The Captan and The Petty Officer

THE CAPTAIN AND THE PETTY OFFICER

Casha twisted the door handle, and pushed. It was heavy, but the door opened slowly.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she said, squeezing through the narrow opening. 

She was in! Thank God. She didn’t think that she would have been able to survive much longer outside in the storm — she was cold, wet, bruised and battered. And … 

She looked around. She was in the lighthouse. Not one of the new, automated ones, but one of the old ones that had been retrofitted. The weather was so bad and the sky so dark that the light was illuminated even though it was still, technically, daytime. It was a Nor’easter for the record books. And she was caught in it.

The lighthouse wasn’t very big, but it was tall enough that Casha had seen its light from the water. Again, thank God.

She looked at her surroundings. She was pretty sure that the door should not have been unlocked — if the lighthouse had been converted to automatic, then there was no lighthouse keeper, just the occasional maintenance worker. But she was more than happy it had been. The base was about forty feet wide, and, surprisingly, square. The lighthouse itself was round, jutting out of the centre of the base. The room was fairly clean, but had that locked up smell — a bit musty, a bit dusty. Hopefully that meant no critters.

Bang!

Casha twisted towards the door with a start. A huge gust of wind had slammed the door open. Thankfully there was no one there, just the rain blowing across the cement floor. She staggered over, heart hammering in her chest, and shut the door firmly, making sure that the latch hooked the door closed. She stood with her back to the door, and slid to the ground to think.

She was in trouble. Lots and lots of trouble. She didn’t exactly know where she was. She should, but the coast was littered with lighthouses because of the shoals and tides — this side of the island was as dangerous as it was lonely. She was new to the area, and hadn’t had time to orient herself properly. Her patrol area was almost three hundred miles of coast, seven miles out. That was a lot of ground to cover.  

There were windows all around the perimeter of the base, with the spiral staircase leading up into the tower to the light itself. This area had been the light keeper’s home, but all of the interior walls had been removed, and the space was now empty.

Casha could hear the wind howling. It had to be almost eighty miles an hour — Super Storm Sandy category! But this wasn’t the first gale this old lighthouse had endured, nor would it be the last. Rain pelted the windows, hitting so hard it sounded like hail. The drops smashed against the windows, each trying to shatter the glass with the force of the gale behind it.

Casha hugged herself. She was freezing, and she needed to warm up before hypothermia set in. When she’d left home this morning, she’d made sure that she’d dressed in her thermal fleece base layer before putting on her dry suit. That decision had probably saved her life. Because she knew that she was going to be in her boat on the water all day in this horrendous weather, she topped it off with her foul weather parka, her personal floatation device, and emergency beacon. And it had served her well. Until she went into the water.

She got up off the floor, and stripped off her soaking wet parka, laying it out on the floor in hopes that its magical wicking properties would help it dry quickly. She really, really, really needed the warmth that a dry jacket could provide. She moved towards the staircase, eyeing the stairs as they disappeared toward the top.  

Casha needed to see out, to ensure that she was safe. She started her accent, slowly, step by step. Not only would the climb to the top allow her to see her surroundings, but it would warm her up. She didn’t want to get too warm, because sweating in your dry suit was not good either, so she took her time. Up she went, slowly spiralling towards the pinnacle.  

The tower was only about forty feet tall. The lighthouse itself was build on a bluff — a bluff that had almost defeated Casha on her journey from the sea — so the structure itself didn’t have to be overly tall, just tall enough to shine the light across the ocean to direct and warn those travelling by sea.

At the top she looked out the windows. Although still only afternoon, the storm had darkened the sky, making the surrounding landscape a gloomy, colourless grey. Except when the path of the light illuminated the ground with the magnitude of one million candle power. The steady rotation of the light was mesmerizing. She stood almost motionless, staring toward the raging sea, searching. Then she saw it. The boat. 

She shivered.

“Hello! Hello! Is there someone here?” Pause. “Hello!”

Casha jolted. She wasn’t alone. There was someone in the building with her. Frantically, she scanned the lantern room.  

Of course there was nowhere to go. She was at the top of the lighthouse. The only place she could possibly consider going would be out on the catwalk, the three foot wide metal exterior walkway that encircled the lamp room — sure death in eighty mile an hour winds.  

Casha was scared, more scared than she had ever been in her life. But she knew that she would use the door to the catwalk if she needed to. If she was going to die, it would be on her own terms. She ran to the door, and tried to open it. The wind was coming straight at the door, making it impossible to open. Casha pushed and pushed, to no avail.

She heard the scuffling of footsteps coming up the stairs, the steady sound of feet slowly climbing towards her. Her heart pounded. She looked around. She ran to the doorway crouched down, out of sight, ready to tackle whomever came through the opening.

“Hello! Are you up here?”

Just before she lept forward, an older gentlemen stuck his head through the doorway at ground level.

“Hello!” he said looking at Casha, a big smile on his face. “You must be the owner of the lovely coat laying on the floor at the bottom of the stairs.”  

Casha was frozen. This was not the person she expected. This man was old, sixtes at least. Not covered in tattoos.

He stood up and walked into the lamp room.

“Wonderful view, isn’t it. There’s nothing more dramatic than the sweep of the light illuminating the sea.” He looked out the window, towards the ocean. “The view is spectacular in fair weather. I hope you get to see it.”

Casha was gobsmacked.  

“Who are you?” she whispered, heart still thumping in her chest.

“Oh, how rude of me.” He bowed slightly. “I am Captain Reginald Adamson, at your service. And you are?”

“Petty Officer First Class Casha Prentice, Coast Guard.”

“Well, Petty Officer, what brings you to my lighthouse?”

“This is your lighthouse?” Casha was confused. If a lighthouse was privately owned, then it was decommissioned. And this lighthouse was definitely not decommissioned.

“Well, it is the Adamson lighthouse, and I am an Adamson.” He paused, considering. “I’m its …caretaker.”

Introductions over, Casha, glanced towards the ocean, and the boat getting closer and closer with each revolution of the light.

“I’m in trouble,” she sad. “There is a man on a boat—” she pointed towards the water, “—looking for me. To kill me.”

The Captain looked the way that Casha had pointed.

“Indeed. I see the boat. It does look as if it is heading this way. But the sea is giving him a run for his money.” He looked longer, squinting. “Only fools go out in a sea as rough as today! I do hope that the sea doesn’t swamp him. ”

As if on cue, a gust of wind crashed against the windows splattering the rain drops. Casha could imagine that she felt the lighthouse sway.

She turned to start down the stairs.  

“Trust me, he’s coming this way. And I hope he does get swamped. Then all my troubles are gone.”  

She started down the stairs, the Captain right on her heels.

At the bottom, she looked around.

“You have to get out of here, Captain. This guy’s a stone cold killer.”

The captain waved his hand, unconcerned.  

“Won’t be the first, and won’t be the last.” He looked at Casha closely. “But why is a stone cold killer after a Petty Officer First Class?”

“I saw him kill another man. I was on patrol, and was heading back into shore before the seas got too rough. His boat was in a quiet cove. As I cruised by, I saw him push another man overboard.”

“That doesn’t mean he was trying to kill him.”

“The man was tied up in chains, with an anchor attached. The killer threw the anchor overboard and it dragged the man in after it. The water in that harbour is over thirty feet deep. The man in chains didn’t stand a chance.” She shook her head, remembering the scene. “I turned on the siren and started to approach, and he opened fire on me, with some sort of automatic weapon. I was close enough that he hit the hull twice. I had to retreat. I called for backup, explaining the circumstances.” She looked nervously at the door to the lighthouse. “He pursued me, firing on me, but missed. I managed to get ahead of him, but I was taking on water. The storm turned into the Nor’easter you see outside now. A few times I was almost swamped. I lost him in the storm, but I had to abandon ship just off the shore here. I wasn’t sure I was going to make it to land, but the wind was coming out of the east, and helped to blow me towards shore. I climbed the bluff up here, and the door was unlocked” She looked at the Captain. “That’s how I came to be in your lighthouse.”

“Hmmm,” said the Captain. “Your situation does sound dire.”

“So, you’ve got to get out of here. It’s not safe.”

The Captain looked around the room and back to Casha. “What about you? What are you going to do by yourself, unarmed?”

Casha shook her head. “I have no idea. But you can’t be here.”

The Captain pointed to her coat, covered in reflective strips, coloured a bright neon green. “You can’t wear that outside! He’ll see you from space! And you can’t go out into storm without a coat. No, you have to make your stand here”

Casha looked around at the empty room.

“How?”

The Captain smiled. “Lock him out. He won’t be able to get in. He can’t shoot through two feet of stone. And the windows were replaced with a modern polycarbonate to withstand the weather. They’re practically bulletproof.”

“But he’ll get away.”

“I don’t think he will. The storm is raising bloody hell out there. I don’t think he’ll be able to risk the ocean again. Besides, we are on a island.”

Casha was about to ask him how he had made it to the lighthouse, but the storm took that opportunity to assault the building.

“How can we lock the door?”

The Captain disappeared through a side door, reappearing momentarily with a long thick plank. He walked over to the door, and fitted the plank into two brackets, effectively barring the door from the inside.

“There. Safe and sound.” He rattled the door for effect. “But,” he said, "I will go now, and see if I can locate your stalker.”

Casha looked towards the window. She could see the surrounding trees almost bent to the ground by the force of the wind.

“But the weather—”

“Do not fear, Petty Officer, I have survived many a storm — some more fierce than this.”

He lifted the plank from the door, and disappeared out into the storm before Casha could say anything.

In moments he returned.  

“It seems as if your nemesis has landed on the island. He has started climbing the bluffs, and should be here in less than a quarter hour.”

Casha looked out into the gloom.

“Okay, okay. Here’s what we do. Instead of locking the door, I’m going to bash him when he tries to come in. But you need to go somewhere safe.”

My dear Petty Officer. A Captain does not abandon ship. I shall stay here, and assist, if needed.”

“Fine.” 

She looked out the window and saw a figure, bent over in the wind, moving slowly towards the lighthouse. She grabbed the plank and raised it like a baseball bat.

She stared at the latch on the door, her heart pounding in her chest.

The latch lifted and the door slowly started to open. But a gust of wind ripped it from the assailant’s hand, slamming it into the wall.

The man walked through the door, leading with his gun.

Casha swung for the fences, making direct contact.

The gun flew from the man's hand as he crumpled to the floor, unconscious. 

Casha kicked the gun away, and slapped on the cuffs. She dragged the unconscious man across the floor, undid one of the cuffs, and attached him to the wrought iron stairs.

"There," she said.

She turned to the Captain. But she was alone.

“Captain?”

No answer.

“Captain?”

Again, no answer.

She walked to the door, stuck her head out, and called, “Captain!' she yelled, but the wind whipped the words out of her mouth.

He was gone. Where could he have gone? Back into the storm? That was ludicrous. Why would he have gone back into the storm, when the lighthouse provided the only shelter on the island.

As she sat, waiting for the storm to abate, she hoped he was safe.

Casha sat through the night with her prisoner. He regained consciousness, complaining of a monster headache. Casha just shrugged.

The storm raged. Twice she heard the crash of trees that had been uprooted from the ground.

By ten the next morning, the storm had abated enough for the tactical team to be helicoptered onto the island. 

They had followed her emergency beacon.

After her assailant was transported to the helicopter, Casha asked John Grant, the team leader, if he had seen anyone else on the island.

“Not a soul. We reconnoitred before landing. No one.”

She explained about Captain Adamson.

“Like the lighthouse?”

“Yeah. He said that his name was Captain Reginald Adamson, and that he was the caretaker of the lighthouse.

Grant gave Casha a look of puzzlement.

“Captain Reginald Adamson? You’re sure?”

“Yeah. Like the lighthouse. He take care of it.”

Grant shook his head. “This baby’s automated. There is no caretaker.” He looked at Casha closely. “You sure he said Captain Reginal Adamson?”

“Yes,” she said, getting annoyed.

Grant shook his head again. “Captain Reginald Adamson was the original lighthouse keeper. He died in a Nor’easter, just like this one, about a hundred years ago. He was blown off of the catwalk and died. They say he haunts this lighthouse. Other keepers claim that he roams the island in bad weather, helping people caught in the storm.

Casha said nothing. She couldn’t.