Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
The basement stretched larger than she’d expected. Gerald guided her through several rooms carved from bedrock, explaining how harsh winters and frequent storms had demanded additional storage space.
“This room came first in 1892.” He gestured toward the maintenance equipment stack against the rough stone walls. “Then this section in 1904, when they upgraded oil storage.”
The third room stopped Lily cold. Unlike the others, this space felt entirely different—newer construction, smooth concrete walls, higher ceiling than the blueprints indicated. She pulled out her camera and started shooting.
“When did you build this room?”
“1923. During hurricane repairs. My great-grandfather needed space for emergency supplies and backup equipment.”
Gerald’s tone shifted—still confident, but rehearsed now. He’d answered this question many times and wanted to move past it quickly.
Lily photographed the concrete walls methodically, noting the professional finish and lasting construction. Then she spotted the anomaly—one wall made from different material. Where three walls showed smooth concrete, the fourth displayed older brick painted to match. At shoulder height, a rectangular outline marked where something had once opened.
“Someone sealed a doorway here.” She pointed her camera at the outline. “When did that happen?”
Gerald followed her gaze. His face changed—eyes tightening, jaw setting, words delayed.
“Storage access they decided against during construction. Structural concerns, I believe.”
Lily snapped photos of the sealed opening from multiple angles. “The brickwork predates the concrete. This doorway existed before you built the room around it.”
“Could be. The 1923 construction used materials from earlier repairs.” Gerald moved toward the stairs. “Let me show you the oil storage room before we lose the light.”
Gerald climbed the stairs faster than necessary. Lily followed, noting his sudden urgency to leave the basement behind. He’d relaxed and chatted easily until she’d started asking about the sealed doorway.
The tour continued smoothly after that. Gerald showed her the oil storage system, the clockwork mechanism that had once rotated the lens, and the living quarters where keeper families had spent their daily lives. His encyclopedic knowledge returned, along with his obvious passion for preservation.
“I hope this helps your research.” Gerald locked the door as they concluded. “This place means everything to our family. We’re grateful when young people show genuine interest.”
“This exceeded all my expectations. Thank you for your generosity.”
“Call if other questions come up while writing your paper. I’m always available to discuss the history.”
Lily watched Gerald disappear into the keeper’s house, then pulled out her notebook. She wrote quickly while details stayed fresh—room dimensions, wall materials, Gerald’s tone changes, the precise location of the sealed doorway.
The sealed opening bothered her as she drove home. Everything else about the modifications had logical explanations, documented purposes, clear family stories. But that one architectural detail had made Gerald uncomfortable—not suspicious, just evasive.
She had concrete evidence now. Photographs of mismatched materials, measurements that didn’t align with official blueprints, and a guide who’d suddenly wanted to change subjects. The sealed doorway might mean nothing, or it might unlock some forgotten aspect of the structure’s past.
At home, Lily spread her notes across her desk and organized her findings. The tour had given her access to restricted areas, professional guidance, and most importantly, a concrete direction for continued investigation.
She needed to check building permits from the 1920s, compare her photographs with the original blueprints, and research the specific timeline of Edmund Hawthorne’s work. The sealed doorway appeared in none of the official documentation she’d studied, which made it either an oversight in the records or evidence of undocumented construction.
The beacon swept across the harbor outside her window, beginning another night’s rotation. For the first time since starting her research, Lily felt she’d found the thread that would unravel the structure’s most interesting secrets.
Whatever story that doorway told, Lily intended to find it.
six
The darkroom at the school reeked of chemicals and potential. Lily hung the negatives on the drying line, squinting at them through the red light filter. Six rolls of film from yesterday’s lighthouse session represented hours of careful photography, but the images she craved lay buried somewhere in the middle of roll three.
Developer, stop bath, fixer—the familiar rhythm steadied her racing pulse as she waited to see what her camera had captured during those strange moments when she’d glimpsed someone in period clothing.
She made contact sheets first, arranging the tiny positive images in neat rows across the paper. The lighthouse photos were sharp and detailed, showing the architectural inconsistencies she’d noticed in person. But when she found the frames where she’d aimed her telephoto lens at the rocks below.
Empty. Both shots showed nothing but weathered granite and seaweed.
“Damn.” She glanced around the darkroom, then leaned closer to study the contact sheet.
She enlarged the two frames to 8x10 size, examining them under the magnifying glass. The detail was perfect—sharp focus, proper exposure, no camera shake. If someone had been standing among those rocks in a white dress, the film would have captured them.