1. Awake
Besides the vast emptiness the confusion had subsided, at least.
It had been five or six days since that thing had awoken on a small formation beyond the expanses of the grey sky and deep black water, among the dregs of things lodged in the sand and the rocks, endless rocks, tangled hair and body suddenly aware of small jumping silver bugs and white waves. That thing had awoken with a sharp pain and terror and struggle upright, Dug her fingers into the sand and heaving, expelling a ghost, expelling nothing, sitting up, realizing what was missing.
In that time she had found the lighthouse and had done a lot of thinking with what little she had. In that time she had recovered her name and understood the feeling the ocean gave her which was a creeping dread. In that time she had steeled herself and went into the lighthouse and found it in very odd condition for a person to live or not live.
At some point the weather had cleared up and from the upstairs window that morning Casey saw a white mountain beyond the distant blue shapes rising from the water, which is when she decided she would stay.
The first thing that became clear about the island was that despite its unfamiliar layout the pieces made sense. Douglas fir, cedar, madrone, leathery rhododendron with early pale buds. Rocky beach curving around to unseen corners, dark treeline separated by driftwood and young plants and dead sticks. Cliff wall in places pulling up the trees and unknowable blackness in others. How quickly I had placed these things as well as the comfortable temperature made it clear that I was not too far from wherever some remnant of home was.
The second thing was that I was completely alone and that nobody had been here in a long time.
The desolation was obvious even from outside the lighthouse. Lichen and climbing brambles had been allowed to eat away at the white concrete walls for some time, and weeds had sprouted from woven and scattered red roof shingles. More of that rhododendron piled high against the wall in several places. The tall octagonal tower, attached on the far side of the building and outside of the treeline, had gotten away mostly unscathed, but the beacon itself had been mostly obscured by cedar branches crawling around the back.
When I had finally decided to investigate the lighthouse on the second day and went looking for the door I found it up some stairs at the back of the building, but also found that blackberry bushes had been growing wild here and had left very little space between themselves and the door. Eventually I managed to move enough of the mess out of the way with very little injury, and found the door unlocked - but the new challenge was that the door would not open very far before getting stuck on something. There were curtains on the window that made it impossible to see what was blocking it, but several minutes of pushing against the door finally made enough space to get through.
That first glimpse of the interior of the lighthouse past the overturned bookshelf which is what had been blocking the door made it evident that this place had been used as a residence for at least part of its long and lonely existence. The room felt very stale and was in mild disarray but not in poor condition. More bookshelves, a couch and chairs and a coffee table. Magazines and books scattered on a big heavy carpet and old wooden floor. More windows with thin white curtains. A lot of cobwebs. A lot more dust.
The kitchen was in the next room at the base of the tower proper and had a view of the ocean, a small table with two chairs, and a large sink with running water. There was also a dusty electric stovetop and a refrigerator I did not want to open that did not seem to be making any noise. There was not much of anything in the cupboards besides lots of spices, one large jar of dry oats, and an open bag of sourdough bread that I did not touch.
Both rooms at this point had overhead lights and a puzzling number of switches, none of which did anything. It made sense that in the time since anyone had been here the power had been shut off.
Arching across the back of the kitchen and up above the cabinets to a second floor were a set of metal stairs painted black. They were relatively sturdy, and on this second floor I found a small and perfectly neat bedroom with a large bed and a chair and a table by the window with a small kerosene lamp. I could see much more of the ocean and the beach here and the weather had cleared up enough to fill the room with daylight. This place especially felt untouched, like it had been sitting and waiting for someone since it had been left alone.
During those few days I had been extremely uneasy and when I wasn't pacing around the short stretch of beach I was sitting around and waiting myself - completely restless, like I was counting on someone to come pick me up, whoever lived here to come home, or myself to wake up. I slept on the couch at sundown and woke up at dawn, I ate small amounts of plain oats soaked in water overnight, and I waited.
Eventually I got over at least some inhibitions and sat upstairs, which over another stretch of time led to some kind of nap, which led to sleeping on top of the covers at night, which then led to shaking out the sheets to make sure there was nothing hiding inside and putting everything back together, which finally let me sleep as if it was my own bed.
That next morning when I awoke something had changed. There was a sudden grief rising from a dream that had already faded by the time I became conscious of it. I lay unmoving as I ran the feeling through my mind, but as that faded too, the morning became clearer and I was suddenly aware of sunlight on the wall. For the first time, I looked out and saw beyond the empty space between the shapes that had become familiar. Where before was nothing I saw calm waves and a white mountain rising from the blue. I sat up and watched the clouds rolling behind it.
A light breeze carried offers of sea air through the open window, and with it a sudden realization that I was not sure what I was waiting for.
I figured it was not too bad.