FROM AWAY ~ BOOK ONE Page 13

  “Woah there, Lizzie Borden. Think maybe I could meet my uncle before you go all forty-whacks-y on him?”

  “I suppose... Just don’t expect much.”

  “There’s literally nothing for me to expect. He’s never spoken about. You can’t even say his name around my mom without her totally freaking out.”

  “Really? I had no idea they--”

  As they crest a hill, the road suddenly falls away. Dives behind a rolling ribbon of sand dunes, spotted with clumps of marram grass. Boardwalks criss-cross from the road to the pure white beach. Atop the next rise, sidelit by the setting sun: Lesguettes Lighthouse.

  “That... Is much more what I expected.”

  Easily three times the size of Mclennon, Lesguettes Lighthouse is enormous even without the attached living quarters: A complete house growing from the lighthouse’s rear. Large enough to comfortably lodge a family of eight.

  “Are you saying my lighthouse leaves something to be desired?”

  Dawn looks at her cousin. Concerned she may have actually caused offence. Sees he’s joking. Swats him in the arm. Laughs.

  “Hey! No changing the subject. You were about to tell me the tragic love story of Serge and Martine Lesguettes.” She mimes axing him. “Chop-chop, before I add you to my list.”

  “All right, all right. Um...” His mind seizes up with stage-fright. He wants to do right by the story. Wants to impress Dawn. Wishes he’d listened more closely the last time he heard it. “I guess I should start by telling you--”

  A thin pling announces a text. Aaron pulls out his phone.

  “NO!” Dawn is despondent.

  “Shit.” It’s from Max: Need U. Cum back now

  “No. No ‘shit.’ You can’t get me all worked up, and then just leave me high and dry.”

  He thumb-types: Everything okay?

  Pling. No. Somthing wierd’s goin on.

  Aaron flashes back to the storm. A wave of panic crashes over him. What if that wasn’t just coincidence. What if it really was just the beginning of something larger?

  “Max needs me, Dawn. Back at the lighthouse.”

  “You... Tease!” She punches him in the shoulder. Doesn’t bother holding back. Hard enough to hurt, but he doesn’t mind. Already, he loves her.

  Aaron’s never had a sibling, but knows for certain this is how it must feel: A connectedness. An effortless bond. He’s never felt lonely pangs over being an only child, but for the first time he might understand why his mom acts the way she does regarding Aunt Wanda and Uncle Ren. Dawn’s a puzzle-piece he’d never known was missing.

  “I don’t really have any choice. I’m not supposed to leave at all during my shift, and... I don’t know if you picked up on this, but... Max is kinda useless on his own.”

  “Fine,” she says. Hangdog. “I understand, I guess.”

  “Good. Let’s get you to Grampy, quick. Then I’ll--”

  “Um. I think I can probably find my way to the big, giant landmark.”

  “You don’t want an introduction? He can be a bit...” He struggles for an appropriate adjective. “...hard.”

  “Pfft! I’m his granddaughter. He’s legally obligated to be a sweetheart to me.”

  “All right, you--”

  Without warning, Dawn slams into him. Grabs on in another bone-crumbling hug. Had they not been related, this would be the start of a debilitating crush. He’d be awkward. Uncomfortable. Reduced to practically mute in her presence. With no possibility of romance, he can admire her spark without wanting to catch it for himself.

  “But don’t forget: You owe me a story, Aaron Coates-Lesguettes.” She smacks a fist into her open palm. Points at him. Eyes filled with intense faux-rage. “Don’t think I won’t collect.” Suddenly, she’s all smiles. “See you soon!”

  He waves as she heads down the hill. Now that she’s found her way to the island, he has little doubt she will always play a role in his life.

  Pling! He checks his phone. Another text from Max.

  B carful. somthing might b down ther.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Something is down there.

  On this all-but moonless night, he’s nearly blind, but Max keeps his binoculars trained on the rocks. Slowly scanning the space below. Left-to-right, then down. Right-to-left, then down. As close to a grid as he can manage. Alert for movement. For anything at all out of the ordinary. So far, he’s found nothing out-of-place, but he’s almost certain there’s something down there.

  He saw it. On the monitors. Just before the power went out.

  When Aaron departed with his newfound - and entirely hot - cousin, Max’s intentions had been pure. He’d plant himself at the monitors. Keep a careful watch. Fill in for Aaron so completely that the kid wouldn’t feel at all guilty for leaving his post. No smoking up. No distractions. No messing around.

  His intentions had been pure. His willpower was weak.

  He’d sat by the monitors. Let his eyes roll across them. The way Aaron does. But staring at the monitors became staring into space became daydreaming.

  Realizing how close he was to falling asleep, Max leapt to his feet. Headed for the balcony. The chill night wind always roused him. He’d step out. Let it blow away his drowsiness. Return to work in mere moments.

  But he hadn’t.

  On the balcony, he’d mindlessly fallen into habitual patterns. Automatic movements. He’d lit up without thinking. Leaned on the railing. Thought about his place in the universe among all these stars. He had no idea how long he was even out there when a flashing red light drew his attention back inside.

  Max didn’t know what it meant. Didn’t remember. It was connected to one of the monitors - he knew that much - but by the time he dropped back into his seat it had stopped. Everything looked the same to him. Camera views all empty. No sign of trouble.

  He should’ve escorted the cousin himself. Left Aaron where he belonged. Watching the monitors. Concentration was just not in Max’s bag of tricks. Even as he thought about his own attention span, he was fading. Vision blurring as his inner-eye took over. Until the red light flashed again.

  Max regained focus in time to see: A blip on the sonar. And on the next monitor: Movement.

  Underwater. A black shape moving fast. Passing one camera. Then another. No definition. Unclear. It could’ve been anything. Except nothing ever moved past the submerged cameras. Nothing living. Not in hours of watching. Just silt in the water and seaweed waving. Until now.

  Max’s brain had cracked a little. Was it even possible? Could there actually be something out there? Had it been true all along?

  His hand was on the telephone. Ready to make the call. Hesitating... Yesterday’s blackout was one thing. Clear. Concrete. But this? Something - maybe - only possibly half-glimpsed, then gone. Reported by a guy who’s admittedly ever-so-slightly stoned and more-than-a-little unreliable. Who’d believe it?

  Nobody on Watch. They play along for the sake of the paycheck, but always with a wink and an elbow. Nobody really believes. Some of them had been at it for decades now. All that time without any confirmation at all. That has to mean something. Even Aaron has doubts - and he wants to believe.

  But now Max had seen it. With his own eyes. Wasn’t that reason enough to at least reconsider his stance? If not, what would it take? Then again, given all the possible explanations, wasn’t the most likely one that he might’ve been seeing things?

  That’s what decided him: No calling it in.

  Then, the lights went out. The monitors went black. Again. For the second night in a row. Nothing suspicious about that.

  The darkness quickly closed in on Max. Forced him out onto the balcony, binoculars in hand. Searching the shore below. Hoping to back up his own addled brain.

  One more sighting will be enough. He’ll only make the call if he’s sure. Won’t trust his eyes. Not yet.

  Aaron’s on his way. He’ll know what to do.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “And what abou
t the hand? Did you bring the hand?”

  Netty looks at Dr. Ramsey as though she can’t possibly imagine what he’s talking about. But she can. It’s all she can think of. Blotting out everything else.

  “The hand.”

  “Yes, Sheriff, the hand.”

  “No. We did not bring the hand. There is no hand. The hand is gone.”

  Netty has answered the doctor’s questions as best she can. She’s remained cool. Calm. Clear. But she is reaching her end. Despite her professional demeanor, she knows she’s in danger of lapsing into a state of shock herself. In fact, it’s all she can do to fight off hysteria.

  “Okay, Sheriff. Have a seat. That’s all we need for now.”

  Netty nods. Keeps nodding, after the doctor departs. In total agreement. Sitting down is an excellent idea. She should not just stand there, blocking the hospital corridor. They’d let her know what was happening. She should sit.

  She remains standing.

  When asked for the facts of the incident, she hadn’t been able to instantly access what had happened. Pushing the memory as far from mind as possible. Distancing herself - she believes - so as to be an ideal witness.

  Already, it’s little better than a lurid blur. The trauma of the moment warping her memories so the worst of what happened takes on the most weight.

  The hand, for instance. Of course, the hand. But now there is no hand.

  The pillar had fallen so slowly. Plenty of time to escape, had Ren not been so surprised to see it coming. Instead, he just stood there. Entranced. Doing nothing at all to save himself.

  And what had she done? How had she saved the day? She’d stood rooted where she was - at a safe remove - and simply watched.

  But Wanda? Wanda had sprung into action instantly. As though she’d been ready for it. Covering the distance to her brother in bare seconds. In fact, Netty has no memory of her moving at all. In her mind, Wanda is beside her, then she’s reached Ren, with no intermediate steps involved.

  Wanda had rammed into her brother, shoulder-first. Knocked him backwards through the corridor of broken machinery. Out of the way of the falling pillar. As though attempting to steal some great honor for herself.

  It had almost missed. Both siblings were nearly clear. But not quite.

  The impact was jarring. Netty felt it feet-first. Thunder quaking from the ground. Finally forcing her into motion. Forward.

  She had to climb over the pillar itself to get to them. Adding her weight to it, without realizing what lay beneath. Not that she could’ve made things any worse. At that point, the damage had been done.

  On the other side, Ren was shouting. Trying to get leverage on the pillar. To lift it off. Wanda was quiet. On the ground. Eyes wide. Staring in disbelief at her left arm. Where it ended. Where her forearm was pinned beneath the pillar. It bulged. Oddly overstuffed. Dark maroon. Practically purple. No blood, though. That had surprised Netty, even then.

  She’d joined Ren right away. Forced her fingers into the red earth beneath the pillar. Breaking many of her already-short fingernails. She’d tried to lift. Next to Ren trying to lift. The weight well beyond what any two people could ever hope to manage, but they had to have come close. She can still feel where her muscles tore with the effort. Arms. Back. Thighs. Straining beyond strain. Without the slightest perceptible movement. Wasting time the ambulance could’ve used, had anyone had their wits about them.

  Then, Wanda had snapped out of her fugue. Woke up to the situation. Panicked. An animal with one paw in a bear trap. Screaming. Thrashing. Yanking against it in an all-out effort to escape. Somehow, she managed to turn herself around. Braced her feet against the pillar. Pulled for all she was worth.

  And then she was free. Just like that. Landing on her butt, a few feet from the pillar. No longer tied to it in any way.

  But her hand? There was no hand. The hand was gone.

  Her arm ended just below the elbow. In tatters of purple flesh. Red meat. Sharp white bones. She held what was left in front of her face. Netty could almost see the phantom hand experimentally opening and closing. Surely that’s what Wanda’s muscles were attempting. In her face it was clear: She couldn’t quite grasp what had happened.

  Then, the blood came. More than making up for its own previously surprising absence. Then, tourniquets. Calls for help. Endless hours (actually minutes) of waiting. A screaming ambulance ride to the hospital. And questions.

  But no hand. She couldn’t produce one. It was gone. Pulverized on impact beneath the cement pillar. Nothing left for micro-surgeons to re-attach. Utterly pulped.

  Twenty-four hours earlier, that hand had touched her. Caressed her. That morning she had slapped it away. Now it was gone forever.

  Someone comes toward her. Through a haze, the hospital corridor comes into focus. Stark white. Overlit by long buzzing bulbs. Mostly empty. Ren, the approaching exception. Right arm held diagonally across his chest. Gripping his left side.

  “EMT was right. Broke two ribs when she slammed into me.”

  “What an asshole.”

  Ren nods grimly. “They’re saying she’ll be all right, though.”

  “That may be overstating things.”

  “She’ll be mostly right, Netty.” He reaches for her. Intending a hug. She ducks his meant-to-be-consoling arm. “She’ll learn to live with it.”

  “Without it.”

  “Right... Without it.”

  Netty thinks about Wanda. Why was she there, anyway? How had she found her way to the construction site in the first place? And that apology... How long it had taken. How it had kept Netty from joining Ren. How quickly Wanda sprang into action, when she realized it was her brother. Who had she thought he was, until then?

  Mind finally beginning to clear, Netty pushes the info-blocks around above her head. Lines them up in different orders to see how they match. Doesn’t much like the conclusions she begins to draw.

  “What an asshole,” she says.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The sea air tickles something deep inside Dawn’s brain stem. Something ancient that feeds on the salt. It tells her to take her time. The lighthouse will wait. Her long-lost grandfather is not expecting her. There’s no rush.

  So Dawn diverts.

  She follows one of the many boardwalks stilt-standing over the sand dunes. Leaves the road. Heads for the beach. Beneath the boards, the sand is a wind-sculpted sneak-peek of rippling water she can hear, but not yet see. Each wave ahead whispers its welcome.

  She breathes deeply. Feels her lungs burn as toxins are flushed out. Even the oxygen here is different. Right. The air back home was not her air. Each breath seemed unclean. Foreign. Meant for someone else. Here, the very oxygen tastes correct. Balanced to match what’s already inside her. For the very first time... She fits.

  She climbs a short flight of stairs over the last grassy rise and finds the beach laid out before her in all its glory.

  Dotted with little bonfires. The sand lit in orange circles. Each surrounded by beach revelers not yet ready to give up on their day. They send sparks into the air along drifting currents. Poking at the burning piles of driftwood. Dragged back from wherever the ocean had deposited it for them.

  Beyond them, Dawn sees the water. It wants her. Draws her. She’d felt it that morning on arrival - once her sea-sickness passed - but it’s stronger at such close range. Undeniable.

  She pulls off her shoes. Steps down from the last wooden stair. Sinks to mid-calf in the deep, sun-warmed sand. The beach itself trying to swallow her. She wiggles her toes. Enjoys the scratch of grit between them. But the black water beckons.

  She crosses the beach. Passing between the flaming fire-pits. Out of the range of their light. Nonetheless feeling their heat. Heart beating faster. Approaching a dangerous pace as she reaches the beach’s damp margin. Almost stopping when her toes hit the cool, wet sand there.

  An electric shock runs through her. Not hot. Not painful. A cold, green pulse of energy. Juicing all of her musc
les at once. She feels hyperextended. That whole this-is-gonna-hurt-in-the-morning post-exercise burn. Undaunted, she pushes forward - as she must - until the ocean rises to greet her. Sending frothy foam over the tops of her feet in greeting.

  There she stops. It’s too much. The ocean’s touch pops a breaker. Even as that first wave recedes, Dawn drops to the sand. Strings cut cleanly.

  The greedy ocean gropes at her. Takes advantage.

  But Dawn no longer feels anything.

  ~

  No one partying around a bonfire sees the girl fall at the water’s edge. Focusing only on one another. Night-vision compromised by flames. Seeing nothing but shifting shadows beyond the periphery of the firelight. If they were to notice her, they would care. Spring into action. Help as best they could. But they don’t.

  No one sees the dark shapes who rush to her aid. Moving not from bonfires but hidden places. Where they’d been watching. Together, they lift her from the water. Carry her away from the shore. Up, onto the boardwalk. Moving quickly beneath the hooded lamps. Only under the light would anyone see the shapes resolve into something familiar: Four women. They tote the girl over the dunes to the edge of the road.

  There, in the thick scrub grass at the base of the dunes, three of the women make a comfortable place for the girl. The fourth goes through her bag. Burrowing furiously into the contents. Only stopping when she finds the girl’s phone.

  She turns it on. Enters the password without pausing to think. From the main screen, she opens the contacts. Finds: Dad.

  She looks up at her sisters. “We good?”

  “Nearly.”

  She nods. Pushes a lock of red hair behind her ear. Ready to dial the moment they give the word.

  CHAPTER THIRTY