Dark Beach (10 page)

“Carl!” Ron called again.

“What?” he yelled back.

“We can’t get the doors open. The wiring is too badly burned. We’ll have to take them off manually.”

“Christ. Can you cut them off?”

“Piece of cake—our last resort, though. I’m on it. I need some welding leads and some power. And can you get me an electrician? Why wasn’t the sub in the covered dry dock anyway? Aren’t they supposed to be covered?”

“You know …” Carl shook his head and then readjusted his white hard hat. “If the sub had been covered, the damage wouldn’t have happened? Do they know?”

“No, they don’t know. And Ah sure ain’t gonna tell ’em neither.”

“You can’t cover this sort of thing up!”

“Well, the Admiral ain’t here; he’s out to sea. And what he don’t know don’t hurt him. Besides, I’d rather beg for forgiveness than ask for permission.”

“You better let him know—or I will.”

Carl pointed to the dry dock. “Just get those damn doors off so the Admiral can have his sub.”

“Security is toast. This sub is open to air for anyone to see, and you don’t care?”

“Ah’ve got men burned
—dead an’ injured,” Carl yelled. “Ah do care. Ah’ve been workin’ this dock for seven years. Don’t you come in here an’ tell me otherwise!”

Ron backed up. “Fine, but I have to document this.”

“You can take your document and stick it where you will.”

“Carl, what the hell?”

“What?”

“We have to work together here.”

“I am workin’. Why don’t you stop wasting my goddamn time.”

“Fine!”

“You just send the Admiral a message, short an’ brief. There’ll be an’ investigation anyway,” Carl said as he watched Ron walk away. Then he turned his attention back to yelling at the welder.

* * *

The line rang and rang.

“Hey, this is Ron,”—his voicemail picked up—“I’m not available at the moment, please leave me a message.”

“Ron, I have called three times now—once this morning, twice now! What is going on? Please call me. I don’t even know if you got there okay.” Jenny snapped her silver cell phone shut and tossed it inside, on the bed.
Where the hell is he?
She continued to pace the paint-peeled deck outside. It was freezing out, but she stayed there anyway, shivering. The dark ocean matched her mood.

“God, Ron!” She slammed a fist down on the white balcony railing. “I need you.”

“Mamma?”

“It’s okay, honey,” she soothed, calming down a bit, not wanting her daughter to notice her frame of mind.

“Mamma, play me?”

“Sure. What would you like to play?”

“Puzzle.”

“Come on. We can do a puzzle. We’ll go inside.”

After three animal puzzles and two storybooks about color and numbers, Jenny decided that, despite the overcast skies, they should go and explore the town.

The roads were dead; it was midweek, the tail end of tourist season. The car wound through the ocean side streets, then further in, closer to town.

“Look!” Kip pointed. “Looooooook!”

“What, honey? What do you see?”

“Shark!”

Slowing the car, Jenny looked left, following the direction of Kip’s tiny finger. A huge
grey shark with razor-sharp teeth leered back at her. Her heart skipped for a second, but it was only the specially designed entrance to a souvenir shop. She kept driving.

“Mamma! See, see!”

“I think we’ll skip that one, honey. We can get ice cream.”

“Uh-uh.” Kip shook her blonde head emphatically. “See shark!”

“Oh, honey. There’s chocolate ice cream, or vanilla,” she said, hopefully. “I can hear them calling us over there. Yum, yum,” she tried to sound as sweet and convincing as possible.

“Uh-uh!” The toddler’s mind was
made up.

“Fine.” Jenny turned back and parked in front of the looming entrance, trying not to look at it too closely.

Kip just clapped in excitement. “Shark! Shark!”

Jenny got out.
What am I thinking?
She unbuckled Kip.

Hysterical with happiness, Kip ran to stand inside the creature’s enormous maw. Its blood-red gums seemed about to chomp down, like Kip was being eaten alive by a store.

“Just don’t look,” Jenny said. “Just don’t look.”

Somehow, she managed to get them both inside without glancing at the teeth. The door opened with a jingle to reveal
a shop packed with hundreds of shark-themed trinkets—shark T-shirts, shark candy, shark hats, inflatable sharks for the pool, and much more. Jenny felt dizzy. Teeth jutted out from the shelves—from everywhere.

“Hi there! How can we help you?”
a young girl asked in a sour, bored tone.

Jenny just gulped. 

The girl was joined by a coworker, an enthusiastic young man who was obviously in love with the subject matter. “Someone’s been bitten by the shark bug.” He grinned at Kip.

“It takes all kinds,” Jenny muttered.

“Excuse me?” The boy said.

“Nothing.”

“Let us know if we can help you.”

Jenny went after Kip, who had wandered off and discovered a
bright-red rubber lobster.

“Thank God you want that one.”

“Yes.” Kip handed it over.

“
This
I can do.” Jenny paid and ushered Kip out as quickly as they had entered.

“Come on. Let’s go home. It’s time to relax, honey—have some dinner, watch TV, maybe read a little.”
Who are you trying to convince?
her mind said.

Kip was too busy admiring the lobster to acknowledge her. To calm herself, she took a deep breath and sat a moment before turning the key in the ignition. She was starting to feel out of it again. The jagged menace of teeth flashed in and out of her vision, their white contrasting the sudden swirl of black.

“Come on, Jenny! Focus! Focus here,” she demanded of herself.

It was a battle of wills—hers versus the whale’s.

Come on, Jenny. Focus now. Focus.
She tried to think of something else—some happy thought. This was not the place, not the time.
Damn you, Ron! Where are you when I need you?
She slammed her head down on the steering wheel. The pain—sharp in the middle of her forehead—helped.

“Think of something else. Focus.
” she whispered again.

* * *

The dress was the most brilliant white—a sweetheart bodice sleek down to the waist, where it frou-frou-ed out in layers of puffy tulle.

“I feel sick.” Jenny put a hand to her forehead.

“Oh, nonsense! Here, have a glass of water. You’re going to be fine, sweetheart.”

The mirror was small, narrow, but somehow Jenny—even slimmer back then—had managed to twirl all the way around to see the back.

Her mother fastened a pearl necklace around her delicate neck and shellacked a few odd hairs back into Jenny’s French twist using hairspray.

No! Not that
! Jenny came to, slipping back into the present again.
You were too nervous then
,
too young.
Something else. Think!”

“Almost to the top.”

Ron took Jenny’s hand. He was so strong
. The earth was wet and muddy. She would have slipped if he hadn’t pulled her up the last few steps.

They pushed through the ferns, through the trees, through the dark, damp forest that smelled of heaven.

“We’re here. Look.” Ron slowed.

The woods ended abruptly at a rocky cliff.

“Don’t go any further, and don’t look down. Just look straight ahead.” Ron held her hand tight, as if for dear life.

“Oh my.” There were no words for the view
—the endless snowy peaks of the Cascade Mountains for miles and miles, gradients of blues and greys so breathtaking that Jenny felt like her soul itself was liberated. Suddenly, a ray of sun pierced the sooty, white-tipped curl of clouds, as if to greet them.

They sat and ate plain cheese sandwiches and tasteless granola bars that seemed like manna.

Jenny stayed there for a while, on that cliff in her mind, until she was calm enough to put the car in drive.

* * *

Later, with Kip in bed, she
lit a fire in the hearth of the hex room. She liked it up there. The windows made the small space feel huge, open—free. And the fire made it that much cozier, its glow reflecting in the windows.

The journals were piled next to
her on the bed. They had been too enticing to pass up. She giggled as she took up the very bottom one. “Chronological order, maybe?” she murmured, opening to the first page.

Damn this place! Damn this place here!
And damn him.

Jenny stopped reading and scratched her head. “Well, this is depressing.” She turned on her side, pulled the blanket up over her shoulder, and glanced at the torn-up paperback sitting on the pillow next to her—her back-up book. It was a romance.

“So not in the mood for that.” She threw the book across the room, and it made a soft thud when it hit the floor. As her eyes followed its trajectory, she noticed a light out in the distance. She moved to the window and squinted against the cold glass, cupping her hands around her eyes to block out the firelight.

A lantern?
It seemed strange, but she thought she could make out a figure standing out there, on the beach. Backing away from the window, she hopped back into bed and pulled the covers firmly up over her. She pulled up the hood of her grey sweatshirt too. “There!” she said, and continued on with the journal.

This house is cursed. This beach is cursed. I must get out of here. I have to. I can’t bear it.

I saw him the other day. It’s like he’s following me everywhere. I’ve made a report to the police, but they just think I’m crazy.

Jenny shivered, and wondered whether the journal’s belonged to
Ron’s mom, Rachael. She read further, carefully. The handwriting was fast deteriorating into an illegible scrawl.

I swear I heard that rocking chair going the other day—back and forth, back and forth. Sometimes it’s like he’s right downstairs again. I don’t know what is wrong with this place, him, this house. I can’t leave yet, can I? Our son is doing so well here. Getting so smart, so handsome. I look at him and feel … I don’t know. I can’t even describe it most of the time. He’s in bed now. Sometimes I catch him snoring—so adorable.

Jenny sighed.
Is she talking about Ron? They must be Rachael’s journals
. “He is adorable,” she said, and turned back to the page, but she couldn’t concentrate. The lantern was nagging at her. The bedside clock had a picture of a lighthouse on it, hands extending from the center like beams of light. It was midnight. She didn’t want to move; she felt too warm and cozy. But she had to look.

The lantern was still out there, its glow even closer now.

It was moving towards her, towards the house.

“What the…? Who is that?”

She fumbled down the dark staircase and into the master suite for a better look, opening the balcony doors to a gust of salty air that immediately pushed the doors back behind her. It was wet and slippery out on the deck and her rubber slippers provided little grip. She eased her way to the edge.

The lantern was hidden by a dune. She waited until it bobbed back up.

The shadow carrying it looked male, and it was moving quickly.

“Oh, Christ.” Whoever this was, she wasn’t in the mood for visitors. Retreating back inside, she made her way to the bottom level, into the kitchen, expecting a knock on the door at any moment.

Heavy steps sounded on the deck. Then stopped.

Nothing.

Jenny wondered why he didn’t come around the front.

She tiptoed over to the kitchen window and poked her head up a little. She couldn’t see much, other than the dim light cast by the lantern and
a man just standing there on the deck, waiting.

What the hell?
It’s midnight. Who the hell does this crap?

She ducked down again as she heard the heavy steps come closer. The kitchen cabinets were momentarily illuminated, the light from the lantern washing over them through the window above her. She froze. Held her breath.

Of all the moments to get an itch!
She tried to ignore the horrible niggling above her brow.
Why does that always happen to me?
Ignoring it, she focused on the footsteps of this outsider blatantly invading her privacy.
Charlie! Where are you when I need you? You stupid dog, you should be down here barking.
There was no sign of him.