FROM AWAY ~ BOOK THREE Read online

  “Denis did. That’s all I know.”

  No one waits in the front lobby. Just an elderly volunteer, manning the courtesy desk. Gray hair pulled into a severe bun. Telephone against her ear. As Netty perp-walks Peggy Tanner by the desk, she stands. “Sheriff Hubert?”

  Netty looks over. Too exhausted to deal with any new issues. “Yes?”

  “It’s Nurse Eldon.” She wiggles the phone. “Charge Nurse on Fourth? She asked me to catch you.”

  Netty groans. Looks out the front windows. A pleasant island day underway. In the drive, a police car waits. Deputy Chartrain in the driver’s seat.

  Netty waves for his attention. Catches his eye. He jumps out. Scurries into the lobby. “Take Mrs. Tanner back to the house, wouldja, Curt? Get her situated.”

  “Aren’t you coming too, Sheriff?”

  “If there’s any justice in the universe, I’ll be along soon. So... Don’t hold your breath.” She takes the phone from the volunteer. “Sheriff Hubert here.”

  “Just thought you’d want to know, Sheriff... She’s awake.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Dr. Ramsey pulls his rubber gloves inside-out. Drops them into a tin trashcan. Crosses to his car. Pops the trunk.

  Inside: A stainless steel canister. The general dimensions of a small propane tank. Heavy. He needs both hands to lift it out. Grunts with the effort.

  He leaves the trunk open. Ducks beneath the bumper of his partially-restored Mustang. Starts down the ramp hidden beneath it. Stops when his own fireplace poker drops past his face and is pulled back snugly against his throat.

  He tips back against whoever is strangling him. Pulled into an awkward crouch by an attacker without his height. “Urk!” is all he can manage until the pressure on his larynx relaxes slightly. Then: “Who-- What do you want?”

  Lips brush his ear. “Answers... And a hand with exclusively mammalian DNA.”

  Dr. Ramsey almost smiles. “Wanda?”

  “That’s right, Doc. In the flesh. Not counting a few scales.”

  Another tremor racks her system. More intense. Conveniently resulting in another squeeze to the doctor’s windpipe. He takes it as a warning: “You-- You’re right, of course. You deserve an explanation.”

  “Big of you.”

  “The least I can do. But you’ve caught me in the middle of... Quite a delicate procedure. One which could be horribly compromised by further delay.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “The subject is in mortal jeopardy. My continued absence will absolutely lead to fatal consequences.” The doctor shifts the canister in his arms. Grasping for a better grip.

  “And I care about this why, exactly?”

  “Well, it just so happens: The man is a friend of yours.”

  Wanda scoffs. Dr. Ramsey’s way off on this one. She doesn’t have friends. She has business associates. Accomplices, at best. The last person she could have counted as her friend...

  She flinches. Realizing in a flash the one person to whom he could possibly be referring. “Marshall.”

  The doctor tilts his head towards her. As much as she allows. “I believe I have you to thank for Mr. Tanner’s safe return to my facility.”

  Wanda’s heart sinks. Her mission has just been turned on its side. “He’s down there?”

  “He is. And you might’ve taken better care of him, Wanda. The poor boy returned in substantially worse condition than he escaped.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. When last she saw Marshall, he’d lost most of his skin. Parts of him held together by plastic wrap alone. It’s a complication, but this doesn’t have to change anything. She only wants answers. “I’m not interested in Marshall, Dr. Ramsey. I’m here about my hand.”

  “And I’ll be thrilled to discuss that with you. But I’m obligated to first conclude pre-existing business. Marshall has resumed his journey on the long and winding road to recovery. But I assure you: All progress will be lost if I do not resume his procedure immediately. If you insist on keeping me from my work, he will surely meet his end within the next few minutes.”

  Yes, she’d turned him in. Traded his freedom for her own. But it was another thing entirely to deprive Marshall of desperately needed medical care.

  Holding tight to the poker, Wanda pushes the doctor forward. “Let’s go then. Can’t very well turn down the chance to check out a mad scientist’s secret lair, can I?”

  They head down the ramp together. The Mustang lowers behind them.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The table saw shrieks. Shears through plywood. The noise doesn’t carry far. Dying out well before it can reach the edge of the secluded forest.

  Mrs. Hunter leaves the saw running. Lifts away the larger piece. Slides it onto a stack. One of many piles of lumber lined up along the edge of the clearing: Plywood sheets. Two-by-fours. Thick doweling rods.

  The smaller piece, she drops into the hole. Climbs down after it.

  No longer just dirt. The hole has been framed. Reinforced. A wooden room in the ground. Reached via custom-built staircase. On one wall: A gap remains. Five feet high. Three feet wide. The entrance to a tunnel. Not too deep as yet. But dark inside.

  The little woman enters. Hoists the plywood up against a skeleton of two-by-fours. Pulls a few tenpenny nails from the pocket of her overalls. A hammer from her belt. Nails the thing into place.

  Just outside the tunnel entrance, a cardboard box drops into the hole. A gift from above. Her husband still unpacking the rental truck.

  She pulls it close. Tears it open. Grabs one of the many LED tap-lights she finds inside.

  Exposing its adhesive strip, she sticks it to the fresh plywood panel.

  With a click, it lights up. Fully illuminates the shallow space.

  Mrs. Hunter nods. Approves.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The disembodied voice is frantic: “But you’re sure he’s all right, Dawn?”

  “Mom! You’re making me wish I hadn’t even told you.” Dawn steps from one big rock to the next. Sunhat on her head. Backpack over her shoulder. Progressing slowly along a particularly inhospitable stretch of waterfront: Where the ocean laps against an expanse of sharp, craggy rocks.

  She talks into the air. Her mother in her ear. A wireless earbud connecting them through her cellphone. “I mean, if Dad didn’t tell you, I probably shouldn’t have either. Please... Don’t make me regret it.”

  “Okay, you’re right. Just... Give your poor mother the reassurance. Tell me one more time, and I swear to you: I’ll let it go.”

  “Fine.” Dawn pauses to negotiate the particularly steep drop to the next boulder. “Dad is all right. I’m sure of it. The hospital wouldn’t have sent him home otherwise.”

  Silence. She can hear how badly her mother wants to ask more. Despite swearing she wouldn’t. Dawn refuses to let her off the hook. Bites her own lip until her mother can take the silence no longer. “So... You find a good place yet?”

  “No.” Dawn moans. “Just more rocks.” Getting sick of walking. Of the treacherous terrain. It’s a lot to ask of her so-recently wounded feet.

  “And you can’t just--”

  “No!” A line of waves crashes against the craggy outcropping. Dawn looks over the edge. Uncertain of the depth. Jumping in here would be foolhardy. A double-dare to the capricious tide to simply pick her up and dash her fragile self back against the rocks.

  “Remind me: What exactly was wrong with the last beach, again?”

  “Augh! It was too close to the lighthouse. This is my first swim in the ocean, and I’d really like to have a little privacy.”

  Ahead, the waterfront curves. Disappears behind a grove of alder trees. Dawn allows herself the slightest glimmer of hope: That it may reveal a suitably secluded spot.

  “Right, right...” Playful now, instead of panicked. “Any chance you’re just looking for excuses not to take that dip?”

  Dawn does not prefer her mother’s new tone. “Nope. No chance.”

  The lands
cape shifts as she nears the bend. The rocks beneath her feet become smaller with each step until they are reduced to gravel.

  “No need to get snippy, Dawn. It would only be natural. After something strange like that happens, no one could blame you for worrying it might happen again.”

  “And why aren’t you worried?”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. Dad burns his hands and you’re all freaked about it, but I might pass out and drown in three inches of water, and you seem totally unfazed.”

  “Dawnie, I’ve been to every swim-meet you ever competed in. I’m looking - this very minute - at your shelf of medals and trophies. If there is one place I am one hundred percent not worried about you? That would be: In the water.”

  Dawn smiles. Encouraged - as always - by her mother’s unshakeable confidence in her abilities.

  “I think you just need to choose a place, kiddo. Stop being so sticky-picky. The perfect spot? It doesn’t exist. And wasting your whole day looking for it is only going to end up depriving you of the opportunity to swim. But... Maybe that’s what you want.”

  As Dawn rounds the trees, the gravelly shore becomes deep white sand. A tiny hidden pocket of beachfront presents itself.

  “I’ve thought long and hard about your theory, Mother.” Dawn pulls out her phone. Snaps a picture. “So now, please allow me to demonstrate why it’s wrong in nearly every way...” She clicks. Sends the photo.

  After a few seconds: “Oh...” Her mother laughs. She’s definitely received the picture. “That looks just about perfect, Dawn!”

  “I! Know!” Dawn runs out onto the beach. Barely the size of a tennis court. Enclosed on three sides by alder trees. Featureless except a rickety picnic table stationed in the shade. Best of all: Utterly devoid of pesky people.

  “Just be careful. It might be someone’s private beach.”

  “Oh, but it is, Mom... It’s mine.” Dawn dumps her back pack. Shakes open the beach towel. Lays it out full length.

  “All right. I warned you. Just don’t be surprised if you get booted for trespassing.”

  “Que sera, sera, Mamala.” She unties her white wrap-skirt from around her black bathing suit. Drops it on the towel.

  Her mom laughs. “I feel I’m being dismissed, here!”

  “You are!”

  “All right! Be safe, darling! Enjoy!”

  “I will.” Dawn pops out her earbud. Stows it away with her phone in her backpack. Hides that in the sand. Covers it with her sun hat. Steps out of her flip-flops. Relying on waterproof bandages to keep her cuts from contamination.

  A shiver. Excitement crossed with anxiety. Her mother’s theory? Maybe not entirely off-base.

  Nevertheless, Dawn heads for the water. Determined to conquer the ocean. Slowing as she gets closer. Caution creeping into her enthusiasm. Tamping it down as she reaches the line where dry sand becomes damp. Stopping her just outside the tide’s furthest reach.

  She watches the ocean advance and retreat. Advance. Retreat. Absently fingering the silver charm on the chain around her neck. Then? She steps boldly across the line. A raw tingle runs up her leg as her toes touch the wet sand. Only pleasant. An unusual sensation, but far from the electric shock she felt the last time.

  Encouraged, she steps forward. Directly into the surf. As the water crashes over her feet, the tingling intensifies. Races along her nerve endings. Buzzing throughout her body. She feels herself begin to clench up. Only to relax again as the tide runs back out to sea.

  Dawn braces herself. Stands strong. Each wave that hits her feet, pulses across the rest of her. Her entire system orienting itself to the rhythm of the ocean. Even her heart, beating in synchrony with the tide.

  She’s not feeling faint. Her consciousness is not in jeopardy. If anything, the experience has given her a jump-start. Made her antsy. Energized. Truthfully? It’s not a bad feeling at all.

  Taking a deep breath, she wades out into the shallows. Until the ocean takes over. Pulling her onward: Out past her knees. Out past her waist. Out past her shoulders.

  Then, she slides beneath the surface. Out of sight.

  ~

  Max is not a stalker. Definitely not a peeping tom.

  He’d been ejected from the lighthouse. Sent on his way. Not to return without doctor’s permission. With no other inclinations - beyond a momentary flash on the trailer park - he headed home. Following Oceanview. Clearing the cobwebs. Minding his business.

  Passing Burp Beach, he’d happened to glance through the alders. Towards the water. Catching a glimpse: Aaron’s cousin. Her black bathing suit.

  So he’d stopped. Paused, really. Watched her lay out her beach towel. Unwrap the skirt she wore over her suit. Not intending to stand there gawking. But standing there. Gawking.

  Fortunately, he’d snapped out of it. Turned away. Before anyone could notice him peeping through the trees. Beyond the personal embarrassment, he could’ve single-handedly ruined the beach for the girl. Permanently. Converted it into an unsafe space. Where anyone might be hiding. Watching.

  Not wanting to be that guy, Max forces himself into motion. Fights the urge to glance over again as he passes. Knowing: That one last look will be the one she notices. Not taking the chance. But as he goes - eyes ahead, not looking at Aaron’s cousin - he spots them. Crouching in the foliage blocking the waterfront from the road. Hiding. Peeping in on her.

  He sees two, at first. Just accidentally. His eyes happening across them. Then, a third, once he knows what he’s looking for: Ragged brown cloaks. The color of dirt. Blending in. Hoods covering heads. Practically motionless. Their attention definitely aimed at the beach. Its single occupant.

  What should he do?

  Shout? Rush them?

  Sneak over? Try to grab hold of one?

  Stay where he is? Wait to see what they’re doing?

  The options stampede through his mind. Trample one another. Collide. Max does his best to sort through them all. He’s never been a stellar decision maker.

  Suddenly, it occurs to him: Whatever action he takes, he should first document what he’s seeing. Avoid a case of his-word-against-theirs. He removes his phone from his pocket. Aims it.

  As he snaps the photo, Max makes another discovery: There are more than three cloaked voyeurs hiding in the trees. This becomes clear when a fourth brings a branch down on his skull from behind. Drops him to hands and knees. Head ringing. Like after the explosion.

  He tries to rise. Back exposed. That’s where the second hit lands: To the left of his spine. Flattening him. Something cracks. Maybe just the branch. Maybe not.

  Max curls into a ball. Can’t protect everything. His arms cover his tender head. Kicks land in his stomach. His legs. More against his back. Not just the fourth cloaked figure. Too many feet in motion. The others have definitely joined in.

  In Max’s mind: Aaron’s cousin lays out her beach towel. Unwraps her skirt. Reveals her black bathing suit.

  What Max regrets: That he hadn’t watched a little longer.

  ~

  Ecstasy.

  Dawn cuts through the water in broad butterfly strokes. Spins. Dives. Rolls.

  She’s never felt anything like it: That tingling charge everywhere. Exhilarating. Energizing. Freeing.

  She’s always held back. Constrained by the walls of pools or the expectations of the people watching. Now, she lets loose. Swims hard. Fast. Arms pressed against her sides. Propelled by fluttering legs. A missile in flight.

  Eyes open. The water surprisingly clear.

  The sandy bottom gives way to plant-life. Tendrils of underwater grasses and weeds. Waving. Languorous. Reaching towards her. She swims low enough to make contact. Brushing them in passing, before darting away.

  Her lungs complain, but she refuses to surface. Not yet. Surely she can hold out a little longer. The air on her face will be a disappointment. A loss, after being so fully connected to the ocean. Where she so obviously belongs.

  Ahead, a pillar grows from the ocean f
loor. Covered in moss, but clearly man-made. A four-sided obelisk. Dawn swims up to investigate. Finds a clear plexiglass sheet on the far side. Covering a hollow interior. Inside: An obsolete video camera.

  She ducks back. Keeping out of sight. Unwilling to cede her privacy, Dawn drags moss across the window. Blocks the lens. Why is it down here? What is it meant to capture? She looks in the direction of its unblinking gaze.

  In the distance, she can barely make out a strange geography. Almost a cityscape rising from the deep. Running as far as she can see in either direction. Slightly closer - spread out at wide intervals along this underwater skyline - are faintly glowing orbs. Looking for all the world like street lamps. At least four from her vantage.

  She pushes off. Swims towards one. Ignoring the pleas of her screaming lungs.

  It’s at least the size of a medicine ball. Mounted on a long pole. Its surface a metal mesh. A blue-white inner light shining through. As she approaches, she feels a pulsing throb squeezing her. Its pressure increasing on a rhythmic cycle. The closer she gets, the more uncomfortable the feeling becomes. Even as the dark shapes ahead resolve themselves. Becoming a continuous broken wall, cutting across the ocean floor: Sunken tankers. Foundered sailboats. Shipwrecks of all kinds: Wreck Reef.

  Is that even possible? Dawn has covered a staggering distance. Shocked, she makes for the surface. Too fast. Not fast enough. Lungs finally giving out. Mouth popping open involuntarily. Gasping for air only to be found far above. Even as the thundering pressure becomes too much.

  Something tears. A thin red cloud spreads into view. A nosebleed? No. The word embolism floats through her mind, though she can’t grasp why. Her vision dims. Her eyes close.

  She tastes pennies.

  Then, nothing.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  There are no traces to be found. Also? There are far too many.

  In the daylight, the tracks of the search party are everywhere. Workboot and sneaker prints trampling the tall grass into the mud along the waterline. Eradicating any possibility of evidence.