Lighthouses 2

The rain drilled heavier as Kevin pulled himself over the fence behind the block of flats and landed with a wet thump. Lying still for a moment, he pulled his face from the dewy grass and hobbled up to the window. Placing his hands against the wall to the right, he eased up and stared at the lonely bulb through the glass. He needed to take it, he needed for it to become a part of him.

On impulse he rose and tugged at the window frame, a spark wiring through him as it slid up. Quieter now, he jigged it up further and edged, sideways, through the crack. Nerves jangling, he crouched on the floor, wide-eyed and pale. The door to the room was closed. 

He remained still for a minute, staring at the bulb. Gradually he rose and turned to slide the window, inch by inch, back into place, blocking out the beating rain. Sliding back down the wall, he tried to absorb himself in the light and its possibilities. He tried to empty his mind, to be present; to clip the absurd and centre on the current that pulled -  change, cyclical change and always, possibilities.

The door cracked open and he stumbled up. Doug stood drowsily, wiry facial hair spiking in odd directions. He raised the flat of his palm to his forehead and groaned. Kevin spoke first.

'You have to understand. You have to understand, I've - I've been seeing things. It's this room, it's - ever since I, ever since...'

He trailed off, unable to conjure the sentence. Doug leaned against the door and, wedging a cigarette into the fingers free at end of his cast, lit it.

'What have you been seeing?' He exhaled an amorphous cloud.

Kevin was thrown by the lack of admonishment. 'My. My girlfriend, I - she died, she -'.

'It's just a trip in the residue,' Doug cut in, puffing a web of smoke between them. 'You can get it from standing too close.'

'I...' Kevin. stopped again and looked up at the bulb. He thought about the strange things people thought and did, and suddenly felt very foolish. He flinched as Doug edged closer to him.

'Let me ask you a question,' he said, slowly and deliberately. 'Since you see fit to break into my home and workplace. How far back do you remember?'

Kevin backed off, feeling the window ledge against his thighs. He felt confused as he tried to process an answer. For a disorientating moment he felt as if he could not remember anything other than his flat, his job.

Doug pressed a hand upon his shoulder. 'Look, I'm not trying to mess with you. I'm sorry if you feel that way. And I'm sorry you're here - it's probably as much my fault. I shouldn't have - I shouldn't have asked you to help. The person you see... the person you remember, she's from before. You probably knew her before.'

Kevin brushed the hand off and pushed past Doug to the centre of the room. 'Before what?'

'Before everything changed. This place,' he gestured around, 'it's a lighthouse. That's what we call them, anyway. It protects everything we made. There's a lot of ill people out there. You have to be safe.'

'You're fucking with me,' muttered Kevin. 'You're not making any sense.'

The bulb buzzed and spasmed above them.

'I'm not. I'm trying to help you. There's not many of us left. Outside of this - this place we made, there's a lot of sick folk.'

'None of this is helping me!' Kevin pushed forward and grabbed at the collar of Doug's shirt. His breath smelled foul. 'Every time I'm here, I see her. I need to be here longer. Will that give me more time with her?'

'It's a trip in the residue,' choked Doug. 'Everything here is a version of how it was before. You've tripped it by being here, being in our lighthouse.'

'Shut the fuck up about this shit!' Kevin lurched into motion and pinned Doug against the wall. His hand pressed into Doug's cheek and they tottered in an abstract dance.

'Will it give me more time?' He breathed.

'You can have your fill. There are six. Six lighthouses in this city. How do you think everything here looks as it was? But, look, it's residue, nothing more. Like the floor beneath your feet, like the streets outside...'

Kevin swung his fist.

*

In a room inside a building, and, if stranger ideas were to be believed, inside the idea of a room inside the idea of a building, Kevin cradled Keira. He figured he had about an hour with her; the time he had spent in the lighthouse. He dabbed a cloth and cleared the blood from her head. He bandaged her and carried her to the sofa. Her lips parted and cracked; guttural sounds escaped. He let her become a part of him again, just for that time. If it was just for that time, that was okay. It had always been so.

Outside the rain galloped on the roof. He looked out the window at the haze of streetlights shimmering through the downpour and when he looked down again he was clutching air. Again he tried to remember, and again he realised he could not.

*