Abigail was sitting outside, in the dark, on a slimy rock, smoking a battered cigarette. Occasionally she glanced off to one side, or up into the mysterious heights of the tower.
Sophie took a few hesitant steps towards her from the doorway..
“Evening.” Abigail muttered to her.
“Are you… alright?”
“I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
“What was that about, back there? You had me terrified.”
“I told you. this place just fucks with your head.”
“I’ll leave you alone, then?”
Sophie would rather not have left Abigail alone. The place was bad enough if there were two of you.
“You don’t have to.”
“I won’t, then.”
And she sat down, next to her sister. The wind was a bit less fierce now, but the rock was almost too cold to bear.
“You really scared me back there, you know?”
“That was the fucking point, you wanker. I properly had you.”
Abigail suddenly stood up and stared up to the lighthouse.
“Do you want to come inside? It’s very cold out here.”
Abigail hesitated for a moment.
“Sure.” She said, quietly.
Sophie had already got both sleeping bags out, and she took off her boots and climbed into one. As she struggled to find a comfortable position on the cold floor, Abigail just kept pacing, back and forth and back and forth.
Sophie lay awake and stared up at the ceiling. The dull, fading, flickering light of the lamp cast bizarre shadows that took on the hideous shapes of mysterious monsters. And she could not think of anything but that strange sheet of paper, compelling her to put it down, and what Abigail had said she’d heard.
And she was on the boat, with Abigail taking her to this abandoned lighthouse that Alex Jamieson had been to a while back. And the sky was thick with heavy clouds. And the spray from the sea bit at her frozen face and fingers. Abigail wondered where the Skerry was, but it could not be seen and the land could not be seen and nothing could be seen for miles and miles and miles, save for the empty sea, fading seamlessly into the empty sky.
She woke up.
She stared for a while at the ceiling, making out shapes in the cracks. There was something important she needed to get to. She couldn’t remember what, but she was already late. She tried to move, but she was stuck where she was.
She woke up.
Somehow, she had got some sleep. She didn’t know how much. It was still dark outside, although the window was now light up in a deep blue, rather than black. The nights were not long up here at all.
But Abigail was gone. Her sleeping bag was empty, and totally undisturbed.
“The fuck’s it you want?” Abigail shouted back, apparently outside.
Sophie pulled her hood tight around her head and stepped out to join her in the roaring wind and spray.
Abigail had found a piece of flat ground and was pacing back and forth and back and forth, just like a couple of hours earlier, muttering something.
“Yes?” She seemed to have only partly emerged from her trance-like state. Only slightly.
“What’s going on?”
She stared, with a terrible stare, into Sophie’s eyes.
“I killed Alex Jamieson.”
“What do you mean? Isn’t he still alive.”
“No. I killed him.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Three weeks ago… I… we… we were drinking together. We’d been at The Ship and then we’d gone back to his place.
“It was stormy as fuck. a hundred times rougher than this. Nobody would take a boat out the size of the boat he had. Unless you were insane. But I said he should. I said he should.
“And of course by this point we’re both wankered. But he said he wouldn’t, but I called him a pussy if he wasn’t going to try and get over to Sutheray. At night, in that fucked up weather, pissed off his bollocks.
“And he fucking did it. I went home, I’d been joking the whole time. I didn’t think he’d do it. But the next morning he was gone. And the boat had turned over, and he was fucking gone.”
“You’ve been talking like he’s still alive the whole time. Why?”
“I didn’t want anyone to find out. I didn’t want it to be real. I killed a guy. Have you ever killed a guy?”
“You didn’t kill him. It was an accident. It’s horrible, but he was stupid to do what he did. You couldn’t have thought he’d do it. It’s not your fault.”
Sophie wrapped her arms around her sister, and held her, tight. Abigail was slightly taller, but Sophie was on marginally higher ground, and their heads fell onto each other’s shoulders.
And the Sun cast pink and purple and gold fingers across the clouds, shimmered on the sea, and lit up the world to the raucous screams of a thousand gannets.