Shaking my head, I told him I couldn’t hear anything, “I wasn’t here anymore. I was...somewhere else.”
“Where?”
I looked away. “I don’t know. Nowhere. I thought I was dreaming.”
“Where did you go? What did you see?” He shook me slightly. It reminded me of something. I wondered if he had ever seen Hitchcock’s Vertigo because he was starting to go all Jimmy Stewart on me.
I pulled away from him and walked a few feet towards the ocean, conscious of the waves’ foamy fingers but needing the space to breathe.
“We should go back,” Dex said and turned to gather his equipment.
“No!” I yelled, surprising myself. It surprised him too.
“Sorry, but no. Let’s just go to the lighthouse, plan the shots for the night and get this over with,” I said through gritted teeth. I was not about to let this whole operation turn to shit just because I was having nonsensical episodes. I would not let my imagination—because that’s all it had to be—get the best of me.
“Perry, I don’t know what just happened to you, or where you went, but there is no shame in calling this whole thing off.” He looked earnest and a tad anxious, the way I imagine I looked when I was dealing with Ada. The last thing I needed or wanted was for him to be worried about me.
“It was nothing, Dex. I was daydreaming. All right? Let’s do this.”
“I feel responsible for you.”
“Why? Because you called me up and was all like ‘Oh, hello there, little girl, do you like scary movies?’” I imitated his growly voice and talked into my hand. “‘I was hoping we could make a scary movie together; maybe then I could make some money off of ya. Hope you like to read history books at gunpoint.’”
“That’s a terrible impersonation,” he commented. “And just to set the record straight, there is no money to be made here. Do you think I’m getting any money to do this? I paid for my own gas, I’m paying for my own hotel room, and this equipment is all mine. Do you think you can get rich off of the internet just because you’ve had a few hits on your blog? That’s not how it works. You do this because you want to do this or because you don’t have a choice. And you have a choice, Perry.”
I was abashed at his reply but put on a haughty face. “And my choice is to keep going. Now, I can film myself alone if you’d rather go right now.”
Dex grinned—it wasn’t a happy grin—and shook his head. “Hey, I’m not going anywhere. I can just tell you’ve been unsure about this whole thing from the start, and I’m giving you a way out.”
“Well, excuse me if I seemed hesitant.” I rolled my eyes. Did he have no idea at all what it was like to be in my shoes? I consider myself to be a very easygoing person but that only extended so far. Two days ago I was basking in the glow of having written my blog. Now, I was back at the lighthouse with someone I barely knew and who I was increasingly convinced was slightly “unhinged,” and filming the whole deal—again—hoping to turn it into something for the whole world to see. I thought I was rolling with the punches as quickly as I could.
“OK.” Dex finished stuffing the tripod into the bag and handed it to me. He then offered his hand. “Friends?”
I balanced the tripod with my shoulder and slowly extended my hand. I wasn’t sure if Dex was my friend or not; I wasn’t sure if I could trust him. But there was something that compelled me to be a part of his life, somehow. Even if it was just for two days on this wild west coast.
Ugh. I was doomed.
“Friends,” I said, and smiled shyly.
I shook his hand. His hand was hot, and once again I felt that surge of energy rush through me, creating internal goose bumps. I squeezed his hand to match his firm grip.
Everything seemed to slow down. The waves were muffled; the wind ruffled my hair in a hazy stupor. In my mind’s eye I could see myself, shaking hands on this beach, committing myself to...something.
***
I’m happy to report that the rest of the lighthouse excursion was uneventful. I managed to push my fears out of my head, not letting myself think about the dreams and what it could all mean. It was hard, especially when I felt tiny pinpricks of terror, rooted in some hazy memory, creeping upon me around each corner. I told myself it was merely deja vu from being there only a week ago.
Even though it was light out, the lighthouse was still creepy as hell. Maybe even more so considering you could make out every decrepit line and grey cobweb in detail.
Uncle Al had boarded up the window that I had kicked in but luckily Dex was leaning toward the more rational method of entering via the skeleton key.
The lock on the door clicked open with a satisfying sound. The door itself needed a hefty push or two from Dex, but it swung open with a very dramatic creak that echoed across the room. Dex stepped in and looked around. I remained outside.
“Not coming in?” he asked. “Would you rather stay out here while I go look around?”
The air coming in from the room was stale, as if nothing had breathed in there for hundreds of years. It was as dark as coal and I could only make out the faint outline of a table. But standing outside by myself didn’t sound very safe either.
I shook my head. I gingerly stepped in and coughed at the thick air. Dex pushed the door even further to allow more light and flow inside.
“I guess you wouldn’t have a flashlight on you?” He asked.
“iPhone?” I showed it to him.
He waved it away and looked at the far corner of the room, squinting. “I’m just gonna try that door over there and see if it works. Don’t want any surprises tonight.”
I watched him disappear into the ombre mist of suspended dust particles. I looked around the room, inspecting it. The table was made of oak (or some sturdy tree) and was held up by thick, sculpted legs. I made a brief comparison to my own body build. It was bare and covered with a good inch of slimy murk. The walls were bare and grey, save for a few nautical oil paintings that still hung there, out of place. A stack of chairs and an armoire looked to be in the corner while one wall housed a rusted stove.
I heard Dex wrestling with the lock in the darkness.
“So, tell me,” he said, his voice echoing. “Where did you read about the two women who were aboard the ship that sank?”
I shivered and pushed the thoughts out of my head. “I made it up. Can we not talk about it here please?”
He paused in the darkness for several seconds before saying, “OK.”
The key resumed rattling.
“Bingo!”
I heard the door creak open.
“Great. Can we get out of here now?” I asked. The longer I stood there watching my shadow dance in the dust around me, the more my eyes were starting to play tricks on me.
“You don’t want to check out the second floor?” I heard his voice getting more muffled, as if he was out of the room and onto the staircase of the interior hall. I could see it in my head—the trails of kelp on the stairs. I wanted to warn him to not go up there, to watch his step, but instead I scooted myself out of the building and into the bright, howling wind outside.
I looked up at the sky, eyes wide open and took in the deepest breath I could imagine.
“Sorry.”
I jumped and looked over at Dex, who had come out of the building.
“We don’t have to go up there until later anyway. Though I’m sure there will be enough interesting events downstairs.” He turned and locked the door behind him.
I didn’t even want to begin to think about what “events” could transpire.