“Noted,” is all I give him. I’ll talk to Mr. Pratterman. I thought the first was a result of our bargains. This could be an extension. Will I fall apart without the Devil and his gifts?
I need to take stock now if I plan to leave sooner than my usual monthly run. I find multiple crates have rotted faster than expected. Is it from the dampness since the storm or something more sinister?
“Caught any fish today?” Douglas asks, lounging near the door.
“There were no fish,” I lie. I haven’t checked the nets in days. The last time I went out to do so, I drew in not fish but viscera instead. Guts, blood, bones. I don’t know what animal they came from, but I know fish don’t have pelvic bones. The smell of rot was strong and sick-sweet. I threw the nets back under the water and haven’t dredged them up since.
“When was the last time you went outside, Elle?”
Such a casual use of my name. “Why?” I ask back, my nerves catching in my throat.
“I didn’t mean to offend.” I hate how soft his voice is. I wish we could go back to when this was simple. When he was the mourning ghost and I his end. Now he’s searching for remorse and goodwill in me.
“You don’t need to reward me.”
“Reward?”
“Don’t play the fool.” I turn, standing tall despite a shaking voice. “It doesn’t suit you.”
The fear inside me is taut since the storm. Violin strings. Every day they’re turned tighter. When will they snap?
“Fool? What are you talking about?”
My stomach churns, and that rotten taste returns in the back of my mouth, now mixed with copper. Likely from the gallbladder. Liney can’t find this. I grab the box and pour it out an ocean-facing window. Though I’ve done my best to ignore the island’s hunger, its hold on me continues. Losing an organ should hurt more.
“I understood the punishment before,” I continue, inventorying a shelf of preserves. “I deserved it. But this… The niceties, asking after me, the pleasantness as though we are amicable. You shouldn’t reward me for nothing.”
“Eleanor,” he says. I don’t correct him. If anyone has claim to twist the knife with my Christian name, it’s him. “That wasn’t punishment. This isn’t reward. You aren’t a child I scold or praise. Circumstances change.”
Not a child, yet until recently I was merelygirl.
“My actions toward you haven’t changed.” It comes out bitter. When I look up, he’s warped from the wetness of my eyes.
“We can’t change the past,” he agrees. “But if I’m stuck in this place for the rest of…time, I suppose, then I plan to make the most of it. Your guilt finally catching you doesn’t mean my grieving must continue. It’s done. Allow me the pleasures this afterlife can grant me.”
My heartbeat skips.The rest of time.That’s not true. At times I forget that Douglas believes he’s tied to the lighthouse, instead of its infernal keeper.
I didn’t sacrifice Douglas. I didn’t use the dark power to end his life. He’s not under the Devil’s control but my own. When I’m dead, he’ll have no tie to the world. Every day that I live, I delay his rest.
What would he do if he knew the only thing blocking him from paradise is that I’m still breathing?
But what are a few more decades with me when all of eternity lies on the other side? A blink of the eye. I’ll be dragged to hell either way.
“I hadn’t considered it that way,” I say, flatter than what he deserves.
I check my reserve of court bouillon, an essential element of winter soups. But I only stare at the large jar. I can’t open it.
“Is something wrong with them?” Douglas asks.
“Can you smell?” I ask back. I rarely answer his questions without posing my own. Does he find that bothersome?
Douglas hesitates, then nods. “Smell, see, and hear.”
“What about taste?” Could a ghost have a better sensory connection to the world than I do? Even my morning porridge has an aftertaste of rot to it. The power of the island has finally settled, claimed me from the inside. Is it that as my resolve against the Devil rots, so too will I? Or am I rotting for my attempts at resistance?
“Are you finally realizing that you’ve never offered me a seat at your table?”
“There are only two chairs,” I answer logically, but he laughs. “That was an optimistic choice of yours during your time here, I suppose.”
