, the vines cast writhing shadows that made the walls crawl with
sinister life.

“Far out,” one of us said.

“How could they grow in here?” Roland asked.

“I wonder how high they go?” Benjamin asked.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Chris said.

The conical beam of Chris’ flashlight stabbed upward to
illuminate coil after coil of the staircase that had fallen into the final stages
of disrepair. Entire sections had separated from the wall, rusting to the point
of collapse.

My eyes settled into a fixed stare. I tried to look away,
but my vision was pulled farther into the distance. As I continued to watch,
the staircase started to unwind. Though I knew it wasn’t possible, the tower
began to rotate, slowly at first, but picking up speed until the stairs and
vines twirled around me like some absurd carnival ride. I closed my eyes, but
the spinning continued in my head.

“Been drinking there, partner?” Derek asked when I put a
hand on the railing and sank to my knees.

“Just dizzy.”

“Is it vertigo?” Benjamin asked. “My cousin Jerry gets that.
One time we were in this huge cave up in Vermont, and he got it so bad he puked
all over himself.”

When the spinning subsided, I walked toward Benjamin with a
pained look on my face.

“Oh man. He’s gonna spew!” Roland said.

Benjamin backed away, but I cornered him beneath the stairs
and, opening my mouth, began to make retching noises.

“Ah! Disgusting! That macaroni looks worse the second time,”
Benjamin joked.

“You gonna be okay?” Chris asked, tossing me his spare
flashlight.

“Yeah,” I said. “And don’t worry. I won’t point it down.”

After testing his weight on the stairs, Chris started up,
and we fell in behind him. Hindered by the vines, our pace was slow. We hadn’t
gone far when Benjamin’s breathing became audible.

“Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-se-ven …” he counted
between breaths.

Stuck behind Benjamin, it didn’t take long for us to fall
behind.

“Take your time,” I told him, fighting the urge to rush
forward. I almost added, “Don’t look down,” but held my tongue.

“Fif-ty-eight … fif-ty-nine …… six-ty …”

By this time Chris and Derek were out of sight, and Roland
was just visible at the edge of the light.

“Seven-ty … six …… seven-ty … sev-en …”

I could no longer see Roland. The reverberation of footsteps
kicked dust down from overhead.

“Hey, hold up,” I called out. “We need a break.”

Our steps came slower, the pauses between Benjamin’s words
longer, but we eventually caught up to the others. Chris looked annoyed at the
delay.

“You okay?” Roland asked.

“Fine,” Benjamin replied, doubled-over, hands gripping his
knees. “I’m fine … just … out of shape is all.”

We had finally cleared the vines. Cobwebs clung to the
walls, waving in the breeze from a nearby window. Though the clock tower had
accustomed me to heights, the absence of light exaggerated distance, leaving my
imagination to fill in what couldn’t be seen.

“We getting close?” Chris asked, aiming his flashlight up
the neck of the tower.

The stairwell extended into darkness. There was no end to
it. I was about to tell Chris we could climb all night and not be there, but
then a wave of dizziness went through me. Instinct told me to close my eyes,
but I wanted to fight this. I wanted to overcome this weakness. With the tower
soaring overhead, I searched desperately for an end to the repetition. When the
stairs began to tilt, I shifted my weight. Too late did I realize my imbalance
and lurched forward, hands shooting out, palms open, just in time to catch
myself. The flashlight landed to my right and started to roll toward the edge. I
reached out just in time, but the vertigo wasn’t through with me, and I only
served to speed it along its course.

“Shit!”

The cone of light shook sporadically over the walls before
righting itself, speeding straight down like an arrow with a golden tip,
exposing all the stairs we had just climbed, dropping through the many feet of
darkness, its life winking out at the very point we had started, impossibly far
below.

“Good go—”

Derek was cut off by an agonized gasp.

I looked up to find Benjamin standing with his back pressed
to the wall. His eyes were squeezed shut, his body frozen in place.

“You okay, Ben?” Chris asked as we crowded around.

“Jake just dropped his flashlight,” Roland said, putting a
hand on Benjamin’s shoulder. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

At Roland’s touch, Benjamin’s lips stopped trembling. He was
completely motionless except for a dark stain spreading from the crotch of his
pants.

“He’s not breathing,” Roland said.

“Come on, Ben,” Chris said. “Take a deep breath for us.”

I stood behind everyone, feeling guilty as hell for dropping
the flashlight. Benjamin still hadn’t moved. His face was turning a dark shade
of red.

“He’s got to breathe,” Roland said.

“Goddammit Ben, breathe!” Chris yelled.

Finally Benjamin took a gulp of air.

“That’s it,” Roland said. “There you go. See, there’s
nothing to be afraid of.”

Benjamin continued to take erratic intakes of air. His eyes
remained shut as he spoke through teeth that, once unclenched, wouldn’t stop
chattering.

“I sh-sh-shouldn’t have l-l-looked d-d-down. I sh-shouldn’t
have d-d-done that. I … I even t-told m-myself not t-to d-do it … b-b-but when
that flashlight went …”

“Just relax,” Roland said. “We’ll get you through this.”

“We can’t go back now,” Chris said. “We’re nearly at the
top.”

“Chris, he’s terrified. We’re getting him down.
Now
.”

The roommates faced each other; neither said a word. Their
confrontation, or whatever it was, ended when Chris took a step back.

“Try opening your eyes,” Roland suggested to Benjamin.

With an effort, Benjamin’s eyes fluttered open.

“Is that any better?”

“A … a little. Yes, a l-little. It’s just that I … I can’t
move.”

“Not at all? Not even a single step?”

Benjamin made a noise that was probably meant to be a laugh,
but it came out like a squeal. “This happened once b-before. I looked over the
side of a cl-cliff and my whole b-body … l-locked up.”

“Okay, so that other time, how did you get down?”

“They had to … carry me.”

“Oh man,” Derek muttered.

“Can you try taking a step forward?” Roland asked.

“I’ll try,” Benjamin said, his face hardening. He took a deep
breath and steadied himself. His shoe slid forward maybe an inch at most, but
then he shook his head, sending built-up tears down his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I
can’t. I … I t-tell you what. I’ll just wait here while you guys go t-to the
top.”

“Alone?” Chris asked. “In the dark?”

Benjamin whimpered.

“We’re not going to leave you,” Roland assured him. “Just
hold on a second. Can you do that for me?”

“Okay.”

“Well isn’t this a fun little adventure,” Chris said after
Roland had led us up the stairs out of earshot.

“It’s pathetic is what it is,” Derek whispered.

“He’s scared of heights,” Roland said. “What did you
expect?”

“It’s my fault,” I said miserably. “If I hadn’t dropped that
stupid flashlight—”

“If you hadn’t dropped it, this would be happening at the
top,” Roland said. “He should’ve never come. But we brought him, so we have to
figure out how to get him down.”

“You mean we’re actually going to carry him?” Derek asked.

“You got a better suggestion?” Roland asked.

In the end, of course, we carried him down. What else could
we do? We had to nearly pry him from the wall. Whether it was because I had
dropped the flashlight or if it was just bad luck, I got stuck holding his
urine-soaked leg. Derek held his other leg, and Chris and Roland each had a
shoulder. His weight was more awkward than heavy, as it was difficult backing
down the stairs while trying to keep clear of the wet spot on his jeans. Benjamin
held the flashlight, shaking it so violently it caused our distorted shadows to
dance across the walls. The rest of his body remained rigid; there was no give
in his arms or legs. The fear never entirely went out of him; he clung to it as
a scared child clings to their parent’s leg. This overwhelming instinctive fear
that we carried down the stairs eliminated anything in its path: the shame and
humiliation that might have otherwise been part of such an absurd situation;
the guilt we collectively shared in bringing him up there. We might laugh about
it later, or beat ourselves up for allowing it to happen, but at the time we
were too concentrated on the task at hand. And if our minds wandered, it only
took one look at those unblinking, fear-ridden eyes to bring us right back.

“Sorry I spoiled your fun,” Benjamin said once we had
finished the descent.

“You didn’t spoil anything,” I said, relieved he had lost
his stutter. “We’re still going up. This never would’ve happened if I hadn’t
dropped that flashlight.”

“It’s all right. I had no business going up there. Guess I
got caught up in my own stories.”

I watched as he crossed Oak Yard, his shirt drifting through
the darkness. The courtyard was empty and all the windows dark. Benjamin
proceeded slowly through the deserted yards, his head down, hands in his
pockets. I continued to watch until he reached Patterson Hall, wishing it had
somehow turned out differently.

I shut the door and joined the others at the stairs. Roland
and Derek were studying the remains of the flashlight. Chris had his light
pointed at the ground, leaving his face in shadow. We were watching him,
waiting to see what he would do. When he grinned, it felt like a burden had
lifted from my shoulders. I needed that grin. I think we all did. Without
saying a word, he had taken back the reins of command. The time for a
compassionate leader was over.