Operation Stingray Part 3 // PG. 3 of 3
I stood in the graveyard in the fading light, looking down at the simple headstone in front of me:
February 19, 1951 - July 22, 2011
Together we will shine
into the darkness
“Okay, Brian,” I whispered. “I found him. You said I'd know what to do when I found him, and I did. So now what?”
I walked out of the graveyard and back toward the town. I had to have missed something. Maybe LaFarge was just a code name or something and I had to contact him a different way. Maybe there was another LaFarge in town and the bar hicks were just messing with me.
Or maybe I really was crazy.
My head was starting to feel better. The pill was wearing off. Either I was crazy, or they'd take over my brain soon. Either way, I was at a dead end.
I kicked a plastic cup down the sidewalk. The logo of a lighthouse turned in and out of view as it skidded across the cement. Tears clouded my vision. Of all the places for the story to end, why did it have to be here? Why did I have to meet my doom in a bullshit little tourist trap town full of assholes peddling shitty food, cheap souvenirs, and stupid plastic cups with cheesy lighthouses printed on the--
Together we will shine into the darkness.
I ran toward the old lighthouse as the pink sunlight faded from the sky. The wind whipped my coat along the rocky path to the base. I flicked on my flashlight and found an old door rusted into the side of the lighthouse. It was locked, but a few good kicks knocked it open.
I climbed the stairs up to the lantern room and shined the flashlight around. It was pitch dark and dusty, and the crumbling remains of the lantern sat like a flayed skeleton in the dark.
I looked around. Aside from the ancient equipment there was nothing out of the ordinary. Great. Looks like I had just added destruction of property to the long list of crimes I'd be arrested for. I turned back toward the stairs.
A pair of heavy hands clamped down on my shoulders and threw me back onto the ground.
I cried out, but a black form held me down and covered my mouth. I felt the cold metal of a knife against my throat.
“What are you doing here? Who sent you?” a voice demanded.
The hand moved from my mouth, and I stammered, “My friend—Brian—he told me to come,” between gasps of air.
The hand grabbed my face and moved it from side to side. The body stepped off of me and pulled me to my feet. “Sorry about that,” the voice said. “I had to make sure it was you and not just them using your brain. Can't be too careful these days.”
“Who are you?” I said.
He stepped into the moonlight. “My name is Sebastian LaFarge. You and I have a lot to talk about, my friend.”