Chapter 6 - The Room Beneath the Lighthouse
The service track ended near the base of a steep hill.
Above them stood the ruins of the lighthouse from Arthur's photograph.
Its stone tower leaned slightly toward the sea, battered by decades of wind and salt. Most windows were broken, and rust covered the railing around the upper platform.
Margaret stepped from the van.
The sound of waves crashing against the cliffs filled the morning air.
"I remember this place," she said.
Arthur looked at her carefully.
"You came here once as a child."
Margaret frowned.
"No. I would remember."
"Your father brought you and Eleanor here during a storm. You were seven."
A blurred memory surfaced.
A lantern.
Wet stairs.
Her sister holding her hand.
Then nothing.
They entered through a side door concealed behind fallen boards.
Inside, dust covered the floor, but fresh footprints crossed the main room.
Arthur crouched.
"Someone has been here recently."
Margaret immediately thought of Rebecca.
"Could my daughter-in-law know about this place?"
Arthur did not answer.
At the center of the room stood a circular iron plate embedded in the floor.
Its surface carried the same lighthouse crest engraved on the key.
Margaret opened the wooden box.
The brass key fit perfectly into a narrow slot.
When she turned it, gears shifted beneath the stone.
A section of the floor slowly rotated, revealing a staircase descending into darkness.
Cold air rose from below.
Arthur switched on a flashlight.
The walls were lined with copper pipes and old electrical cables. At the bottom, they entered a narrow chamber containing shelves, broken desks, and filing cabinets eaten by rust.
Margaret noticed children's drawings pinned to one wall.
One showed a blue house.
Another showed three people standing beside a lighthouse.
The smallest figure had written a name beneath it.
Daniel.
Margaret stared.
"My son drew this."
Arthur looked troubled.
"He spent time here."
"That is impossible. Daniel was only a child."
"Your husband brought him."
Margaret turned sharply.
"Why?"
Before Arthur could respond, a mechanical click echoed behind them.
A steel door sealed the staircase.
The room went dark for one second.
Then emergency lights flickered on.
A speaker hidden in the ceiling crackled.
A woman's recorded voice filled the chamber.
"Margaret, if you are hearing this, then the blanket has been opened."
Margaret stopped breathing.
It was Eleanor.
Older than Margaret remembered, but unmistakable.
The recording continued.
"The key was never meant for Arthur."
Arthur's face went pale.
Margaret slowly stepped away from him.
The voice spoke again.
"Do not trust anyone who claims to know what happened in 1983."
Arthur raised both hands.
"Margaret, listen to me."
May you like
But Eleanor's warning continued.
"Especially Arthur Hale."
