Revenge (9 page)

DAY 13

18 days to go …

Winter, Ryan and I spent most of the night
trying
to figure out what Sligo was really up to and arguing about whether or not to go to the cops.

But involving anyone else just seemed too risky …

We were on our own.

Afterwards, I'd drifted in and out of sleep, and in and out of nightmares. I'd been vaguely aware of Ryan creeping out of the living room to go home, but it was an incoming message on my phone that finally woke me up.

It was from Amy.

boges, i ran your trace evidence. you are one mysterious dude … check your email.

I leapt over the cracked coffee table and ran to Winter's desk. I jumped on my laptop and opened my inbox.

Sure enough, there was Amy's email.

I could hardly believe my eyes when I read the fourth location. My jaw dropped, my heart knocked at my ribs.

‘Winter! Get over here now and take a look at this!'

Winter skidded up behind me, her white socks slipping on the tiles. I scooted my chair out of the way so she could read the email.

There was long moment of shocked silence. Then came Winter's elated voice. ‘
Coffin Bay!
' she shrieked.

‘That's what Cal was trying to tell us,' I said. I began looking up the location on my phone's GPS.

‘Coffin! Coffin Bay!' she said, practically jumping up and down. ‘That's it! That's what he wanted us to find. Not the funeral parlour, not the graveyard, not the mausoleum, but a
place
called Coffin Bay!'

‘That's where he is, all right,' I added. I moved back in front of the computer and continued my map search. ‘Looks like Coffin Bay's a tiny inlet on the coast, about an hour and a half south.' I hit ‘print' and turned to face Winter. ‘We'd better pack some stuff and get going!'

‘I'll go call Ryan!' she said, running off.

‘Cool,' I said, jumping up, grabbing the printout and chucking my stuff into my bag. I checked to
make sure I had my Vipercam and my new piece of work, the Hummingbird Hawk-moth, stashed securely inside.

Winter landed at the bottom of the stairs with a thud—she'd leapt from about five steps up. She pulled on a coat and slung her bag over her shoulder. ‘Ryan's on his way back over to pick us up now.'

The drive seemed to take forever. The weather was bad and Ryan had to crawl along with the windscreen wipers going as fast as possible. Even then, the road kept disappearing in the blinding sheets of rain.

The rain eased just as Ryan parked the car a little way past the Coffin Bay road sign. We jumped out and looked down at the
wind-swept
coastline. Waves piled and crashed onto the deserted beach and flecks of foam sprayed through the air.

We made our way down to the sand and across an outcrop of jagged rocks, leaning into the southerly wind that pushed against us as if resisting our intrusion on the tiny beach.

A cliff loomed on our right, and we kept close to it. The howling wind swept sand across the beach so hard it stung our ankles. Winter shook her hair from her face and tied it back in a tight plait. Ryan pulled his hood over his head and dug his hands into his pockets. I caught Winter glancing sideways at him. With his hair hidden, he looked just like Cal.

We stopped and scoped out the bay from a safe distance. I didn't want to walk into a trap like the last time.

But there wasn't a soul in sight.

‘There's nothing here,' said Ryan. ‘I don't see a building, a shed, a house … I don't see
anything
but sand and sea. Where could they be?'

‘I don't know,' said Winter, spinning around, scanning in all directions. ‘This has to be it,' she said to herself. ‘
Coffin
Bay. This has to be what you were telling us, Cal.'

A gust of wind picked up a clump of seaweed and threw it up into the air. We watched as it was swept up high above our heads, swirling the strong scent of salt around us.

Above us loomed a tall, craggy overhang. It marked the top of the cliff that reached a
hundred
metres into the sky.

‘What about up there?' I suggested, pointing to the old sandstone lighthouse perched on its peak.

Carefully we made our way up the side of the scrubby, sandy cliff, constantly scanning our surroundings, terrified someone was going to leap out of nowhere and pounce at any moment. Once we reached the top, we ducked down in the long, wet grass for a closer look.

We eyed the lighthouse carefully. It was about twenty metres tall, and had a weather-beaten white lantern room on top. At its base were the ruins of what must have once been the keeper's quarters. Only a few blackened and crumbling sandstone bricks remained, marking out the rough layout of the original walls.

‘Looks like a fire burned the cottage down,' I whispered. ‘But it never reached the tower. Still, the lighthouse looks abandoned.'

‘Maybe,' said Winter. ‘Or maybe it recently acquired a few new tenants. Follow me.'

We crept through the grass and over to the lighthouse. The black, wooden door was half off its hinges.

Winter swiftly kicked the door. I dragged her back behind the sandstone wall as the door swung clear off its hinges and landed with a thud, sending up dust and sand. I held my breath for a second, half-expecting gunshots to ring out.

But after a minute or so of silence, I nodded
to Winter and Ryan and we headed inside. The floor was covered in small black and white tiles, and a black spiral staircase curling around a thick white pylon led up to the lamp. The railing was bent and corroded from the sea air. It seemed like no-one had set foot inside for a decade.

I started the climb first.

I had nothing but my fists to protect me when I emerged, a hundred steps later, into the lantern room.

But it, too, was vacant. The windows were salt-smeared and cloudy, and the lamp itself was cracked and covered in cobwebs.

From the top of the lighthouse, overlooking Coffin Bay, we could follow the coastline for kilometres. The stormy sky still looked angry, but rays of sunshine were forging through. We looked down onto a flock of seagulls as they flew beneath, wheeling around the lantern.

‘Look over here,' said Winter, from the other side of the lamp. ‘What's this?'

Ryan and I walked around the perimeter to meet her. She was holding a small, worn, brown leather-covered book.

‘It's a bible,' she said, flicking through the pages. A frayed ribbon dangled from the middle. ‘And look,' Winter bent down and picked up a chipped red-and-white striped mug from the floor.
She tipped it upside down and a small amount of liquid spilled out. ‘Tea?'

‘So?' I replied.

‘So, whose tea is this?'

‘Could have been anyone's.'

She thrust the book at me. ‘And this?'

I shrugged. It was just a bible, sitting at the top of an old, abandoned lighthouse. Anyone could have been up here, trying to find some peace. It could have been sitting there, unopened, for years.