Hereafter (Shadowlands) (18 page)

I stared at the Scrabble board in the center of the kitchen table, but the letters might as well have been hieroglyphics. My vision blurred in and out. Nothing made sense. Darcy hated me. Joaquin, quite possibly, liked me. But worst of all was Nadia. Clearly, she was determined to turn the town, and especially the mayor, against me. And now she might even be working on Tristan. What if she convinced him? What if she and her angry mob stopped glowering from safe distances and came after me?

“Bam!” my father shouted suddenly, nearly knocking me off my chair. “Quixotic!
Q
on a triple-letter,
X
on a triple-word; that’s one hundred and eighty-eight points! Read it and weep.”

I stared at him, trying to pull myself into his present. A present where he was alive and well, devouring ice cream, playing Scrabble with his daughter, and kicking her sorry ass. He licked a drop of chocolate sauce off his lip and smiled.

“Sorry,” he said when he saw my face. “That was a tad over the top. But you gotta admit…”

He gestured at the board, waiting for me to give him his props.

“Yes, Dad. You are a genius,” I said in a jokingly toneless voice. “Get over yourself.”

I looked down at the makeshift score sheet he’d drawn out for us, two columns labeled
R
for Rory and
D
for Dad, and it reminded me of the tally I’d found down at the cave. I wondered what Pete had done with it, where it was now, whether the mayor had seen it.

“Do you want to take a break?” my father asked. “I’m not really sure your head is in this tonight.”

A survey of the board proved him right. My words were stellar little pieces of brilliance like
dog
,
from
, and
mat
. With one word he’d pretty much annihilated my score.

“I guess not,” I told him, leaning back in my chair, feeling impossibly heavy. Outside the window screens, the waves sloshed against the shore, the low tide marking a steady, low rhythm.

“Everything okay, Rory?” my dad asked, his brow creasing with concern. “You look like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

Not the other world. Just this one
, I thought. I gazed across the kitchen table at him, hesitating. Over the past few years I had barely spoken to my father, other than to inform him when I’d be home, that I had a doctor’s appointment, that I needed money for a haircut. It had been forever since my dad had offered to talk.

“Have you ever felt like you could trust someone one day and felt completely opposite the next?” I asked, toying with my tiles on their wooden rack.

He narrowed his brown eyes. “Is this about a boy?”

“Dad!” I said, blushing slightly. “Just answer the question.”

He leaned back as well, mimicking my pose, and thought. “Yes. Yes, I have,” he said at last.

“And? What did you do?” I asked.

“Well, Rory, things aren’t always exactly what they seem,” he said. “So I gave the person a chance to explain and then decided whether or not it was enough for me to trust them again.”

“And? Was it?” I asked hopefully.

He frowned and picked up his spoon, swirling it in the melted remains of his sundae.

“In my case, no,” he said, causing my heart to drop. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean it’ll be the same for you.”

“I know,” I replied.

I balled my hands into fists on the table, stacked them one on top of the other, and brought my chin down on top of them. The seven playable letters in front of me spelled out
SPITBLA
. My father sighed, gazing out the window to his right.

“Your mother was always so much better at these things,” he said wistfully.

“You’re doing fine, Dad,” I assured him, just as Darcy padded into the room on bare feet, her pajama pants sitting low on her hips. She dumped her own sundae dish into the sink without looking at us.

“Yeah?” my dad asked.

I gave him a small but genuine smile. “Yeah. You’re great.”

He sighed and nodded, as if pondering whether or not
he
could trust
me
. Then he sat up straight and dropped his spoon back into his dish.

“Fog’s coming in again.”

I stood up, knocking my chair back, my eyeballs suddenly throbbing. The thick gray mist already covered all the windows, blocking our view of the house next door, squelching all the light. I went to the back door to look out, but all I could see was the swirling cloud. It had moved in faster than I’d ever seen before. My mouth went dry as unadulterated panic seized my heart.

This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not when we hadn’t told everyone yet—not when we hadn’t come up with a plan.

Darcy stepped up next to my dad, who was now on his feet. “Could it be any creepier?”

A sudden crash, like metal trash cans colliding, made all three of us jump. It was followed by a quick, but very real, shout of pain.

“What was that?” my father said, already reaching for the door.

I grabbed his arm and squeezed. “No, Dad! Don’t!”

He ignored me. He yanked open the door, and a few fingers of fog licked at his shoes. Darcy and I looked at each other, and I could tell she was as terrified as I was.

“Hello?” my dad called out. “Is someone out there? Are you all right?”

The reply was a soft, mewling whimper. Like a hurt kitten. Except I’d never seen a cat or kitten on this island.

“Girls, I’ll be right back,” my dad said, fumbling for a flashlight from the nearest drawer. “You stay here.”

“Dad, no. You’re not gonna be able to help. You can’t see anything,” I protested.

“Seriously, Dad,” Darcy added. “You can’t—”

“Just stay here,” he repeated. And then he vanished.

For a long moment we stood there on the threshold between crisp kitchen air and moist, warm mist. I heard my father barrel down the steps, shouting out, but after that, nothing. The mewling sound had stopped, and all I could hear was the incessant, menacing hiss of the fog, the pounding of my own heart, the sound of Darcy’s broken breath.

“Where is he?” Darcy’s voice was shrill.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” I said automatically.

“What if Steven Nell’s out there?”

I froze. “What?”

“What if he followed us?” Darcy asked, her eyes desperate. “What if he’s just been watching us? Waiting for a chance to lure one of us out? What if he’s out there right now, stalking Dad?”

“Darcy, he’s not,” I said, trying for a soothing voice, wishing I could tell her why I knew this to be true. “Trust me. There’s no way he—”

“Dad!” Darcy shouted into the swirling mist. There was no reply. “Dad! Answer me!”

Nothing. I looked at Darcy. Darcy looked at me. Then something changed in her face. Something hardened. “Screw this.”

Before I could even blink, she’d turned and dived into the fog. “Dad!” Already, her voice sounded distant. “Daddy! Where are you?”

I cursed under my breath and followed, my heart slamming against my ribs as I groped for the stairs and the handrail.

“Darcy!” I cried. “Dad!”

Someone laughed. The exact same laugh I’d heard coming through the phone line in Aaron’s room. A mocking voice echoed back my plea:
“Dad!”

I stumbled down the steps, clinging to the railing for dear life. I misjudged how far I’d come, and where I’d thought there’d be one more step, there was nothing. My stomach swooped as I tipped forward and fell face-first into the sand. Pain radiated through my skull and down my spine, and zipped up my arms. Another laugh, but farther away this time.

“Dad!” I shouted, scrambling to my knees.

“Rory?” he sounded impossibly far off, his voice a mere croak.

“Dad? Are you hurt?” I asked, whirling around, blind. “Where’s Darcy?”

A dry finger grazed my cheek. I reached up and slapped at it, my skin burning from the violence of my own hand.

“Stop it!” I shouted as loud as I could. “Stop screwing with me! Where’s my family?”

Another sound behind me. “What are you—?” my dad said.

There was the unmistakable sound of a punch hitting home. A cry of pain. “Dad?” I cried, terrified, desperate. I felt around in front of me blindly, looking for someone, anyone, in the mist.

There was a struggle. A tear. A crack. I whirled toward the sound, catching my breath again and again. Nothing but gray.

“Get off him!” Darcy shouted.

Another crack.

“Darcy!?” I wailed.

I turned and my foot jammed into something hard. I flew forward again, my arms flying out to brace myself. I flipped over and scrambled back on my hands like a crab, but it wasn’t a body that had tripped me. Just a large piece of driftwood, rotted and riddled with holes. I started to crawl, tears now streaming down my face.

“Dad? Darcy?” I whispered. “Where are you?”

Silence. No laughter, no mocking, no cries. My fingers groped in the darkness, growing colder as they dug into the frigid sand, finding nothing but seaweed, shells, smaller shards of wood. The longer I searched, the more sure I was that someone had taken my family. That I was never going to see them again. The fog seemed to drag on for hours.

Whoever they are, fight them
, I begged silently.
Don’t let
them take you to the Shadowlands.

“Rory?” Darcy shouted suddenly. “Are you there?”

“Darcy!”

At that moment, my hand came down on a shoe. I screamed at the top of my lungs.

“Rory?”

“Dad!” I shouted, jumping up.

My sister threw her arms around me, and I flung my arms around my father. But the second I touched my dad, I had a sudden flash. I saw
Mr. Nell grab him from behind and whip his head to the side, snapping his neck. I heard
the sound of the bones splintering. I watched my father’s limp body slump to the ground, stunned, his eyes open, his mouth hanging down on one side like he’d just been numbed at the dentist. I released him and staggered backward. Until that moment, my only memories of that night had been the things I’d actually seen, and I hadn’t seen my father die—only his body after the fact. This was new, and it was horrifying. I clutched at my stomach, swallowing over and over to keep from heaving.

I knew what this meant. My father was never going to be a Lifer. He was going to move on. And I was supposed to usher him.

“Rory?” Darcy asked, her eyes concerned. “Are you okay?”

I turned away from her and fell to my knees in the sand. At that moment, I couldn’t have been more grateful for the fog that enveloped me.

“Rory? Where are you?” my father asked.

“I’m here,” I squeaked. “I…I tripped.”

I breathed once. Then again. Struggled to stop the sobs from coming.

“Where?” he asked. His foot kicked the side of my leg. “Oh. Oops. Sorry. This fog is so thick. And my head…”

“Your head?”

“Some asshole tried to grab him,” Darcy said.

“Yeah, but we fought them off,” my dad replied, sounding proud.

“Yeah, we did,” Darcy replied.

I pushed myself up off the ground at the exact moment the fog began to lift. It pulled back across the water, the last wisps curling teasingly around my ankles until it was gone. My father was holding the back of his skull. I shoved the image of his death—and his looming ushering—from my mind.

“Are you all right?” I asked, grabbing at his arm.

He pulled his hand down and held it in front of us. His fingers were bloody.

“It’s okay,” Darcy said, checking the cut. “He’ll live.”

“Did you see who it was?” I asked her.

“No. Probably just some idiot messing around.” She leveled a look at me, and I knew it meant she didn’t want me to bring up Steven Nell.

“Losers,” I said, because I felt like I should say something as I stood there trembling from head to toe. “Come on, Dad. Let’s get you inside and clean that up.”

We fumbled our way up the stairs, him unsteady from his injury, me trembling from my desperation and fear. As soon as we got into the kitchen, I stopped cold. In all the relief of finding my family here and okay, I had forgotten what the fog really meant. Someone somewhere on this island had been ushered. Had they gone to the right destination?

“I have to go out for a sec,” I said, leaving Darcy clutching my dad’s arm. “Get that cleaned up, okay? I’ll be back soon.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Darcy demanded.

I groaned in frustration. “I’m sorry! I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

Then, with Darcy shouting at me, I ran out the front door. I didn’t even care whether Nadia and her angry mob might be out there, waiting for me to run into their waiting claws. I tore up the hill as fast as I could, and as soon as I hit Main Street, I skidded to a stop and faced Tristan’s house. I saw Fisher standing in the park with Bea and Lauren. Bea shot me a knowing look, then turned toward the bluff.

The weather vane spun crazily, so fast it was nothing but a blur. The movement was so unnatural it caught the attention of a few other passersby, people who knew nothing about the truth of Juniper Landing, people who’d talk about a phenomenon like this in the morning, wondering if they could have seen it right, if it had really happened. It spun and spun until I thought it was going to snap off and go flying into the night. But then, suddenly, it stopped. The arrow pointed due south, quivering against the dark sky.