Chapter 1

David Airedale was an imposing man in his mid thirties, with rakish, masculine good looks and hauntingly beautiful blue eyes. His dark hair kept cropped short, a hold over from his time spent in the marines. Although, just beginning to show signs of gray at the temples. Physically, David had not changed much over the years, he had kept himself in the same prime condition he was in when he left the service, although as he matured, his body had taken on a slightly more rugged and rough-hewn cast, unlike the crisp trim he had in his youth. The obvious care he’d put into maintaining himself was not lost on those whom he interacted with, however he was a solitary man, he confined himself to his duties as the chief keeper and caretaker of one of the nations few, fully functional lighthouses.

It was a self-imposed solitude, one that slowly crept upon him like the changing of the seasons. Before he was aware of it, his thirty fifth birthday had come and gone, and he found himself alone with no one to share his life with, no one that is, but a mangy grey cat he’d named Tommy, which had for some unknowable reason befriended him and followed him home several weeks prior.

In many ways David was a recluse, opting to spend his days reading from old dusty books, rebuilding his fishing boat’s engine, or performing many of the every day maintenance routines on the light. The only real contact he had with the world outside was the daily radio conversations with Pete, from the coastguard station just up the coast, and the occasional trip he made into pine creek, the town just fifteen miles inland, that he visited for supplies.

Today was one of the days in which he would have to make that fifteen mile drive; Pete had told him that the national weather service was forecasting a good blow coming in off the ocean, the kind that would be bringing high swells, and torrential rain with it. David knew from experience at the light, when the weather kicked up, the power lines went down and he would need to top off the tanks on the generator before the storm reached landfall.

Tommy sat peering out a low window of the keeper’s house, watching with half lidded yellow eyes as David’s arms, shoulders and chest strained the tight cloth of his faded blue t-shirt while he loaded the bed of his beat up Chevy with two fifty gallon drums. Pete had said that the forecast was only calling for one day’s worth of rain, but David wasn’t going to risk the light going out, simply because he’d run out of fuel mid storm. He had already topped off the generators main tank with the last dregs from the drums, but as was David’s mantra, better safe than sorry. Although most modern ships, being navigated by the use of the global positioning system, no longer required the use of lights for positioning there are still some smaller and older vassals on the waters which rely heavily up on the service David’s light provided. David knew that it was his duty to guide those ships, especially in the weather that would shortly arrive.

Glancing out at the horizon, David narrowed his eyes at what he saw; off in the distance where the sky brushed across the ocean, the clouds had thickened and taken on a dark foreboding appearance. Deep shades of purple, blue, and grey loomed making the normally beautiful blue green of the ocean seem as if it were a hostile and angry place.

The surf had begun to swell, causing the normally placid waves in this area to take on a livid white capped appearance and froth as they rolled in, lapping at the shoreline. The occasional storm along the coast was nothing new to David, however the sight that clung to the horizon like a battered and bruised gaseous beast brought a creeping and sinking sensation to the center of David’s chest. A sense of foreboding settled within him as he watched the clouds shift, meld, and unfurl along the horizon.

He stood for several moments, watching the clouds as they crept inaudibly closer, then the bright flash of lightning arced through the clouds in the distance and snapped him from his trance. He drew in a sharp breath, shook his whole body as if dispersing a winter chill, then slipped into the cab of his pickup to head for pine creek.

[-(*)-]

The sleepy community of Pine Creek hadn’t changed much over the last forty years, it was, what most would consider a wide spot in the black top. Just a simple four way stop on two highways marked the town center. In many ways, Pine Creek was a throwback to a simpler time, a time where you did not have to fear who was living next door, and almost everyone in the community knew everyone else by name.

David pulled his battered pickup truck up to the pumps at the only gas station, mechanic, and convenience store in town, Jakes garage. As the tires of the old Chevy rolled over the rubber bell hose, the familiar pinging sound of the bell from within the garage was heard, shortly afterwards a wiry young man peered out the door then came trotting up to David’s truck, “Hey Mr. Airedale, What can I do for you?”

David let a smile cross his face as the hyperactive, auburn haired teen leaned into his passenger side window as David killed the truck’s engine with a turn of the key, “Hey Toby, got a tall order for you, I need the drums in the bed filled, also need the tank on the truck topped off.” David knew it was coming before he finished his sentence, the boy peered into the bed of the truck then let out a quiet groan before looking back at David, “You really know how to put a cramp in my style, you know that Mr. Airedale? I’m gonna be fillin’ those things for over half an hour.”

Despite his protests, Toby pulled a nozzle from the pump beside the truck, flipped up a lever on the pump causing it to groan and begin churning with activity inside its hollow metal housing; he then climbed up the wheel well and hopped into the bed of the truck. Holding the nozzle between his knees, Toby unscrewed the cap on the first drum then shoved the nozzle into the opening as David climbed out of the cab. He looked back towards Toby, “Sorry sport” he said with a smirk, knowing this was going to be torture for the hyperactive youth, “Your dad owns the only gas station for thirty miles, and I need these filled up before the storm hits.”

The boy plunked himself down atop the second drum as he peered at David while his long bony fingers squeezed the valve open on the nozzle, “Heard my dad and Mr. Whitman talking about it, they didn’t think it was gonna be all that bad, you really think your gonna be needing all this gas?” Toby asked eyeing David incredulously for a moment.

“Don’t really know Toby, but I’d rather have too much on my hands, than have to drive into town in the middle of a nasty storm, only to find the pumps not working because the powers out.” David said as he leaned his stocky frame against the cab of the truck, panning his eyes along the drowsy little shops that skirted the intersection.

“I guess that makes sense Mr. Airedale” Toby said giving a resounding nod of approval just as the clattering of an old telephone began to ring within the garage, “Gotta go get that!” he said as he quickly flipped down the lock on the nozzle, then hopped from the bed of the truck.

David grinned at the boy’s abundant energy then called after him, “I’m running over to the market, I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes if you need me.” Through the large plate glass window, David saw Toby nod and give him a wave as he picked up the handset of the telephone. With the acknowledgment, David pushed himself off the cab of his truck then walked his way towards Betty and Clark Whitman’s market.

Despite the fact that Clark Whitman was, in title the sole proprietor of the Whitman market, everyone in town knew that Betty was the brains behind the operation. She also happened to be, in David’s estimation, a cast iron bitch. While Clark was the kind of man David could easily get along with, Betty made his skin crawl; she was overbearing, gossip mongering, and just down right rude to David, and unfortunately, David knew exactly why. Betty was the unofficial information nexus of the town, she knew what everyone was doing, and to whom they were doing it to, and in most cases, in what position as well. Everyone, except David that is, since he was the town’s resident mystery. Since David refused to offer up information for Betty’s tale spinning sessions, the novelty of his mysteriousness quickly wore off Betty, changing into frustration with him then rapidly degraded into passionate dislike, bordering on raw hatred.

So it was with extreme discomfort, that he found Betty Whitman behind the counter as he opened the door to the marketplace and stepped inside. The tinkling of the bell above the door drew her attention from the latest issue of the national enquirer, and her welcoming grin quickly slipped from her face as her eyes met David’s. “Good afternoon Mr. Airedale.” she said in a clipped and perfunctory manor.

Not letting the woman get the best of him, David plastered a sweet smile on his face, which dripped with sugar, sickening enough to send anyone who saw it running for the nearest bottle of insulin. “Why, Mrs. Whitman, you look stunning today, is that a new dress you’re wearing?” David laid it on thick as he walked up to the counter and picked up a wire basket, knowing full well that the dress she was wearing was nearly two years old, since he recognized it as one of her usual ‘work outfits’.

Blinking as if she’d just been backhanded, David maneuvered closer as he watched the barely masked look of contempt on the woman’s face begin to wane, “n.. um no, it’s not new.” She said sounding unsure of herself as she looked down at the rather drab, navy blue dress, her brows furrowing slightly before she looked back up at him.

David kept that sickeningly sweet smile on his face as he watched her confusion, he then added, “Well in any case, Mrs. Whitman, you look wonderful, what ever your doing, keep it up.” He then winked at her and made his way deeper into the store before she had a chance to reply. With his back to the woman he let the sickeningly sweet smile fall from his face, only to be replaced with a warped little grin as he thought to himself, “Kill’em with kindness, and if they don’t die, try a ten gage.”

Feeling Betty’s eyes on his back, David rounded one of the isles and began loading his wire basket with several canned items, ignoring the nagging sensation of being watched as he went about his shopping. He knew full well that Betty would have the gossip lines hot with his little ‘come on’ to the woman, and he smirked to himself as his mind played out the various scenarios in which she’d warp his words, and barely held back a retch as the thought of her hoping to get him in bed crossed his mind. He loved tormenting the likes of Betty Whitman, but even if she were the last warm hole on earth, he would never plug his equipment into her, for the simple fact that he despised the woman.

Even if he did like her on a personal level, she just did not do anything for him, and that was the core of his self-imposed solitude, no one did anything for him. In David’s mind, there were three types of people, your every day heterosexuals, your not so common homosexuals, and then the rarest of them all, the David’s of the world, the asexuals.

It was not that David lacked a masculine persona, or that he failed to identify with a gender. He most definitely thought of himself as a male, and even had the majority of the stereotypical macho characteristics of a heterosexual male in his personality, right down to even being considered almost ‘hyper-butch’ at times, as he’d heard it put by one of his friends back in his marine days. His problem was that he could look at a nude woman, and feel absolutely no sexual attraction for her. The same situation also applied for men, and due to this little vacancy in his life, he found it echoing further and further into other aspects of it as well. At first he found it difficult to relate to friends in school, and then later on in the service. As he got older and watched his friends gradually pair off with someone, marry, and have children, he resigned himself to the fact that that ‘little’ vacancy had turned into a gaping hole, which had swallowed up his entire life, leaving him alone without anyone to share it with.

Sighing quietly to himself, he glanced at the glass doors of the drink cooler, and debated buying a six-pack, it was times like this when he wanted to just drink his loneliness into submission for a few hours, but a clap of thunder rolled through the building, reminding him of why he was there. He pulled his eyes away from the 16oz cans of emotional anesthetic and returned to his primary task, stocking up on food for a few days.

As David rounded the last Isle, he spotted several small cans and bags of pet food, and then he remembered the mangy four-legged feline that had befriended him. A faint smile replaced the brooding expression that he had carried prior as he moved over to inspect the cat food. At first impulse, he reached out to take a few cans at random, then on second thought; he decided to take a bit more care in selecting something he thought the cat might like. Tommy seemed fond of chicken and fish so he grabbed several cans of canned food then selected a small bag of meow mix before making his way towards the counter.

Placing the wire basket onto the counter, David began absentmindedly unloading the items for Betty to ring up, it was quiet at first until she noticed the cat food then said, “Since when do you have a cat?” her tone was actually civil now, causing David to smirk slightly as he met her eyes.

“A stray followed me home after a fishing trip, he’s stuck around for about two weeks now, so I decided I might as well start taking care of him.” David said as he finished unloading the wire basket then placed it back on the rack at the side of the counter.

“Well, I guess you do have a heart in there somewhere after all!” Betty said in a teasing and flirtatious way as she poked a single, long nailed finger into his right pictorial muscle, causing a slow creeping blush to make its way up David’s neck, cheeks and ears.

Once he’d recovered enough, he gave her a slight smile then said, “I’ve never met a stray that I didn’t try to help out in one way or another.” He then fished out his wallet, glancing at the display on the register and asked, “So what’s the damage?”

Betty totaled up the sale then turned back to him as she said, “Twenty three, forty six please.” with a faint smile on her face. David thought for a long moment that he might have misjudged the woman as he retrieved the money from his wallet; maybe she just thought he didn’t like her, and because of that, she returned the dislike. He handed the money over to Betty, and finally decided that his mother had been right all along, “kill’em with kindness.” Her words came back as if bidden by the thought, and he smiled more to himself than to Betty as she handed him his change then finished bagging the items.

“Have a good afternoon Mrs. Whitman, and be safe during the storm ok?” He said gathering up the paper bagged items on the counter after depositing his wallet back in his pocket. This time a genuine smile crept across David’s face as she smiled at him then said, “You too, especially being out there at the light all alone.” In an almost motherly way, she reached out and patted his hand before saying, “Don’t be a stranger now, but you should get going if you’re going to get back to the light before the storm gets here.”

David couldn’t help but sigh slightly at the patting on his hand; he found it amazing how much he missed the affection that even a little pat on the hand could convey, even from someone whom he thought hated him. He smiled then nodded before heading out the door towards his truck.

Stepping outside, he was hit by a gust of wind, causing his shirt to billow out, and his eyes to squint as he turned into it, making his way towards the garage where his truck was now being filled. Resting one of the bags of groceries against the cab of his truck he pulled open the door, then slid them both across the seat into the vacant passenger side of the truck, then the realization hit him, the passenger side of his truck hadn’t been used by a person since he’d bought the thing over ten years ago. He sighed quietly to himself, running his fingers over the back of his hand where Betty Whitman had patted him when a voice called out above the sound of the wind blowing through the trees, “You Ok Mr. Airedale?”

It was Toby, standing next to the truck now withdrawing the pump nozzle from the gas tank. David looked back, blinking slightly as he dropped his hands to his sides and mentally kicked himself for being such an emotional fool, “Um, Yeah Toby, I’m just fine, just thinking I guess.” He said, not sounding all that convincing, even to himself.

The gangly teen gave him a half hearted smile then said, “You look like you’ve lost your last friend Mr. Airedale, Want me to talk to my dad, and see if you can tag along next time he and a few of his friends go up to Trenton to the bowling alley?”

David winced at the thought that he was that transparent, then tried to brush off the offer by Toby, but only managed to stand there, his mouth opening, then closing several times, making him feel even more embarrassed as he was sure he looked like a fish lying on a sun baked beach as it gasped for air. Finally snapping out of it, David quickly said, “Don’t worry about it Toby, so how much do I owe you?”

Toby gave a slow rolling ‘whatever’ type of shrug before he glanced at the pump then arched a brow slightly, “Two hundred, thirty three, seventy five.. That’s for two fifty gallon drums, and twenty five gallons in your truck.” He paused for a moment then shuddered, “Man, I’d hate to see this thing if you got into a wreck on the way back Mr. Airedale, you’d be one crispy critter in nothing flat!”

David fished his wallet out of his pocket, and then handed over a credit card to Toby, “I’ll need a receipt, only way I can get reimbursed for the generators fuel.” As he visibly cringed at the thought of going up in flames during an accident, “And that’s not a pretty thought either, although it would re-define the phrase ‘going out in a blaze of glory.’”

Toby just looked at David like he were speaking a strange alien language as he reached out and took the credit card, “I’ll be right back Mr. Airedale.” he said, before quickly jogging towards the office to ring up the sale.

David leaned his wide frame against the cab of the truck as he watched Toby through the large plate window; the kid swiped his card through the reader then punched a series of numbers on it before he swiped it again. After a moment, the boy then reached over and picked up the telephone, scowling as he held it away from his ear then shook his head. He set the handset back down then reached under the counter pulling out an old, clunky credit card machine. Setting the machine on the counter, he fiddled with it for a bit, before he managed to make a print of David’s card, he then deposited the machine back under the counter before walking back out with the receipt and the carbon from the card machine in his hand. Closing the distance between himself and David, he said, “The phone lines are down, couldn’t do it the zippy way, dad will have to call it in when the lines are back up but here’s your receipt Mr. Airedale, and be careful on the way home, if the lines are down, there’s no tellin’ what’s laying across the road.”

David nodded, taking the receipt, folding it several times before slipping it into his wallet, along with his credit card, then ripped up the carbon before tossing it into the trash can near the pumps before patting Toby on the shoulder and said, “Thanks for your help kiddo, and I’ll do my best to take it slow.” He then reached up and mussed the teen’s wind blown and wild auburn hair before climbing into the cab of his truck to head back to the lighthouse.

Another crack of thunder ripped across the heavens, chasing a bolt of lighting as David pulled the battered and abused Chevy truck on to the road leading towards the lighthouse. Glancing sideways across the horizon, David could see the sweeping beam of light emitted from the tower and sighed in relief that it was still operating. He hated leaving the light unmonitored, even if it was just to head to town for a couple hours. But even in those couple hours something could happen, the power could fail, and the generator not start, the drive for the rotating convex magnifiers could fail, or worse yet, the lamp it’s self could burn out, and without him there to fix it, the light would be out until he returned once again.

All was fine when he pulled up to the light; he backed his truck up to the generator house, and then climbed out of the cab. It only took him a few moments to open the doors and back his truck into the generator house where he could offload the fifty-gallon drums with a wench. That job completed, he grabbed his groceries and headed for the main house just as the first heavy drops of rain began to fall, standing just outside his door, he paused for a moment to look out over the rough waters of the ocean. Gone were the beautiful blues and greens, now all that remained were dull, lifeless grays and dark, moody hues of purple. He shook off another chill as he pushed open the door and stepped inside, he was home at last and alone once again.