The Keeper

By L. Kay Bryden

When newlyweds, Dr. Mirrah Dobrey-Brenton and her husband, Landy, move to Black Rock Island, Mirrah believes it's the beginning of a fairy tale. By her husband's side, they embark on a new beginning, when Mirrah accepts her retired father's position as Black Rock's only Doctor, and Landy, keeper of Mirrah's beloved, ancestral, lighthouse home. Together they happily await the impending arrival of their first born children . . . much-awaited triplets. For the happy couple, life is perfect. However, what began as a fairy tale, abruptly becomes Mirrah's worst nightmare, when she's violently awakened one dark, stormy, October evening, to discover her husband's lifeless body hanging by the neck.
Five years later . . . still destined for misfortune, and haunted by ghosts of the past, Mirrah, her three children, and Sheriff Frank Brogan, find themselves in a fight for their lives with a very real and very deadly enemy. A sadistic mad man who's been much closer than either of them could have ever imagined.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Mar 22, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466906204

L. Kay Bryden

L. Kay Bryden has enjoyed writing for well over three decades now. In 2011 she published her first novel, The Keeper, followed by The Prophet: Collector of Souls. Now she introduces her third thriller, Dead Sleep. Lisa resides in Bridgeville, Delaware, with her husband and her beloved menagerie, working on her next novel.

Book preview

The

KEEPER

9589.jpg

L. Kay Bryden

Order this book online at www.trafford.com

or email [e-mail]

Most Trafford titles are also available at major online book retailers.

© Copyright 2012 L. Kay Bryden.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

isbn: 978-1-4669-0621-1 (sc)

isbn: 978-1-4669-0619-8 (hc)

isbn: 978-1-4669-0620-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011961565

Trafford rev. 03/14/2012

7-Copyright-Trafford_Logo.ai www.trafford.com

North America & International

toll-free: 1 888 232 4444 (USA & Canada)

phone: [phone] ♦ fax: [phone]

Contents

Acknowledgments

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

This is for everyone who had to read, and

re-read my manuscript. You all know who you are.

I can never thank you enough for all

your support, and all your patience.

Acknowledgments

With sincere appreciation to Mr. Duker, the teacher who taught me the greatest lesson of my life, believing in myself. I’ll never forget you saying, and I quote: You can be anything you choose to be, go anyplace you choose to go, and do anything you choose to do. You only have to dream that it’s possible, and it’s possible.

Mr. Duker, I wouldn’t be who I am if you hadn’t left footprints on my heart. I’ll never forget you or IF.

Dedication

For my husband Michael

Thanks for all your patience.

For my favorite Aunt

Louise Vannicola—Aunt Extraordinaire.

Thanks for all your suggestions and support.

Prologue

The loose panes of glass rattled fiercely with every powerful gust of Pacific wind that plied them. The torrents shook the wooden window frames, slamming them against the casings relentlessly. Other than the raging storm, the banging of the windows and the occasional sound of shattering glass, there was a profound underlying silence. This eerie blanket of foreboding hung heavy in the cold night air, looming like a harbinger of impending doom, or something wicked yet to come.

Mirrah was startled awake by the violent whistling of the menacing ocean wind, the fierce banging of the windows, and something else, something unexplainable. She blinked her eyes several times in an attempt to clear her foggy head. Otherwise, she lay in bed silent and motionless, listening to the raging storm and trying to familiarize herself with the night sounds as she desperately tried to clear her sleep-addled brain. Suddenly, the storm was veiled by a vociferous wailing that pierced the night, immediately followed by a forlorn moaning, and what seemed to be indiscernible whispering. Mirrah froze. Motionless, she held her breath, trying to delineate the voices. Her efforts were in vain. She couldn’t distinguish words from the whispering that surrounded her. She tried to rationalize what she was hearing by telling herself it was just the vocalizations coming from the stock of Steller sea lions that lay on the rocks along the coast. This rationalization brought her little comfort. She lay still in her bed as she listened to the pounding of her heart beating in her ears, and what sounded like a room full of people, all talking at the same time. She continued trying to distinguish any possible words from the prattle echoing around her, but the more intently she listened, the more difficult it was for her to make out any distinct words or phrases.

Mirrah lay and listened only a few more moments, which to her felt like hours, before reaching over and feeling around blindly for the bedside lamp. She found it instinctually, even in the darkness that surrounded her. She fumbled for the switch, her fingers shaking fiercely. She awkwardly attempted to turn the lamp on; however, when she finally managed the switch, nothing. Abandoning the light, she sat up on the side of the bed, giving herself a moment before standing, allowing her eyes time to adjust to the darkness. When she was finally able to get her bearings, and orientate herself to her surroundings, she realized that her husband was not lying next to her. He and the puppy were gone. She felt uneasy by this, but immediately dismissed that feeling. She simply assumed he had taken the puppy downstairs to put him out for a few minutes. They had finally gotten him potty trained.

Mirrah stood up, but the second her feet hit the floor her body was wracked by tremendous pain. The pain was so intense that it literally took her very breath away. She reached around and pressed her hands to her lower back. This pain was unfamiliar, but she knew exactly what she was experiencing. She felt for her bedroom slippers with her toes, located them, slipped them on, and started carefully toward the door. She knew exactly what she needed to do. She needed a light. She needed to get downstairs. And she needed to find her husband, immediately. Mirrah warily, but as quickly as possible, felt her way to the bedroom door, using the familiar stationary furniture as her guide. She thought about what she would do next, and decided to work her way to the old antique oil lamp that was hanging on the wall just outside the lantern room. It had been purchased strictly for show, but she knew that it worked, and would more than serve her purpose. There was also a new box of stick matches in the antique match dispenser right beside it, if she could just make it that far.

With every step, her contractions grew more intense. By the time Mirrah made it to the lantern, she was almost doubled over with pain. Although it took her several minutes, Mirrah finally lit the oil lamp and started awkwardly down the daunting spiral staircase. By the time she made it to the landing, she was doing everything in her power to fight the hurt and the overwhelming urge to vomit. As she walked down the corridor, she had to stop again, allowing the current contraction time to pass. As she stood fighting the pain, another unusual sound rendered her motionless. Now, just outside the kitchen, she stood as still as possible. She consciously controlled her breathing and listened. In that moment, she realized what it was that she heard. It was the whining of the puppy, and the sound of his nails raking the front door. His faint cries and scratching were almost indiscernible above the fury of the storm, but she heard him. Mirrah wanted to go to him, but she knew she had to find Landy. As she continued toward the living room, something instinctually compelled her to a standstill. Suddenly, the hair on her arms stood up. She felt the chill of dread enfold her. That same instinct that had stopped her now urged her to run. Run and find her husband. She needed to find Landy. She needed to find him now!

Mirrah wasted no time. She did run. She was completely unconcerned now with the pain that ripped through her. She turned the corner into the living room and once again came to a stop. She stood motionless at the entry to the living room, where a steady, constant sound echoed in the dark recesses. It was the repetitive sound of squeaking. It was an unfamiliar sound. It was a sound that Mirrah had never heard before. So, to help light the vast space of the living room, she lifted her lantern as high above her head as she could. Just as she lifted the lantern, another spasm tore through her body. She cried out in pain, fighting to keep herself upright. Fear suddenly surged through her. This overwhelming feeling of dread left her chilled to the bone.

The moment her light illuminated the room and the origin of the sound became visible, everything else became hazy. Mirrah gasped. She held her breath and stared into the semidarkness, transfixed, at the horrific scene now made visible by the narrow beam of her lantern. She was frozen with shock. Her mind went blank. She fought to rationalize the scene before her. She whispered over and over to herself, This can’t be real! I’m dreaming! She found herself praying that this scene before her was just part of some horrific nightmare. But realization quickly outweighed the shock of disbelief. Suddenly, there was no longer any physical pain. There was no longer any sound of the raging storm outside, or the puppy at the door, or the rhythmic squeaking that only a moment ago had echoed in her ears. At that very instant, there was nothing. For Mirrah, time stood still. Blackness completely enveloped her senses, as she unconsciously let the lantern crash to the floor. At that very moment in time, Mirrah Dobrey-Brenton’s beautiful fairy-tale life ceased to exist, as she stared, horror-struck, in the direction of the unimaginable vision which would be forever burned into her brain. It was the paralyzing image of her husband hanging by the neck from the living room ceiling, his lifeless body swinging, in rhythm, to the squeaking of the taut rope against the wooden support beam. The once vibrant life, now completely drained from his body.

Five Years Later . . . 

Chapter One

Mirrah yelled as loud as she could over the deafening sound of the crashing waves, the whistling of the wind, and the cries from the sea lions on the rocky shore below. Lehnan! Lehnan Allan! Where are your sisters? She had caught sight of her son in the distance and was shouting in his direction, hoping he would eventually hear her. He had been easy to spot, because of his fluorescent jersey and the twinkling lights on the soles of his sneakers. The lights blinked with every step he took. From where Mirrah stood, the twinkling lights looked like tiny lightning bugs fluttering in the distance. This time Mirrah cupped her hands around her mouth like a megaphone, and shouted, yet again, thinking that by doing that, it would amplify her voice enough to carry over the sound of the wind and waves. She had to get his attention.

Mirrah wanted, more than anything just one uneventful day, but by now she had figured out that this was clearly not going to be that day. She also knew that it was going to get worse; she had no idea how or why, but she could feel it in her bones. And, adding to her unease, she was becoming more and more frustrated with worry over the girls. She knew where her son was, but she had no idea where her two daughters had run off to, and she needed to find them and get them inside before the approaching storm hit. From her vantage point she could normally see the entire expanse of the island, but with the current poor visibility, she could hardly see past the rock line.

Mirrah called for the girls. Tanner! Tanner Rylee Brenton! Where are you? As usual, she called for Tanner, not bothering to call for Tawney, because she knew Tawney couldn’t hear her.

As Mirrah stood at the top of a pile of rocks that bordered the banks of the lighthouse, she continued to scan the horizon. She realized that she would have to vacate her precarious post soon, because the waves were getting fiercer, and the water level higher, with each wave that crashed ashore. The huge rock, on which Mirrah stood to survey the island, had suddenly become a dangerous place for her to be. The lookout usually provided a safe and sufficient viewing platform, but it wasn’t safe today. The unpredictable weather was making it dangerous, and the weather was making it useless. Even from the height at which she stood, she could barely see anything. Although visibility was poor, Mirrah knew she still had the best lay of the land from where she stood, and therefore, the best chance of spotting the girls. She just needed a few more minutes. She raised herself up on her tiptoes, where she continued to scan the island for any sign of her daughters. In a matter of seconds, a much denser, heavier fog started rolling in on the ocean wind, and that fog was being carried across the water, ominously inland. It was beginning to filter its way onto land and had begun to settle across the ground, appearing almost like a thick white blanket. Mirrah knew exactly what this