The Lonesome Isle

By Lisa Groszek

Elizabeth Milton accepted her mother's death years ago. As a writer investigating her first feature length assignment, she is faced with the knowledge that not only is her mother alive, but she's been held captive and now doesn't want to leave this parallel universe that's so much like, yet so much unlike their home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lisa Groszek
• Release date: Feb 19, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452428567

Lisa Groszek

I am 34 years old, a teacher, a mother to two beautiful children, and a writer. I have a wonderful husband that supports me in all my endeavors. I have always had a passion for the written word and love being able to express it.

Book preview

The Lonesome Isle

LISA GROSZEK

The Lonesome Isle

Lisa Groszek

Published by Lisa Groszek at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 Lisa Groszek

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Groszek, Lisa, 1976-

The Lonesome Isle: A novel by Lisa Groszek.-1st ed.

ISBN 1449919790

EAN-13 is 9781449919795

Copyright office registration: TXu 1-617-970

United States of America.

Acknowledgments

I would like to take a moment to acknowledge some very important people:

My husband Sebastian for always standing by and encouraging me.

My mother Kathy for always believing in me and never letting the words I can’t enter my vocabulary.

My sister-in-law Melissa without whom this publication would not have been possible or as awesome as it is.

My children who inspire me.

Thank you to all of my family and friends for their love and support through this journey.

Chapter 1

She won’t do it. I know it’s been a long time, but I know my daughter; she won’t come over here and give up everything that life’s given her just because you want her to. I don’t care how convincing you can be, said my mother to the man with the bright green eyes.

Oh, I think I can take care of her desires, said that man with mocking confidence.

Dominic, she’s young and full of life, she will want to go back to her friends and family.

Well then, we’ll just have to bring her friends and family here, my pet. Don’t worry; I know what I’m doing. Clarissa is just about ready and so is Elizabeth. We’ll all be together soon.

And why do we want the Renzen family here? she asked him.

Oh, it’s all part of the plan, my dear, you’ll see.

There was that confidence again; it really bothered me that this man was so sure of his plans.

My dream was coming to an end now. I’ve been having the same dream so often lately that it was more like an old rerun; Dominic was about to bend over and kiss my mom full on the lips, then look up straight at me and wink. Then I’d wake up wondering, again, who the Renzen family was, who Clarissa was, who Dominic was; and why my mother, dead for the last sixteen years, was arguing with him about me.

I woke up to the sound of the bus driver telling us about the next stop on our tour.

It’s out that way, said Roger identified by the nametag he wore, as he pointed out the left side of the Martha’s Vineyard tour bus, only the island within an island’s been deserted for nearly twenty years. Hateful place it is.

That last sentence he said only to himself, but I read his lips in the mirror; there was no mistaking it, he knew something. He gave a quick start as he realized I’d watched him say that last part. For a second his pale blue eyes met my big doe-brown ones, and then he looked away. He composed himself quickly and drove on. I forgot al about my dream when I realized that this man could help me get the information I needed.

He was a man that looked to be in his sixties. He had short, neatly cut, brown hair. It was obvious that the pale blue eyes used to be electrifyingly blue. This man looked tired both physically and emotionally and as we approached the island, the stressful look on his face increased.

Roger, I spoke up, I’m Elizabeth Milton, a reporter with the East Coast News, is there a reason that the island has stayed deserted for so long? Any type of strange activity? I could just see it now, my first big story, the headline would read, Writer Unveils Mysterious Island’s Secrets. My boss would go wild.

No, Elizabeth Milton from the East Coast News, was the grumpy and mocking reply, the lines on Roger’s pallid face were set in anger and frustration, just a bunch of stories about sounds heard or mysterious storms popping up over the island alone, but they are not true. They are simply concocted by the sensationalists who are trying to get good ratings and recognition.

Several of the passengers tried to stifle a laugh as Roger’s words slashed through the hope that had peaked and reduced it to nothing. Suddenly I felt quite foolish for asking, my cheeks burned as I felt the blush that had risen there. I had my pride and couldn’t let it go.

Well, I guess us sensationalists were wrong for blowing the lid off of important political events like Watergate or the truth of the events of September eleventh and the terrorists. It’s interesting how easily you’ll dismiss a reporter as nothing more than someone to be annoyed by, yet you’ll greatly appreciate us when you eagerly anticipate information about certain world events. Sorry to have bothered you.

Roger looked at me for a few more minutes with a scowl on his face. I could tell that he was holding something back, but I shook off his behavior as a dislike of reporters. I was steaming and tears had come into my eyes.

I silently viewed the rest of the tour thinking of ways in which I’d get this grumpy old man to tell more about what he knows. As the bus pulled into the station at the end of the tour, I didn’t want to get off. I didn’t want to walk past the man that mocked and humiliated me, yet I knew that he was the only one that could help me if I could get him to talk. I quickly scurried past him without meeting his gaze that I was sure would be unfriendly. I would find ways in which to bump into him in the near future and try to get on his good side. I took my last step off of the bus and my opportunity for more information presented itself.

There is more to that island than what he told you, said a serious voice right outside of the bus, he doesn’t like to talk about it.

I looked up and saw an attractive thirty-something man staring straight at me. He was about average height and had obviously spent some days in the sun as his skin was a warm, golden color. The muscles in his arms suggested that he was also not a stranger to hard work, yet no bodybuilder. I felt a glimmer of hope and looked back at him questioningly.

Sorry, he said as he reached out to shake my hand, I was on the bus tour. I ride along sometimes to keep an eye on him. He’s getting older and I like to make sure he’s okay. Hi Elizabeth, my name is Thomas, Thomas Renzen.

The name shook my entire being. Did he really just say Renzen? Before he could notice my response, I composed myself and shook his hand eyeing him suspiciously. His short dark hair was a wonderful compliment to those electric gray-blue eyes; the same kind of eyes I imagine Roger had back when he was a young man. The resemblance between the two was incredible. It left little doubt that I was talking to Roger’s son.

It’s nice to hear a kind word, I replied, so; there is more to that island? Your Dad knows more than what he’s telling?

I didn’t say he was my dad……..I guess I don’t have to; we look a lot alike and yes, there is more to that island, but I don’t really like to talk about it either. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not telling you this to help you get your story. I’m telling you this because my father was not very kind in the way that he was telling you to stay away from there. It is a dangerous place and I hate to see you waste your time and energy there, let alone your life. Just let it go and find a nice story about locals versus tourists or something, okay? He asked almost pleadingly.

"The story was assigned to me; I didn’t come up with it on my own and if I ever want to become a feature writer, I have to go for the big stories.

"I appreciate your candor about the island, though you are being quite elusive about what the danger is. If there is something out there that is dangerous the public should be informed. If it’s dangerous to people, then it’s dangerous to all people, not just the few that know about it. The people have a right to know about what type of danger is lying out there for them and how to avoid it.

I thank you for your suggestion, but now I have one for you. You can either help me by telling me more about what the danger is, or you can go about your way and forget that we met. It’s your call, I pushed.

The expression in his eyes had gone from mild concern to outright anger and I tried to understand why he would care so much what happened to me.

I can’t do either, it’s too dangerous. Other reporters have been out this direction and have not come back. I’m not going to lead you into harm so that you can get yourself hurt or killed. It’s too risky, he argued.

If I didn’t ever want to do anything risky, I wouldn’t be much of a reporter, would I? I am willing to take the risk; I know there have been others, but it’s worth it. If I can’t get you to tell me about it, then I’ll find someone else who knows. Thank you for your helpful information, I replied curtly.

He looked at me for a moment longer probably trying to figure out if there was any hope in continuing to argue and decided that there wasn’t.

I never understood that about reporters, he was always after the danger too. Thomas said under his breath as he turned to walk away.

Who was always after the danger too? Who, Roger, your father? He was a reporter too? Oh, I get it, I began as comprehension dawned on me, and I laughed once, shortly, he was after this story too and something happened. Is that it? That’s it, isn’t it? That’s why he doesn’t want to talk about it and that’s why you’re here warning me now. What do you care if I walk into danger? I prodded a bit forcefully in my annoyance.

Maybe my sister was right after all; maybe it’s useless to talk to you reporters, a pained look crept up on his face with those words, All you can see is the big headline at the end. You never stop to notice the people you may step on in order to get that story. Do what you have to, but consider yourself warned. Good luck to you Elizabeth. I hope you fare better than the others that have come looking.

Before I could say another word he turned and walked away easily melding into a crowd of tourists getting ready to take the next tour. He did not get on the bus this time.

I was a bit confused about his comments about the others and his sister, but ultimately I had gotten what I wanted. I couldn’t believe the name I dreamed about, and had no association with, seemed to have found me, but what could they be to me? I put it out of my mind. I decided to focus on what I had gotten out of the conversations. I now knew that there was more to that island than what had been told. I had proof that the locals were aware of the problem. Armed with this kind of information I was sure to be able to get other locals to talk.

One thing was for sure, I would succeed where Roger had failed and that would be a bit of a bonus after the way he had just treated me, especially since he was a retired reporter.

I walked to the nearest gift store and bought myself a map of Martha’s Vineyard. I traced the course that I would have to take to get back to the small island. I then walked to a stand where mopeds were being rented and began the process of getting myself some transportation.

The kid came back with keys; I promised to gas up the moped before I returned it and I was on my way. I could have sworn that as I pulled out and rounded the corner I noticed the teenage boy that rented the moped to me pull the garage door down on the business with a large closed sign on it. This was entirely strange since it was mid-morning on a sunny day and it was definitely too early for lunch. I forgot about it as I moved further on down the road. The threatening clouds that I noticed earlier were now upon the island in the distance and lighting up with electricity every now and again.

As I was driving along at a breakneck speed of forty miles an hour, peddle to the medal for this thing, I noticed that the clouds did not seem to be moving. They seemed to have centered themselves directly over the island. My determination and intrigue only grew with this new discovery. I had to figure out how to get onto that island. I looked around to see if there was any piece of land that led close enough to the island that I could swim there. I noticed for the first time that the roads were entirely deserted. There was not a person out on a hot July day in the height of tourist season, and all of the businesses that were close by had a CLOSED sign in their windows.

I was about to drive on when my moped faltered a few times and died. I tried to restart it, but it would not start. Nothing I did would get it started, nor was there anyone around to help me. I looked out onto the island as an especially bright bolt of lightning came crackling through the sky. It looked as though there were something standing still in the middle of the island. I narrowed my eyes to try for a better view. It looked like a person….almost like…..could it be her? The image of my mother from my dream came floating into my head again. It was too far away to tell for sure and people that died sixteen years ago don’t show up on a deserted island. I decided that I was being silly. I looked back to the tiny island and saw that I was right. The dream, meeting a Renzen, and the mystery surrounding this island must have set my imagination into hyper drive. I had bigger problems at the moment. I turned back to my moped and tried to figure out how to deal with this before I got soaked.

A door creaked open from a home on the street. I was startled, but I saw a small girl standing in the doorway, she said, you better get in here lady. It’s not safe out there.

She was a curious little thing. She couldn’t have been any more than six or seven years old, but it seemed she’d seen a lot in her short little life. Her deep blue eyes looked kind of far away and sad. She had darkish blonde hair that was straight, parted in the middle, and cropped to just under her chin.

Why not honey? What’s happening out here? I asked already feeling a sense of familiarity with the girl standing in the doorway.

An electrical storm silly, the most dangerous kind. Your bike is broken, come in until the storm is over. Grandpa won’t mind. He likes to be nice to strangers.

Can I talk to your grandpa? I replied hoping the rain would hold off a few minutes longer.

Roger, who must have worked the morning shift, walked to the door and looked at me fiercely. He shook his head and looked kindly down at his granddaughter. Grandpa doesn’t like to be nice to all strangers honey, he said as he started to close the door.

But grandpa, that’s the lady in my dreams, we have to let her in. We have to protect her, she said.

I thought that your dreams only had your mommy and grandma? he asked concerned and eyed me suspiciously.

There are new dreams grandpa, she said sullenly, then looked up at me and pointed to me with one little finger, she is in the new ones with mommy; her name is Elizabeth and she’s going to bring them home.

How do you know my name? my voice shaking now. Again, my own bizarre dream flashed in my mind.

My mommy told me in my dreams, she explained easily.

Roger decided to invite me in. I wasn’t completely sure he wanted me in their house, but I could tell he didn’t want his granddaughter to say another word. It was terrifying him.

Oh, for you sweetheart, we’ll let her in, but she’s gone as soon as the storm is over; I don’t care what your dreams have told you, Roger said curtly.

I really don’t need your help. I’m fine. If I would have known that this were your house, I would have broken down up the road, my voice soured with contempt.

It’s not broken, it’ll start again when the storm passes, but Clarissa here is right, he said gesturing to the little girl, it’s not safe out there and there aren’t others that are going to offer, you better come inside, Roger said.

Why is it not safe? I asked.

Just come in, I’ll tell you all about it, he repeated looking around nervously.

I wasn’t sure I was comfortable with this, but it didn’t look like there was much of a choice. All other homes were closed up tight and the wind was really beginning to pick up. I took another look at the island and the rain started to fall. I decided I better take the offer.

Thank you, I guess. I said as I wheeled the moped to the sidewalk.

Don’t thank me, thank my granddaughter Clarissa. I would have been happy to leave you out there, but I can’t say ‘no’ to her, said Roger as he looked at Clarissa with an almost pained smile.

Right, thank you Clarissa, I said to her as she was still staring in my direction, then I turned to look at Roger, So, why exactly is the moped not broken? Why will it start again when the storm passes and how are you so sure of that? I asked with pen and paper in hand.

Why don’t you make yourself at home first and then we’ll get into the details of what’s going on outside, said Roger as he directed me to a seat, Can I get you something to drink?

A water thanks, and along with that the grumpy, bitter, not going to give an inch Roger that I met this morning, I replied.

Yeah, I know. It happens sometimes. I’m sorry for that. I’ll get you your water and maybe when I explain everything you’ll see why I’m so touchy. Come help grandpa Clarissa. Please don’t stare at her like that, it’s not polite, Roger gently chastised his granddaughter as they left the room.

Roger and Clarissa went to the kitchen together and I was left with my thoughts. I glanced around at the house and noticed that this house must have been an original on the island. With very few updates to fixtures and countertops it was obvious that Roger enjoyed the antiquity of his home. The wood in the home had been beautifully conserved. I was sitting on a soft beige suede couch in the living room. It was surprisingly modern for its surroundings. There were no curves to this couch; straight, clean lines made up the frame and multi-hued pillows decorated it. Straight ahead of me was an archway that led to the kitchen that was still very antiquated as it was obvious that the oven/stove combination, which was only slightly obscured by the wall, was an antique find. There were stairs going up to my right with a beautiful wooden banister to hold as one walked up and down the ten or so steps. I assumed the bedrooms must be on the second floor. There was a fireplace on my left and another door that I assumed to be a bedroom or a den. The floors were made of a handsome mahogany. I decided that my guess about Roger’s career must have been right; Roger must be a retired reporter to be able to have the time to make the updates that he had done. He certainly could not have done all this on a bus driver’s salary. He came back in and handed me the water and then sat down to talk.

I can see that you’re not going to give up on this, so let me tell you a little bit about myself. I’ve lived here for quite some time. I know a lot about this place. I also know that it is not safe for you out there. I know that if you had ridden any further on that rent-a-moped, you may have ended up on that island. Most importantly I know what it’s like to be a reporter and have that thirst. I’m a retired reporter myself with the Boston Globe. I’m going to try to save you from a lot of trouble and a lot of heartache. That island is not a place that you want to go. He said.

Well, I said musingly, I was itching to get information about the island, but astounded by how pleasant he seemed now, I’m still waiting for an explanation of the large change in attitude from a few minutes ago when you were about to leave me in the storm to now when you’re so incredibly helpful. What happened to this morning and the statement that there was nothing on the island that I would want to report on?

There is always something behind nothing; as a reporter you should know that. Anyway, I do apologize sincerely for my earlier behavior, even just a few minutes ago. This little girl always reminds me to curb my temper and be nice to strangers, especially those that she feels she knows somehow, though you are a first, Roger said while gesturing to his granddaughter. I looked down at her incredulously for a moment still wondering how she could know all that she seemed to know.

At that moment, the phone rang and Roger excused himself in order to answer it. I noticed that the two curious eyes of Clarissa were intently upon me and I thought again of how strangely she was looking at me, like we were old friends; like she’d been waiting for my arrival.

Hello there, I said to her, do you live here too?

Hi, are you here to get my mommy? Are you bringing her back from vacation in the sky? she almost demanded, ignoring my question.

This threw me off entirely. She was straight and to the point and I wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that line of questioning. It was obvious from the story that she’d been fed that her mother was dead, but could she really have been having dreams of me getting her mother back for her? I had never seen her before today, so she couldn’t be getting me confused with someone, unless the someone in her dream looked like me. And again, my own dream seemed to echo in my mind. Luckily, Roger returned from the kitchen at that point and I was saved a very difficult answer. He must have heard her questions.

Oh, it’s okay sweetheart, this lady is just here to talk to me about the island. Mommy is on a very long vacation, said Roger ineffectively trying to placate her.

But this is the lady in my dream Grandpa; she told me that she’s bringing Mommy back. She told me in my dream, demanded Clarissa.

Honey, it’s just a dream, she may have looked like this lady, but I don’t think she was. We’ve talked about this, haven’t we? Now Grandpa needs to talk to this lady about something very important, so please go to your room for a little bit. We’ll go for ice cream later, okay? Roger begged with frustrated hurt in his eyes.

Okay Grandpa, see you later lady, she said as she approached the steps.

He sat down on the La-Z-Boy just across from where I was sitting. He seemed to reflect for a few minutes on what Clarissa was saying and it seemed as though he had to compose himself. For a minute or two he was incapable of talking, so I decided to break the silence.

I can see that you’re upset. Maybe I should go, it looks a lot better out there now, I said.

No, it’s not better and you can’t go out there for the very same reason that that little girl that you met no longer has a mother and I no longer have a wife, Roger said sternly then took a deep breath. He was thinking carefully about how to proceed.

Clarissa is my granddaughter, he continued with a sigh, "She lost her mother and grandmother about two years ago and I don’t have the heart to tell her that her mother’s not coming back. I stick with the ‘vacation in the sky’ story just to buy time. I know I’ll have to tell her eventually. She’s six years old, already too old to really believe it, but she pretends she does for me.

It’s for that reason that I speak of the island with such contempt. I truly hate that place. There’s something wrong out there and I can’t figure out exactly what it is, but I’m not leaving here until I do. I just wish I knew how to make it happen, exhaustion and defeat were clear in Roger’s voice.

Okay, you’ve managed to get me lost. Can you tell me the story from the beginning and how the island has anything to do with the death of your daughter? Can you tell me the story from beginning to end? I asked.

Yeah, well, I don’t even know for sure that my daughter’s dead, I just know that she is gone against her will along with my wife. This is a picture of them, taken the day that they both disappeared, he said as he handed me the frame from where it was sitting just under his wooden lamp.

It was a picture in which they both looked infinitely happy. His wife was wearing a long mother-of-the-bride dress. It was a soft blue spaghetti-strapped dress with a sheer jacket. Her hair was pulled into a salon up-do, soft locks of hair escaping in patterns. She looked as beautiful as if this were her own wedding day.

It was their daughter’s wedding day. She was in a beautifully fitted gown that looked as if it cost thousands of dollars. The gown was sleeveless; it was plain white and fit her figure perfectly down to the ankles where the bottom flared out into a wave of fabric. Her hair was also in an up-do and she had some tendrils hanging down in banana curls that framed her face and accented her bright blue eyes. She had definitely gotten her eyes, and her small figure, from her mother, but her chocolate brown hair came from her father. She had a beautifully beaded veil that she had attached to her tiara that wove around her hair like a perfectly proportioned snake.

It’s a beautiful picture, I said, they both disappeared on this day?

Yes, he said struggling to hold back tears, it was supposed to be the best day of our lives, and it ended in tragedy. The worst part of it is that it easily could have been avoided. My daughter wanted her wedding in Boston, but I told her that it had to be here. I told her that my job was here now and that this was where we were going to be.

You were out here when you were still working for the Globe? Or had you already started driving the tour bus? I asked.

I was working for the Globe. I only started working with the tour bus because my son said it wasn’t good for me to stay home all the time. He said that I had to start getting out and doing something, otherwise I was liable to go crazy here. I think he was right. Believe it or not, I like driving the tour bus and meeting all kinds of people. You just happened to catch me on a bad morning and you touched an explosive nerve, his face crinkled into a sheepish grin.

"Anyway, I was working with the Globe and was assigned to come out here to the Vineyard and write about this mysterious island everyone had been talking about. Rumor had it that the island was some sort of gateway in which, if looking through a telescope during a storm, one could see a sort of door opening in the middle of the island. Some claim to have even seen a lady standing in the doorway looking out when it opens. Sounds exciting, right? That’s what I thought. I was really excited. My family and I had been talking about moving anyway. Our son was already out of the house and we knew our daughter wouldn’t be far behind him, so when I came home with the news that we were moving, there was relatively little surprise. Our daughter, Madeline is her name, didn’t want to move because her boyfriend at the time, who later became her fiancé, lived in Boston, but somehow they made it work. This was supposed to be my last story anyway. I was going to retire once this was written and published. Before we were out here long, Madeline was engaged and we all got very busy with planning the wedding. I hadn’t taken a lot of time to research the island yet. I wish now that I had, but their engagement was short and we had a lot of people to bring into town. Since I had some time to play with on the assignment, it kind of fell by the wayside and the wedding took over in importance.

"The wedding was going to be on that island. I had spent weeks putting together ferry rides to the small island, getting the florist, caterer, and band out there, and setting up every detail. After a while, Madeline seemed to start agreeing with me, she thought it was a beautiful place for the wedding too; or so I thought.

"The day of the wedding came and we were all bustling around getting ready for the main event. My daughter came into my den in her dress and I just melted. We shared a few words about marriage and what a big day this was and how excited she was. I told her that I was excited for her and looked forward to inviting Mark into the family.

"We got into the limousine and drove to where the boats were. The bridal party went first since there had been a tent set up just for them so that Mark wouldn’t see her before she came down the aisle. The boats ferried us over and we were all together on that island. I pulled Madeline to the side again still wanting to talk to her before the ceremony got under way; I knew once that happened I would get very few chances to talk to her that night.

"After some pleasant conversation between Madeline and me, we talked about why the wedding was here instead of Boston. I wish that conversation had never happened. That put a huge damper on our relationship that day. I wish I could take it all back. I remember looking at her and thinking that she shouldn’t be so stubborn. I realize now that I was the stubborn one. If it weren’t for my insistence that we stay here on this island, she would be here today.

Madeline and I argued about the fact that the wedding was here instead of Boston. I got angry and told her after she said her vows and started her new life with this man she could go to Boston and feel free to stay there. It was like an arrow had pierced her heart. I’ll never forget the hurt look on her face, but I was so angry I just stood there. She turned around and walked out of the room……..and that was the last time that I saw my little girl. Roger finished with eyes full of tears and lost the battle to hold back the grievous howl that surfaced shortly