Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology

by Colleen Gleason

  Nicolas threw the dishtowels away and looked toward the dining room. Ana and Finn were asleep in a sea of blankets. Above them, Oz had duct-taped garbage bags over the hole the stained glass skylight had left, but the cold wind slipped through anyway. We’re going to have to move them before long.

  Jonathan had been over to check their pulse fanatically, every few minutes, and each time he had come back with relief on his face. But now Jonathan was outside with Oz, attempting to figure out what to do with Alex.

  Nicolas started to take Ana’s pulse, but realized he had no clue what normal was. Her chest rose and fell with each soft breath, and she looked peaceful, although he doubted she felt that way. He prayed she was healing herself. She had never made it work on another, but her ability had saved her own life several times.

  When he had made up his mind about coming to Maine, he wasn’t sure what he had expected exactly, but he could say confidently it was not this. He never made predictions about outcome. As with everything in his life, Nicolas Deschanel had simply forged ahead, confidently assuming everything would work out.

  We might have actually saved her. When we came to the house, the situation was already dire, and Alex could have killed all three of them. Instead of lying on the floor in critical condition, Ana could be dead. I probably could have fucking planned a bit more, but the fact of the matter is, if we hadn’t showed up when we did, this could have been a completely different kind of party.

  Nicolas took Ana’s right hand, the one that was not entwined with Finn’s. He could not shake from his mind the look on her face when she saw he had arrived. Her lip had trembled, and the look was one she had only shown to him: one of complete vulnerability, and loss of control.

  “I am so sorry I wasn’t here sooner. I knew something was wrong, and I hesitated,” he admitted to her, keeping his voice low. He almost laughed at his attempt at privacy.

  “I am kicking myself for not fucking coming with you. The truth is, though, my feelings were hurt that you didn’t invite me. I started to wonder if maybe I was smothering you, and that… well… that part of why you wanted to get away from New Orleans was me.” He almost stopped here, but continued on. “We always laughed at the fact that everyone wondered why we never married, and why we did our own thing, and I always thought that was something we shared together, our own private joke at the world. I felt like I was laughing with you at some of the guys you would date. When you broke up with them, I assumed you didn’t care because you never seemed to. But… Oz…” No, not now. I can’t do this now.

  It felt good to get that off his chest. He hadn’t let himself think these things before. Action had always come easier than thought. Even when he decided to reason out a problem or situation, he rarely considered any one perspective for very long. Deep thought simply wasn’t in his makeup. Even when it came to Ana... if he saw she needed him, he was there. He didn’t need to know why, or to brood on it for long.

  “Did I force my own beliefs on you, Ana?” He turned her hand over in his. The scratches were still red but already starting to scab over. Yes, heal darling. He wanted to ask her about what had happened here. What had happened between the last time he talked to her, over a week ago, and the point at which he and Oz joined the insanity they witnessed in the kitchen. Did you run away? Did you run away to be with Finn? I can understand wanting to be away from your father… but how could you run from me? You knew it would break me, like you knew moving to Oxford would. I know that’s selfish, dammit, but you’ve always stayed before. Why did you leave me this time?

  But that was the paradox of the situation, wasn’t it? Instead of staying to protect him, as she once had, she was leaving to protect him. Or am I just telling myself that, when in fact it has nothing to do with me at all? That this time, Ana made a decision about her life that did not include me?

  “I guess I don’t understand, Ana. I’ve never turned my back on you, or judged you. I’ve never made you feel bad about anything you’ve done.” And you could have had anyone in the world and I would have supported you, but Oz? Their indiscretion brought Ana’s behavior, and Nicolas’ conflicted, bottled feelings, bubbling to the surface.

  No, Nicolas would not think about it. Not yet. Not until she was out of the woods. Right now, he would focus only on her recovery.

  Her long red hair looked even more beautiful contrasted with her pale, ashen skin. He used to braid her hair, as long as she promised to never, ever tell anyone. He wished he could see her eyes right now, those piercing blue eyes that cut right to your soul. Have I never married because no woman can ever measure up? Because, truly, I could never love her more than I already do. I would never want more from her than I have now. But being with someone else means that I can’t share this closeness with her the same way. Nicolas would not think about how tonight’s bombshell might impact this closeness. Goddamnit Oz, why did you have to tell me? Why couldn’t you have taken it merrily to your goddamned grave, so Adrienne and I could continue living in blissful ignorance about the people we love?

  He looked over at Finn, in contrast. Finn had rough, ruddy blond hair (So not her type, she likes dark-haired guys), a strong jawline (She always liked the softer types), and dimples that did not require a smile to come out (Too obnoxious). He had a scar above his lip, and his cheeks had a slight red flush to them (Too roughneck). He was handsome, but simply not her type.

  Apparently, he is. Apparently I don’t know her type. Apparently she had her reasons for keeping this from me, just as she kept her fling with Oz a secret. Maybe her shock at seeing me was actually guilt.

  Maybe she’s worried that my love is conditional on her never changing. Maybe she’s been changing this entire time and I haven’t shown her it’s okay.

  “I am so sorry,” he said to her, still holding her hand in his. He curled up next to her and closed his eyes, smelling a trace of copper and rubbing alcohol. “I really am.”

  * * *

  60- JONATHAN

  Jon was guilty of murder. It mattered not who pulled the trigger. When he hit Finn, he had been aiming for Alex, with intent considerably more than a warning shot. He would never let Oz take responsibility for something that, in his heart and in his intentions, he was equally guilty of.

  They worked quickly, but quietly. He didn’t mind Oz, and thought that in better circumstances, they might even get along. He didn’t think there would be a better circumstance for them, though. While bound for life with this experience, this was hardly the activity that created friendships.

  “Did you realize your nose is broken?” Jonathan finally asked, as they hauled Alex’s body through the snow and out to the shore. It was a slow haul, with the second storm still in full swing around them.

  Oz laughed. “Yeah. I’m aware of it.”

  “I can set it for you if you want. It might heal properly that way.”

  “Thanks.”

  There was no good place to put Alex, so in the end they placed him closest to where the tanks had spilled. They shoved him under a low bench, wedging him in. The sound of the garbage bags crinkling against the snow made Jon cringe.

  “The roof looks unsteady,” Oz noted warily.

  “The whole thing is unsteady,” Jon agreed. “But there isn’t anywhere else to put him. You were right, he can’t stay in the house.”

  “How long are we going to be stranded here?” Oz asked, with a glance back up at the house.

  Jon hesitated before speaking. “I’m going to try to figure out the snowcat, and drive it down to the ferry station to radio for help.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Oz offered.

  Jon shook his head. “You’re the only one who knows what I did to keep them stable. Her cousin in there isn’t in any shape to take care of them alone.”

  Oz nodded, but it was clear he didn’t like the idea of splitting up in the storm.

  “One thing we will need to figure out,” Jon broached, “is what we are going to tell the police.”

  Oz
stopped, hand on the back door. He couldn’t be much older than Finn, but in that moment he seemed a hundred years old. “The truth, I suppose. I mean, it’s not like a lie could be any weirder.”

  Jon laughed, his first laugh in a long while, and the sound was foreign and coarse to his ears. “You are most likely right.”

  “What will people here think?” Oz pressed. “About what happened to Alex? Will they miss him? Think it’s all a misunderstanding?”

  Jonathan frowned. “A mixed bag, I suppose. Most residents thought him harmless.”

  “Not you, though.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I suspected he had a hand in his parents’ deaths all those years ago, and the Sheriff thinks so, too.”

  “Well, he certainly had murder on the brain tonight,” Oz concluded. He turned to look at Jon. “If Ana wakes up before help arrives, I don’t want her to know about what happened with Alex.”

  Jon started at him, not understanding.

  “She’s probably going to blame herself already for what happened tonight, but I don’t want her to blame herself for Alex. I did it. That was my choice, and I’d do it again.”

  “So we tell her…”

  “That we took care of it. And leave it at that.”

  Jon had so many questions, as he was sure Oz did, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask any of them. The situation was still so tenuous, and they were a long way from small talk and story time.

  When they had left the two patients lying in the dining room, Jonathan had found himself looking back over his shoulder, but it was not his brother he looked at. His stomach was in knots, a feeling quite unfamiliar to him, and he had felt it earlier, before she had woken up. He felt it the moment she brought that stray animal to him, and again in the shower. It wasn’t until he turned to look over his shoulder that he connected those feelings together.

  No. It doesn’t matter if you have these feelings. She could be your soul mate, and it wouldn’t matter, because your brother has finally found something other than his own stubbornness and the sea that makes him happy. You know you are the reason he has stayed on this island. He will not admit it, but you know. You will not take this from him.

  They stepped back through the door and found Nicolas curled up next to Ana. Jonathan’s heart stopped for a moment until he could see both Finn, and Ana, were breathing, and only then he was able to step into the room.

  “I tried to check their pulses, but I don’t know what is normal and what isn’t. They didn’t stop breathing though, so that must be a good sign,” Nicolas said lightly, a half-hearted jest.

  “Thanks,” Jon acknowledged and dismissed Nicolas with a hand. Kneeling by Ana’s side, and then Finn’s, he took both their vitals, finding nothing out of the ordinary. After a deeper search of his father’s office before they’d ventured outside, he found some morphine, and it was the only relief he had been able to give them for the pain.

  “We need to find a way off this island, quickly,” Jonathan pressed, as he faced the other two men, who were strangers before tonight but now were bonded to him in a way even he didn’t understand yet. “They both need proper medical attention. I’ve done all I can for them.”

  “Is there a hospital on the island?” Oz asked.

  “No,” he said. “Only the stuff I have here, from my father’s old... clinic. We need to get to the mainland to get them the right help.”

  “Does your phone work?” Nicolas wondered. “Or was that more lies from Alex?” He seemed to have a bit of his spark back.

  “It did for a few days, but the lines have been down for nearly a week. Internet is down, too, and the nearest radio is at the ferry station a mile west.”

  “What about that big thing outside?” Oz asked, pointing toward the snowcat.

  “I’m going to try and get it to the ferry station, and see if their radios are up,” Jon replied, suppressing his annoyance at having to repeat the plan.

  “No, Jon. I mean, doesn’t that thing have a radio?”

  Jon’s hopes rose. How could he not have thought of this on his own? The situation has been too much. I’m not thinking clearly. There should be a working radio, and perhaps they could reach the Coast Guard. If not, he could still take the snowcat down to the ferry terminal and try the radios there. But if this worked, it would be much quicker.

  Before Jon could say anything, Oz asked Nicolas to join him to see if the radio was functional.

  As the door clapped behind them, Jon realized he was alone for the first time since the world had come crashing down around their heads.

  What would he do if Finn died? Finn was more than his brother. He was his anchor. Jon had long believed he needed no one, but was allowed the luxury of such nonsensical thoughts because Finn was at his side. Finn protected Jon, bringing him closer to humanity.

  Jon didn’t understand the nature of Finn and Ana’s relationship. How could they have such a bond? He hadn’t ever seen them together, and Finn had hardly mentioned her until the night she ended up half-dead on their beachfront. How could that kind of love have grown while Ana was sleeping? He remembered Finn spending every waking moment by her side, talking to her, reading to her. Could she have known? How could you love someone so fast?

  He wished he knew, because that feeling was back as he watched her, and he realized with both guilt (for Finn) and resentment (for himself) that he should not have pushed her out that night she came to his office with Cocoa. If he had opened his eyes he might have seen her, really seen her for who she was: someone like him, his female equivalent. His habitual attitude closed out one who might not only accept but understand him. Had he been open to her, he might have finally found something to give his life the meaning he pretended to not crave.

  She was The One. The problem was, Finn thought she was The One, too. And he wouldn’t keep holding his little brother back from happiness.

  * * *

  61- AUGUSTUS

  Augustus was displeased with the hospital staff. They were properly courteous and attentive—they visited Ana regularly and responded quickly when called—but he did not feel they were nearly experienced enough. She had been in the hospital for five days, and they were still not ready to release her. And now they were annoyed with him. He had thought they would be pleased he was willing to send for doctors from New Orleans to take over.

  He resisted the urge to tell them her sleeping was normal, that she was healing herself. He was the only person who knew how to care for her in such a state.

  Your daughter and her friend should both be dead, the doctor said. It’s a miracle. Unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

  Yes, thought Augustus, I’ve seen a miracle or two in my time.

  When Nicolas had called him from the hospital, Augustus was already making arrangements. He had traveled north with the family doctor, and their lawyer was also staying nearby. His niece, Adrienne, was a complete mess, so his first order of business upon arrival had been to send Oz promptly back home. The police wanted Oz to stay longer, but Augustus had seen to it that Oz was released and there would be no further questioning in Maine.

  Now it was only Augustus and Nicolas standing vigil in her room… and occasionally that tall, quiet fellow, Jonathan. The nurse said he had medical experience, but wasn’t a doctor.

  “Tell me, what kind of person has ‘medical experience’ but is not a doctor?” Augustus had demanded.

  “The kind that is as unique and different as Jonathan St. Andrews,” she simply said. “But he saved your daughter’s life, so I’d say his ‘medical experience’ came in handy.”

  This was true. If not for this odd, quiet man, Ana might not have survived long enough to heal herself. Although, if not for him, she might also not be in this situation.

  Oz had laid the entire story out, with Nicolas, and Jon backing him up. Even with their matching accounts, the Portland police had been skeptical that the middle-aged overseer was capable of all they were suggesting. Then the sheriff of Summer Island had ste
pped in, insisting that Alex Whitman had long been on his radar for several heinous crimes, and he was not the least bit surprised. This was followed by Sheriff Horn’s ceremonious visit to Alex’s house, where a room was found, filled with peculiar artifacts and articles about a number of women who had died mysteriously. Ayuh, I knew it all along, the portly sheriff had insisted.

  “In that case, I will look for you to assume culpability for the injuries inflicted upon my daughter,” Augustus snapped, promptly shutting the sheriff’s prideful boasting.

  One evening, Jonathan had walked in. Augustus felt distrust for him, mainly originating from doubt of their story. Whatever had actually transpired, he had saved Ana, and for that reason alone, Augustus did not ban him from visiting.

  The man’s brother, Finn, had not woken yet. Ana had been in and out of consciousness, but Augustus was not worried. This was her body’s healing process, and she was long past the point of mortal concern.

  “We should really consider moving them into the same room,” Jon tentatively suggested.

  Augustus rejected the idea. If the boy was the reason she had neglected her family, then he wouldn’t encourage or reward their behavior.

  When Augustus didn’t respond, Jon added, “They say she will be able to go home soon.”

  “They say a lot of things,” Augustus said, venting a small measure of his ire, “but I have little confidence in the care she has received in this facility.”

  “It was the best we could do under the circumstances,” Jon apologized. His hands were in his pockets, looking uncomfortable and out of place in the room. Augustus watched Jon gaze at Ana, and a disturbing realization came over him. Both brothers? For shame, Ana. I raised you better than this.

  “Your brother is coming along, I assume.” Augustus was not eager for conversation, but he was at least skilled in finding words when he needed them. Conversing with someone you weren’t fond of was slightly less offensive than waiting in awkward silence with them.