The House in the Cerulean Sea(44)

“I didn’t think you capable of such a thing, Mr. Baker,” she said, sounding gleeful.

“I didn’t either,” he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow. “It’s best if we don’t mention this again.”

He helped her push the raft back into the water, though he thought she was just humoring him. She most likely didn’t need his assistance. By the time the raft set sail again, parchment flapping, his loafers were wet, his socks soaked, and he was breathing heavily.

But he felt lighter somehow. Like he wasn’t paint blending into the wall.

He felt real.

He felt present.

Almost like he could be seen.

The wind picked up, and the raft sailed away, back toward the mainland in the distance.

He didn’t know if anyone would actually find it, if it would actually make it across the channel.

And even if they did find it, they’d probably ignore it.

That almost didn’t matter.

LEAVE. WE DON’T WANT YOUR KIND HERE, one side of the parchment said.

NO, THANK YOU, the other side said.

They stood on the beach in the sand with water lapping at their feet for a long time.





NINE


On the first Friday Linus Baker spent on the island, he received an invitation. It wasn’t one he expected, and upon hearing it, he wasn’t sure it was one he wanted to accept. He could think of six or seven or quite possibly one hundred things he’d rather do. He had to remind himself he was on Marsyas for a reason, and it was important he see all sides of the orphanage.

The invitation had come from a knock on the door of the guest house where Linus was attempting to finish his first report from his time on Marsyas. The ferry would come tomorrow to take him to the mainland so he could send it via post back to DICOMY. He’d been deep into his writing, careful to only allow one admonition per page regarding Extremely Upper Management’s lack of transparency before sending him to the island. He’d made it a game of sorts, trying to make his responses to their transgressions as subtle as possible. He’d been thankful for the interruption of a knock at the door when the last line he’d written read … and furthermore, the very idea that Extremely Upper Management would employ obfuscation and outright deception with their caseworkers is most uncivilized.

It was probably for the best if he rethought that last sentence.

He was pleasantly surprised to find Mr. Parnassus standing on the porch of the guest house, looking windswept and warm in the afternoon sunlight, something that Linus was finding himself not only getting used to seeing, but rather looking forward to. He told himself it was because Mr. Parnassus was a cheery fellow, and if this were the real world, perhaps they could have been friends, something that Linus was in short supply of. That was all it was.

It didn’t matter that Mr. Parnassus didn’t appear to own a pair of slacks that actually fit his long legs, given that they were always too short. Today he wore blue socks with clouds on them. Linus refused to be charmed.

He mostly succeeded.

Still, when Mr. Parnassus extended his invitation, Linus felt his throat close, and his tongue become as dry as burnt toast. “Pardon?” he managed to ask.

Mr. Parnassus smiled knowingly. “I said it might be a good idea if you were to sit in on my one-on-one with Lucy, just so you may get the full experience of Marsyas. I expect Extremely Upper Management anticipates your observations of such, don’t you think?”

Linus did. In fact, he was beginning to think that perhaps Extremely Upper Management cared more about Lucy than any other person on the island. Oh, it wasn’t spelled out as such in the files he’d been given, but Linus had been doing this line of work for a long time and was more perceptive than most gave him credit for.

That didn’t mean he’d jump at such an invitation.

He had only made partial headway on his first few days on the island. Sal was still petrified of him, and Phee was dismissive, but Talia only threatened to bury him in her garden once or twice per day, and Chauncey seemed happy about anything and everything (especially when he got to deliver fresh towels or bedsheets to Linus, always managing to cough politely enough to ensure a tip). Theodore, of course, thought the sun rose and set because of Linus, something that shouldn’t have tugged at his heartstrings as much as it did. It was only a button (four now, in fact; Linus had decided one of his dress shirts was ready for retirement, and he would snip a new button each morning), and that they were plastic and not brass didn’t seem to matter to Theodore.

Lucy, on the other hand, was still an enigma. A terrifying enigma, to be sure, given that he was the Antichrist, but an enigma nonetheless. Just the day before, Linus had found himself in the library of the main house, an old room on the first floor filled with books from floor to ceiling. He’d been perusing the shelves when he’d caught movement in the shadows out of the corner of his eye. He’d whirled around, but there was nothing there.

Until he’d looked up to see Lucy crouched on the top of a bookshelf, staring down at him with bright eyes and a twisted smirk on his face.

Linus gasped, heart racing.

Lucy said, “Hello, Mr. Baker. You would do well to remember that human souls are cheap trinkets to one such as me.” He giggled and leapt from the bookshelf, landing on his feet. He looked up at Linus and whispered, “I love cheap trinkets.” And then he’d run from the library. Linus saw him only an hour later munching on an oatmeal raisin cookie in the kitchen, bopping his head along with The Coasters singing about how they were gonna find her, searchin’ every which-a-way.