The Lighthouse by Bill K

Chapter One: An Introduction to Danger

        Loharo Reeves took a moment to adjust her senses as she returned to consciousness. She was in bed in her apartment in the sleepy little hamlet of Skeffington's Harbor, Maine. It was a moment before she realized that she was alone in bed. Did Chris leave? A brief pang of disappointment surged through her. Then the smell of eggs frying made the ends of her mouth curl up.

        "Silly girl," Loharo whispered to herself. "Chris has way too much class to him to hit and run."

        Easing her lanky frame out of bed, Loharo reached several times in the dim light of morning before her hand grasped her robe. She stood up to her full five foot eleven inch height and slipped the robe over her silky smooth milk chocolate skin. Normally she would just go into the kitchen wearing her ankle length nightshirt. However, normally she slept alone and this time she wasn't wearing the nightshirt or anything else.

        Softly she padded on bare feet into the bathroom. Loharo didn't want to let Chris know she was up just yet. In the bathroom, she grabbed a quick hot shower, then checked her face and rinsed her mouth out. Loharo was a woman who didn't need makeup, one of those few naturally beautiful creatures that inhabited the Earth. Large, doe-like emerald green eyes sat beneath aristocratic arching brows. Her high cheekbones, gracefully wide nose and rich, full lips spoke of her Ashanti lineage, as did her aqualine neck. African braids the thickness of a thin gold chain arched down from her head to just below her shoulders, gathered midway by a single elastic scrunch. Her breasts were still full and firm, her hips curved just right and her legs were long and lean. Yet she searched the mirror not admiring her beauty but for imperfections. All who knew Loharo were struck by how utterly lacking in vanity she was, as if she saw all people to be as beautiful as she was, a fact that made her looks common.

        "Why Chris," she grinned, seeing the breakfast spread on the table as she entered the kitchen, "I didn't know you were so domestic."

        "Usually I'm not," commented Chris, rising from his seat. "But I want you to like me."

        "I already like you," Loharo smiled, motioning him down. "I thought last night proved that."

        "I want you to really like me."

        "You're sweet," and Loharo leaned over to him. Her lips pressed to his, tenderly at first, then lingered longer than she had intended. Finally she drew away, her eyes gazing at him and meeting his.

        Chris Williams was the man of her dreams. Sweet, considerate, generous, deferential, a man who seemed to respect and love women in general and her in particular. He also looked like he could have stepped off the plains of Africa--or the pages of GQ. Dark skin, a head shaved bald, an endearingly boyish face atop a powerful body, Chris attracted her the moment she saw him. She made the first move, he responded gratefully and they just meshed from there. Loharo kept waiting for a flaw to emerge and none ever did.

        "I also made this as sort of an apology," Chris continued sheepishly.

        "You don't have to apologize," Loharo said calmly. "We both knew you were leaving. After all, it's not like you're not coming back. You have your job to attend to, just like I have mine."

        "I don't want to attend to it," he said in between bites of toast. "I want to stay here with you."

        Loharo watched in fascination at the erotic way his mouth moved up and down as he chewed.

        "I'm not going anywhere. You'll be back in three weeks," and she wiggled in her seat, watching his radar antennae go up instantly, "and I'll be here to greet you."

        "Now I really don't want to go," he sighed. "Couldn't we just pretend I left and get to the greeting?"

        "Eat your breakfast," Loharo admonished playfully.

        They both ate in silence.

        "What would you do if I asked you to marry me?" Chris dropped out of the blue onto her.

        "Well, if you were serious, I'd definitely have to think it over," Loharo responded calmly. "If you were just trying to sweeten my disposition, I'd just give you a kiss and accept the compliment." She focused her green eyes on him. "Are you serious?"

        "I guess not," he said finally. "But I reserve the right to become serious at a later date."

        "OK," Loharo said, all the time rubbing her big toe up and down Chris's ankle. "In that case, I reserve the right to say 'yes' at a later date, but that reservation is in no way permanently binding." Chris nodded a silent "touche".



        Nine a.m. on the coast of the Northeast corner of Maine held a singular fascination to Loharo Reeves. An oceanographer and marine biologist by trade, Loharo had been stationed in Skeffington's Harbor by the Environmental Protection Agency to monitor the effects of pollution on the fish and crustacean of the area. That paid the rent. It also allowed her access to one of the most beautiful seascapes in all the universe. Maine was so utterly different from her native Virginia, yet she'd fallen in love with the bluntness of the rocks, the songs of the waves and the unvarnished truth of the blues and indigos and grays of the sky. Dressed for the weather in jeans, a checked shirt and a denim jacket, Loharo ambled toward the lighthouse on the point just outside of the hamlet to check on Donna.

        When she'd first come to Skeffington's Harbor, Loharo was greeted as most outsiders were greeted in Maine: the natives were pleasant, but reserved. Loharo had three strikes going against her from the outset: she was a stranger, she worked for the government and she was only the second black person ever to live in that corner of Maine. Loharo was intelligent enough to know that when she proved that she wasn't a threat to their quaint little routine lives, strikes one and two would evaporate. However, meeting Donna made things easier.

        Skeffington's Harbor had a single landmark that made it stand out: a lighthouse. Shut down by the Coast Guard when it became unnecessary, the structure was taken over by the town and turned into a museum and tourist attraction, with the generous help of world famous eccentric billionaire Travis Grant. Thanks to him, the light shone out over the Grand Manan Channel and the Atlantic Ocean, albeit at reduced power as per Coast Guard regulations.

        Donna Young ran the lighthouse. Loharo first met her when she called to check out the view of the harbor from the structure, hoping to see migratory patterns of fish schools. What she found surprised her. Donna Young was a shy little filly from Midland, Texas. Thick blonde hair fell down to her shoulders and bangs dangled to her eyes. Her eyes were a pale shade of blue and seemed to glow. Her mouth rarely opened, but always seemed to have a smile on her lips.
She was pretty, in a toe-headed country sort of way, and several inches shorter than Loharo. Donna was an avid country music fan and always wore jeans and a shirt with some sort of southwestern embroidery, except during the heat of the summer, and western boots. When Loharo asked how she ended up in Maine, Donna shrugged and said she'd answered an ad in Texas and this was where Grant's people sent her. From there, the two strangers in a strange land formed a bond that blossomed into a friendship.

        The single addition to the outside of the hundred plus year old keeper's house next to the lighthouse was a knocker on the door. Loharo grasped the knocker in her gracefully tapered hands and rapped on the door. Moments later the lock turned and the door opened.

        "Loharo!" beamed Donna, wearing a burgundy shirt today with her jeans. "Well come on in! Business or pleasure?"

        "Just stopped by to see how you're doing," Loharo said. "Storms are coming up in a few days. I assume you're ready."

        "Course," grinned the blonde. "I'm used to it. Let it blow. My light's ready." She leaned her head sideways, suddenly studying Loharo's face. "And speaking of glows, you look like you could sub for the spotlight. Why y'all so happy?"

        "You're too observant," Loharo grinned, her eyes finding the floor. "Let's just say Chris and I reached a new level of understanding."

        "Oh?" smiled Donna. "And did this new level of understanding leave you with that flowery tingle we all know and love?"

        "Donna!" gasped Loharo.

        "Sorry, honey, I'm from Texas," chuckled Donna. "We don't beat around the bush back home." Donna suddenly realized her wording. "Pardon the pun."

        "Yes, if you must know," Loharo said, secretly dying to tell her. "Twice, in fact."

        "Amen and hallelujah!" and both women dissolved into laughter. "Want some
breakfast."

        "Chris already fed me," Loharo said proudly.

        "He cooks, too? Lord, why haven't you married him yet?"

        "You assume I want to get married. Chris is nice and I think I love him, but until I'm sure, I like things just as they are. I will take some tea, though. Those September winds are beginning to blow."

        "Yeah," sighed Donna. "The only things I hate about this place are the cold and the fact there ain't no honky-tonk bars around."

        Loharo grinned in spite of herself.



        Donna peered out her window. The sun was out and the sky was a crystal blue, rare for September in New England. It was nearing noon. Loharo was about a half mile down the rocks, taking water samples and making notes in her notebook. Donna smiled. Knowing Loharo had made her working in this remote location tolerable. As she prepared for the possibility someone might wander into the gift shop set up in the first floor of the lighthouse, Donna though about taking Loharo into town that evening for some lobster and some girl talk to keep the woman's mind off of Chris being away.

        A noise behind Donna alerted her. She glanced imperceptibly behind her as she moved quickly down and to the left. Something whizzed by her left shoulder and lodged in the wall. Donna's eyes locked on her assailants.

        Two men stood in the doorway from the hall to the front door. One was about thirty, stocky build, muscular arms and black hair, beard and mustache. He wore overalls and a checked shirt and could have been one of the local fishers for all she knew.

        The other was tall and wiry, but solidly built. His hair was black, too, and his skin was fair, the features pure Irish. He had on dark slacks and a black leather jacket and gloves. In his hand was a small pistol. The gun pointed again at Donna, but misfired.

        "What the bloody hell's wrong with this gun!" the redhead cursed in a thick Irish brogue, fumbling with the gun.

        His partner took the initiative and charged forward. Donna's right hand locked around a jar of pickles on a lower shelf of the cabinet she was next to and brought it up against the charging man's head. He moved to block it, but the jar connected and the man staggered to the floor, pickle brine stinging his eyes. Donna searched for the second man, ready to defend herself, and found him standing four feet from her. The gun was gone and the self-important baboon was grinning at her.

        "Ah, so ye're the tough girl, eh?" he mocked. "Fine, and I'll give you the first shot then." He gestured her forward, his chin up. "Go ahead, tough girl. Take yer best shot."

        Donna's left fist shot forward and caught the man's jaw just to the right of his chin. He spun a quarter turn, then sank to his knees.

        "Fine punch ye've got there, lass," he gasped in stunned surprise as Donna pushed past him toward the other room and the pistol she kept in her desk.

        Donna got three steps toward the living room, then fell forward as her bearded assailant wrapped his arms around her ankles. The Texas blonde clawed at the floor, desperately trying to pull free.

        "Get up and get her tied, ya' fool!" snarled the bearded man, using the telltale Maine accent. "I can't hold this wildcat down forever!"

        The Irishman shook himself and scrambled over, pinning Donna to the floor by straddling her back.

        "HELP!" bellowed Donna, vainly hoping someone was nearby to hear her.

        A strong masculine hand clamped over Donna's mouth long enough to keep her silent until her attacker could produce a cloth. She resisted having her mouth packed, all the while trying to buck the Irishman from her back.

        His partner holding her down, the Irishman concentrated on gagging Donna. She tried to expel the cloth, but duct tape pulled over her mouth and around her head. When the ends met, she knew the battle was lost.

        "Not so tough now, are ye lass?" he snickered as his partner helped him bind Donna's wrists behind her back

        Donna strained to pull free, but it was a futile act. As the bearded man began binding her ankles, his partner wrestled Donna into a sitting position. He wound rope over and under her breasts and around her elbows, pulling them together behind her back. The rope got an extra tug until it was biting through her western blouse into her flesh. Donna whimpered in fear and frustration as a final cord cinched her legs above the knees, pulling a deep furrow into her jeans. Her dark haired captor shoved her up against a wall while the other pulled out a cell phone.

        "Ayeah, we got her," the bearded man said. "The coast is clear. Bring her on."

        "Tell her that bleeding trank gun was the bollocks, too!" snapped the redhead. He turned back to Donna and fingered her protruding chest lightly. "Excited, luv? Ye into stuff like this?"

        Donna jerked away, eliciting a cruel chuckle from her captor.

        "Can you for once get your mind on your work?" growled the bearded man. "We need to watch for their arrival. She'll keep."

        "And do ye know what happened to the last man that talked to me like that?" the Irishman said, rising swiftly, a tone of challenge in his voice.

        "No doubt you bored him to death with your constant prattle. Just because you were great shakes in Ulster doesn't mean anything here."

        "Maybe shoving a grenade up yer arse might," the redhead muttered.



        Loharo walked up the lane toward the lighthouse, silently cursing herself. She couldn't believe she had walked out of her apartment this morning and left her lunch sitting in the refrigerator. Such mistakes in concentration were just not tolerable. She hated to impose on Donna so soon after this morning's chat and tea.

        "Oh, well," Loharo sighed to herself, altering her path to keep in the warming sun, "I'll just have to bring her a big basket of fruit or something to make up for it. Maybe make her apple dumplings. She always likes my apple dumplings."

        Casually stepping up the path, the young marine scientist had no inkling of what was happening inside. She was about to call out to Donna as she neared the door, but stopped short. Her powers of observation locked onto the front door, slightly ajar. Donna never left the front door open. She was meticulous about things like that. Warning flags went up in Loharo's brain.

        The black woman eased up to the door, wishing there was a window in the door to peer through. Since there wasn't, she cautiously crept up to the door and peeked through the crack between the door and the frame. Seeing nothing, her hand warily moved to the door and lightly pushed it open.

        The larger frame of vision revealed nothing unusual. There was no sign of any intruder. There was also no sign of Donna. This worried her. Summoning her courage, Loharo pushed open the door just enough for her to slide through. She eased through the opening in the doorway, every sense alert. As she made it through, though, her large chest pushed on the door and moved it further open. The hinge creak seemed to echo like a booming bell in the silence of the cavernous lighthouse.

        Loharo started to look around, but her gaze was caught by a sight down the hall in the kitchen. Donna was sitting against a wall, helplessly bound, her mouth covered with tape. The blonde stared wide-eyed at her, silently pleading for help.

        "Oh my god!" Loharo whispered, her hand coming to her mouth.

        She started down the hall to Donna's aid. Just then, Donna's gaze fearfully turned to someone in the kitchen with her. Loharo froze. She heard the footsteps.
Story is (c)2000 by Bill Kropfhauser

The Lighthouse chapter two.

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