A Light in the Fog

The white brick of the lighthouse glowed in the sunlight, warm underneath her hand. Jocelyn Strong breathed in the fresh, salty air. She entered the lighthouse and made her way easily up the stairs that curved against the wall. At the top, she gazed out across the dark blue water and saw boats, the mainland, cars travelling across the single bridge. The lighthouse shone out across the water in a blinding streak, even in the middle of the day. Again, she took a deep breath beneath the beam of the lighthouse. Nothing she had ever experienced had made her feel as alive as this.

When she awoke to the blaring of her alarm clock, Jocelyn’s lungs were screaming at her. The nasal cannulas she slept with had slipped off her ears in the night and now the tube was around her neck, rather than feeding oxygen into her nose. She adjusted them immediately, her legs jerking in her panic and disturbing the cat who had been sprawled and snoring over them.

With the tubes comfortably back in her nostrils and a few slow breaths later, her lungs had settled, and she finally smacked the alarm into silence. “Sorry, Inky,” Jocelyn grumbled to her cat, who responded with an offended meow and hopped down from the bed.

She was used to this dream being so vivid. Many nights she had awoken from the dream of standing in the lighthouse and breathing in that sea-salt air without a worry in her heart. But the dream was also unrealistic—a fantasy that became more and more urgent with each night. Mistake Island hadn’t seen full sun for far, far longer than she’d been alive, and Jocelyn hadn’t been able to truly take a deep breath for most of her life, even with the threat of the everlasting poison in the air. She touched the soft plastic tubes that gave her the oxygen her own lungs failed to produce. Inky yowled from the kitchen, protesting about her lack of food.

“Yeah, I know, I’m coming.” She checked the oxygen levels of her portable compressed tanks. Carl, her doctor, would be pleased at their levels, but he would be replacing them today anyway. She zipped them up as much as she could in the backpack she carried them in, and took it to the closet with her to get dressed. Before leaving her room, she swiped on some mascara, blush, and chap-stick, and pulled her hair into a loose ponytail. She heaved her backpack onto her shoulder and went to answer the demands of her cat.

“I had that dream again, Inky.” Inky only yelled at her and waiting for her food bowl to hit the floor. “I think I finally need to see it with my own eyes. Do you think Glenn will take me?”

Inky, much more interested in the fresh food, ignored her. “I think he will. He’s never been able to say no to me.”

Jocelyn unplugged her phone from the counter where it had been charging. Her fingers were on the “Call” button when her kitchen began to swim. Her eyes refused to focus and suddenly it was as if her skin was burning, tender and oversensitive. She breathed out a “whoa” of surprise and leaned her bare forearms against the cool granite of her counter, hoping it would steady her. Jocelyn had no idea what a sunburn felt like—her only experience with the sun on her skin was when she was dreaming—but she imagined it was much like this. Was she still lightheaded from this morning? She had no idea how long she’d slept without the help of her oxygen, but this had never happened before. She shut her eyes tightly and timed her breaths so they were slow and even. The lighthouse from her dream, shining and huge, flashed behind her eyelids, and Jocelyn opened her eyes, half expecting the image of the lighthouse to be before her like a phantom.

But, no. It was just her kitchen, empty and silent except for the small sounds of Inky enjoying her food. A few more breaths, and a few more moments waiting for the image of the lighthouse to reappear, and Jocelyn felt back to normal. As normal as she could be, anyway. Jocelyn pressed the “Call” button.

It only took a couple rings for Glenn to pick up, even less time to agree to Jocelyn’s request to take her to the other side of the island.

“I’ll see you in a few minutes, then?”

“Sure, Jocelyn. I’ll even take you to Carl’s after, if you’d like.”

Jocelyn smiled. “I’d really appreciate that. I’ll see you soon!”

She slipped the phone in her pocket and crouched to pet Inky, standing proudly beside her empty bowl. “I’ll be gone a while, Inky. Don’t throw any house parties, okay?” Inky meowed and brushed against her chest. The black tip of her white tail flicked against Jocelyn’s nose and knocked her tubes askew. Jocelyn laughed and fixed them, gave Inky one last long stroke, and headed for the front door at the sound of Glenn’s car honking.

She kissed her fingertips and touched them to the portrait of her parents by the front door—her own little ritual—before removing the tubes from her nose. She fit the standard issue gas mask to her face and exited her front door, waited for it to seal behind her, and the second door to open to the outside.

Jocelyn didn’t waste time getting into Glenn’s car and closing the door behind her. She sat, breathing slowing and pushing back the struggle she already felt on her lungs until the car beeped, signaling that she could remove her mask. She felt much better with the nasal cannulas back in her nose, and Glenn removed his mask before he greeted her as well.

“Are you going to tell me why you want to go to Moose Peak?”

Jocelyn frowned. “You know that dream I keep having of the lighthouse?”

“There one where it’s sunny and this island isn’t a death-trap?” Glenn asked dryly as he pulled out of her driveway.

“I had it again last night.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of how dreams work.”

Jocelyn stuck her tongue out at him and continued. “Well, something felt different about it this time.”

“Jocelyn, it’s just a dream.”

“And it’s so nice to be able to breathe on my own for once,” she rattled her backpack in frustration, “even if it is in a dream. I don’t understand why this time it’s different, but I just know I need to see it. Today. I’ve never been before.”

“There’s a reason for that. The place isn’t sealed.”

“I can handle it.” Jocelyn said it with confidence but worry pricked at the back of her mind. She wouldn’t be able to wear her tubes in the lighthouse—the gas mask needed to be entirely sealed against her skin and the nasal cannulas prevented that. Even the smallest gap could mean instant death, a fact her grandmother had drilled into her as a child. A fact every grandmother had drilled into their grandchildren for centuries on Mistake Island.

“Please, Glenn?”

His hands tightened on the wheel and he groaned a long-suffering sound that Jocelyn was very familiar with. He made it every time he said yes when he really wanted to say no.

The rest of the ride to the lighthouse was silent. There was no music, only the quiet rumble of the tires on the pavement. It didn’t seem to take any time at all until the lighthouse was in sight, but there wasn’t much of a road. It was just rocky ground.

“This is as far as I can go in my car, Jocelyn.” Glenn looked over at her as she stared at the lighthouse, unblinking. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“No,” Jocelyn said, but took a last breath, deep as she could, and removed her nasal cannulas. She affixed her gas mask in place and waited for Glenn to do the same before opening the car door.

The lighthouse wasn’t impressive by any means. It wasn’t terribly tall, sported plain, white brick, and was in disuse, but it had stood on the edge of Mistake Island for hundreds of years. It was a miracle it was still standing at all. Moose Peak Lighthouse had withstood terrible storms, endured severe neglect, and survived the explosion that dispersed mercury vapor into the fog that was ever-present on the island. This place was the cause of the constant use of gas masks. Somewhere in her, she wondered if it was the cause of her COPD, too. She had only ever seen pictures of this place in books or old photographs in restaurants, but with her hand physically on the white brick for the first time, she felt as strong as she ever had in her dreams.

“Jocelyn, are you okay?” Glenn called from the driver’s seat. His voice sounded tinny and worried through the vented mouthpiece of his mask. Jocelyn waved at him to let him know she was alright and opened the rusted door to the lighthouse. Her lungs were already straining, but she knew she could go a little longer without help. She just had to be quick. She closed the door behind her and looked at the staircase in front of her. The staircase that she had only ever climbed in her dreams.

There was nothing she wanted to climb less, and yet knew there was nothing she needed to do more than this. If I go slowly, I think I can make it. Jocelyn put one hand on the railing, one foot in front of the other, and began to ascend.

Each step was painful, but her body tingled, everything in her telling her this was exactly where she needed to be, though she had no explanation for it. She climbed carefully, avoiding the old rocks that littered the stairs. By the time she reached the top, Jocelyn’s hand was on her chest, as if trying to hold her aching lungs in place. How is this worth it? She asked herself, wheezing inside her mask. Why is this place calling me? She paused at the top step. The weight of her backpack was making it even harder for her to breathe than normal, so she took it off and propped it up against the dusty wall.

The wind was stronger up here than on the ground and she felt it whip at her clothes and hair, pulling it free from her ponytail. She braced herself against the railing and lifted her face to the sea.

She didn’t know if she had been expecting the rest of her dream to come true, but disappointment flooded her. Jocelyn couldn’t see miles and miles of dark blue water and mainland stretching before her—just miles and miles of fog. It was so thick up here, she imagined that even if the lighthouse had been operational, it wouldn’t have been able to cut through it.

It was all for nothing, she thought as she turned away towards the stairs. Suddenly, the walls of the lighthouse spun violently. She jerked forward, hand outstretched for anything that would save her a tumble down the stairs and grabbed the hand rail. Her foot connected with something solid and it bounced down the stairs. While her vision righted itself, she wondered what large rock she had kicked—there were just as many up here as on the ground level—but a strange hissing sound filled the lighthouse as the clanking ceased.

Her eyes widened, and she cried out “No!” even though it was a waste of precious breath. Jocelyn raced down the stairs to see her empty backpack and the two silver cannisters that held her precious oxygen dangerously dented by their journey down the stone staircase. She checked the gauge at the top of each tank. One was at zero, the other was nearly there. It was barely enough to make it to Carl’s for her new tanks. The strain on her lungs beat painfully at her chest, even more pressing than before. She gathered her backpack and her damaged tanks in her arms and yanked the door open to the lighthouse.

“Glenn!” she screamed as she moved as fast as she could over the rocks, but it was quickly evident that she wouldn’t even make it to the car. The mask was making it so that she couldn’t get any air at all and the faster she moved the more she hurt. What little oxygen she had left, she needed now.

Every horror story she’d been told as a child through her adulthood about the imminent poisonous air on the island flashed through her mind. Every day she’d lived with the fear of dying—a fear elevated by her own sickness, and here she was, at the source of the poison and suffocating not because of it, but in spite of it. All those stories and all those fears seemed so insignificant, now. Nothing, nothing was more important to her than being able to breathe. Nothing was more important than being alive.

She dropped to her knees, scrabbling for the straps at the back of her head.

“No, you’ll die!” Glenn had already leapt out of the car and was sprinting towards her.

I’ll die either way, Jocelyn thought, the straps undone but held tight by one hand as she fumbled for her nasal cannulas. Though her vision was fuzzy, she was able to feel for the soft plastic with her fingers, ripped the mask off her face and shoved the tube at her nostrils, breathing in what little oxygen was left in the tank.

She was prepared for that first breath of tainted air to be her last. And the next one. And the next.

When she opened her eyes, Glenn was crouched beside her with his hands outstretched, but he hesitated to touch her. “I’m okay,” Jocelyn said, but it was more question than anything. “I’m okay.” She was still struggling but struggling was better than dying. “Glenn, I can breathe.”

“We have to get you out of here.” He yanked at her arm, tried to get his other hand under her slender knee to lift her.

“Glenn, stop!” He froze, his hand on her leg. She secured her nasal cannula around her ears and placed her hands on either side of his mask. His eyes were hard to see through the dark filter, but she found them. “The air is fine. It isn’t going to kill me. I can breathe.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Let me show you,” Jocelyn said. She slid her hands back to the straps buried in his hair. Glenn jerked back a bit in protest.

“If the stories were true—if the air was poison to breathe and it would kill me instantly, how am I still here? Even with my disease, how am I breathing this air right now?” Jocelyn thumped her chest. “Right in front of you?” She reached once more for the back of his head. “Trust me.”

The gas mask slid off Glenn’s face like a second skin, and she could tell he was holding his breath. She said his name quietly, one last time, before he exhaled. Inhaled.

“How is this possible?” He asked, taking giant gulps of air.

“I don’t know. Maybe the poison went away a long time ago. Maybe the air was never poisoned to begin with. Does it matter?”

“No. Let’s go.” He helped her to her feet. “Let’s ride with the windows down. Let’s let the fresh air in. Everyone needs to see this. Everyone needs to know the air is safe.”

On the way to Carl’s, Jocelyn marveled at the feeling of the wind constantly slapping her in the face. It was a sensation she’d only ever had in dreams—one she thought she would never find anywhere else and had stopped hoping for. Nothing she had ever experienced had made her feel as alive as this.

#shortstory #fiction #under3k