by Karina Halle
Was this death? I thought. My thoughts themselves were distant, as if someone else were thinking them for me, someone I had no attachment to or concern for. If it was death, it didn’t seem to matter. Any gravity associated with that concept was lost.
The light continued to get bigger until I found feeling in my body. Pressure was pushing from underneath. My skin was raked. I was lying down on a hard, wet surface. A beach. The waves lapped behind me. I looked down at glistening rocks mere inches from my face. A tiny white crab, luminous against the void, scuttled on top of my arms and headed up a slope. My eyes followed it up and I recognized the source of the light. It was not death or the afterlife. It was coming from the top of the lighthouse.
This lighthouse seemed familiar to me. I felt like I had been there before, as if it had some kind of purpose in my life. But I couldn’t recall how that was possible. I had come from the ocean, from distant lands. This place could not have existed in my life.
I got up slowly. My legs shook with each wave that hit and my feet slipped on top of the smooth, wet rocks. Someone appeared in front of me and blocked the light, causing it to splay outwards into the night. I realized someone had been standing there the whole time, but I just hadn’t allowed myself to see them. The person raised an arm and pointed in my direction. I knew somehow this person wasn’t pointing at me. I turned around and looked back at the ocean.
There was nothing there but inky blackness. Then a weak beam of moving light. There was another lighthouse, perched on a tall rocky mound just offshore. It illuminated the dark waters below, where familiar shapes danced. I strained my eyes. They looked like human bodies floating up and down with the waves. There were at least a dozen of them.
Then the lighthouse shut off. The darkness was sharp, ominous, suffocating.
When it came back on, I was back in the water, the dark shapes floating around me. Something bumped my back.
I quickly splashed around to find myself face to face with a bloated, puny visage. His eyes were missing, his skin was leaking dark liquid from each pore, and slimy kelp oozed from his haphazard jaw. He sank underneath the water and I felt a bony hand clutch both my legs. I screamed just in time to be pulled underwater, the ocean seeping into my open mouth and filling up my lungs. The light on the surface rippled as I was pulled further and further into the depths until darkness filled my eyes once more.
***
It was Saturday morning, nine fifty a.m. I sat outside on our front steps with a huge, scalding hot travel mug of coffee in my hand. Though I didn’t turn around, I knew my mother and father were standing at the kitchen window watching me, watching for Dex, and making sure that their eldest daughter wasn’t going to be picked up by a murderous filmmaker.
To be honest, I wasn’t feeling as 100% positive about this whole thing like I had been the day before. I guess my horrific dream put a damper on things.
The creepiest thing was that I woke up in the middle of the night absolutely drenched in sweat. I was so wet that I couldn’t be sure that I hadn’t just been drowned in the ocean. It was just as sticky and salty, and just as out of place.
And of course, I was naturally as nervous as ever. It didn’t help having breakfast with my parents and hearing their opinions on the matter. My dad was overprotective of me, as most dads should be. My mother was more concerned that I would be made a fool of. Both of their worries were not out of place. I was thinking the same things myself. But I think deep down inside, they knew I was levelheaded and could defend myself if I needed to. Either way, I knew I could defend myself and that’s all that mattered.
Uncle Albert also wasn’t as accepting of our plans as I had thought he would be. He said several ghost hunters had harassed him over the last few days, all wanting access to his lighthouse. ‘Tis the season, I guess. I hadn’t explicitly said the whereabouts of his lighthouse in my blog entries, but I guess there are only a few privately owned lighthouses on the Oregon Coast. Luckily he gave in, but only if I could someday give him royalties. Of course I couldn’t promise him anything, but I figured one day, if this project was a success, you never knew what could happen (I was leading him on a bit).
Suspiciously, Ada was absent through all of this. I didn’t want to wake her up before I left but I had thought for sure she would have pried herself out of bed to watch the start of it all. You know, just to make sure I wasn’t actually heading off to the Pacific with Beelzebub himself.
I checked the time on my phone. Five minutes to ten. I pulled my leather jacket in closer around me. The weather had stayed cold and dreary for the entire week; our Indian summer was now just a memory.
That said, today was not particularly bad. The wind that had rocked the city recently had become subdued overnight. There was weak sunlight coming from the east that couldn’t quite penetrate the thick mist that sat stoically on the streets and covered the treetops. I loved fog and we had a lot of it at my house, being so close to the Columbia River and all. But it wasn’t helping to lift my spirits.
And its dampness was seeping into my bones despite my attire of leather moto jacket, flared black jeans, grey cowl neck sweater and black Chucks. Yes, I know he specifically said not to wear black, but he obviously didn’t know how anti-white my wardrobe is. This isn’t even a matter of being goth (which I so am not); it’s for practical reasons. White with me won’t last longer than a day—no, an hour—without getting some sort of stain on it. That said, I had brought a light tee and a hip-length yellow pea coat just in case I was ordered to change.
I let out a deep breath and slowly took another one in through my nose, one of my “relaxing” techniques. I have to admit, if you’re having a total freak-out it doesn’t do squat, but the placebo effect was always worth pursuing.
I looked behind me at my parents. They both waved carefully. My mom made the “phone” symbol with her hand. She had told me earlier she would be texting me every hour until we got to Al’s to make sure I was all right and if I didn’t respond to her texts, she would be calling. I felt like I was about to go on a very bad date.
The sound of an engine interrupted my thoughts. A black Toyota Highlander rolled out of the fog and came to a slow halt in front of the house. It had to be him.
I got up and I shot my parents a look for them to stay put, lest they had any ideas of coming out to meet him.
My parents didn’t even make eye contact; they were too busy watching the car. It just sat at the end of the driveway, steam rising from the exhaust, humming along in the quiet morning. If it was Dex in there, he wasn’t getting out.
Well, time to bite the silver bullet, I thought. I waved at my parents, making sure they saw me. They both nodded, arms crossed. It’s funny how different my parents were, but at times like this they were exact clones of each other.
I placed my coffee on the step, picked up my small duffel bag and walked down the driveway with false confidence, noting the dampness of the leaves as I treaded over them and felt the cold seep in through the canvas walls of my shoes.
I reached the passenger door of the vehicle and peered inside. The windows had a slight tint to them, making it hard to see anything in the grey morning light.
The door unlocked automatically with a loudness that startled me. I cautiously reached for the handle and pulled it open.
There was no one inside. The car was warm and running; the keys in the ignition. But no one was sitting in the driver’s seat.
What the hell? I stuck my head further in to look at the back seat.
“Hey.”
I jumped a mile, nearly hitting my head on the roof. I (carefully) pulled my head out of the car to see Dex right behind me.
In the daylight he seemed taller. His build was still on the thin side, but I could definitely see nice strength in his arms as they poked out of his grey short-sleeved work shirt and hinted at the markings of a tattoo of some sort.
There was a craggy shadow of day-old stubble on his cheeks but his chin scruff was tightly groomed,
as was the faint trace of his moustache. He had a nice, broad nose flanked by high cheekbones. The slightest hint of dark circles was smudged at the corners of his eyes, which only seemed to increase their intensity. Oh, those eyes. They were even more poignant when emphasized by his low brows and the permanent frown line between them. He looked like he wasn’t looking at me, but rather through me.
He stood there with a rather impatient stance, as if he had been waiting a long time.
I had my hand to my chest, trying to calm my heart, and wondered how long I had just been staring at him.
“I’m sorry,” I managed to squeak out. “I didn’t see you there.”
Dex nodded. He pulled a pocket watch out of his cargo pants pocket and quickly glanced at it. He spoke to me without smiling.
“We better get going.”
He was waiting for me to get in the car. Slightly unnerved, I got in and he shut the door after me. It would have been gentlemanly in any other circumstance but at the moment it felt weird and uncalled for. As he walked around to the driver’s side, I looked through the tinted windows at the house. My parents were now outside and standing on the steps.
As Dex got in and drove off, I followed them with my eyes and suddenly felt very alone and afraid. They waved until I was out of sight. I had a sudden urge to jump out of the car. I wondered at what speed that would become a stupid idea.
As I let that thought occupy my mind, I hoped Dex would say something. He didn’t, though. The silence in the car was deafening. It felt like the most awkward first date ever.
I looked over at him. His eyes were intently focused on the road in front of him, which was a good thing considering the fog. Still, I had a real issue with awkward silences to the point that I will always prattle on about God knows what just to fill the air.
I cleared my throat. “It’s nice to see you in the daylight.”
He nodded, still keeping his eyes forward.
“Was it a long drive?” I pressed.
“No more than usual,” he said bluntly. His voice was bordering on a growl.
I was so confused. Was this the same guy I was talking to on the phone for the last two days?
He must have sensed the stupid look on my face as he finally took his eyes off the road to look at me. He still didn’t say anything, though.
I managed a nervous, stupid smile. With the strange force behind his eyes, I preferred it when he was ignoring me.
“Do you drive to Portland often?” I asked, sounding even more pathetic. “I mean, we have no sales tax here so it’s pretty popular with Washingtonites…er, Washingtonians.”
He ignored me.
“Do you like music?” he asked in a way that suggested he didn’t really care what my answer was.
“Who doesn’t?” I asked by way of saying yes.
He shrugged and flipped on the MP3 player. It started playing a song that was immediately familiar to me. It was one of my favorite bands, it was loud, and it was very fitting that we were listening to it (the song was named after the 101 highway we were to take once we hit the coast). Somehow the music also suited him to a tee; intense, weird and hard to classify.
I started mouth the words to the song, careful not to utter a peep. He raised his eyebrows at me.
“At least you have good taste in music. We might get along at this rate.” I could have sworn there was an audible trace of admiration in his growl.
It was a bit easier to sit in silence now that we had the music blaring. Its familiarity was comforting in this strange situation.
That said, we probably drove without speaking for another half hour before heading off the I-5 and getting on the highway that would carry us to Cannon Beach.
After eyeing his fuel gauge, Dex abruptly wheeled the car into a gas station, pulling up beside a gas pump. He turned off the car, got out and leaned in on the window, arms resting above the car. It looked like he was stretching, so I let him be. He had his head down and was shaking it slowly back and forth.
I tried not to stare at him. I focused my attention on the normalcy of the gas station, the minivans full of writhing kids, the man in his “midlife crisis” sports car who inexplicably had the top down despite the chilly temperatures, and the gas station attendant who was coming over to us. There were posters for hot coffee on the walls of the store. Another giant cup of steaming coffee would help all my woes.
I picked my bag off of the floor and started rooting around in it for loose change when the hairs on my neck began to rise. I cautiously turned my head to the left. Dex was staring straight at me, still as a deer, with a huge grin on his face.
Ada was right, I thought. He really is the Devil.
Even though I felt chilled to the bone, I put on my “Can I help you?” face and played it cool, like I was used to people just grinning at me for no reason.
“Can you get me a coffee too?” he asked, his voice a tad brighter than earlier.
I nodded, muttered “sure,” and eased myself out of the SUV. How he knew what I was thinking, well I didn’t know. Coincidence, I guess.
Once inside the ugly lights of the convenience store, I felt better. I decided it was a good time to text my mother. I was probably going to get an “ARE YOU ALIVE?” text from her any minute.
I went to the register to pay for the coffees—I realized I had forgotten to ask Dex what he takes in it but figured he was a “straight black” kind of guy—when the bespectacled store clerk asked me where I was headed.
“Just to Rocky Point for the night,” I said.
He shook his head. “There’s a huge storm heading this way. Bad weather for the entire Oregon and Washington coast.”
Oh, just great. Hopefully it wouldn’t get in the way of our filming.
I thanked the man for the coffee and scuttled out of the store. He was on to something; the sky to the west was growing darker instead of growing lighter. I shivered while somehow managing to not spill the coffee.
The attendant was busy pumping gas into the car’s tank and making some sort of small talk with Dex, who eyed my coffees greedily as I approached them. He smiled broadly, a toothpick sticking out of the corner of his mouth, his tongue fiddling with it rapidly.
“Sorry,” I said, handing him the coffee. “I didn’t know what you wanted, so I just got black. Hope that’s OK.”
He grabbed the cup from my hand. Our fingers touched, brushed, and sparked. It wasn’t a normal spark of static electricity. In fact, as he took the cup from me and raised it to his lips, he didn’t appear to notice. But it felt like a trail of energy passed from his body onto mine. It ran up my arm, down my spine and surrounded me in luxurious, hazy warmth, like I was draped in hot towels straight out of the dryer. It was the weirdest thing on a day already full of weirdness.
His took a satisfying gulp, toothpick still in his mouth. His eyes were softer now, round, with sleepy lids. A smile twitched at the corner of his moustache. He looked younger, cute even.
Dangerously cute.
He gave me a wink and I abruptly looked away, turning my attention to the sky in hopes of covering up my blatant staring. The irony wasn’t lost in that he could stare freely at me—like a psycho, I might add—while I wanted to keep my actions close to my chest.
“The guy in the store said there is supposed to be a storm tonight on the coast,” I said hesitantly, as if Dex would decide against the trip.
He nodded and leaned against the car. “I heard that this morning. I wouldn’t worry too much about it, kiddo. We’ll get what we need. Ghosts aren’t afraid of a little wild weather, are they now?”
I shook my head. They weren’t afraid of wild weather, no. But it occurred to me that they might not show up at all, regardless of the weather. That’s what I was afraid of most of all; I’d be leading Dex into the lighthouse, cameras blazing, and finding nothing.
“You look a lot older than I thought,” Dex said. The toothpick switched sides.
“Oh?” I wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or
not. No one likes to hear they look older.
“It’s not a bad thing,” he said reading my face. “I just thought you were...”
I raised my brow. Well?
“Someone more transparent,” he finished the sentence off with another gulp of his coffee. He threw the empty cup in the bin and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Before I had any chance to digest what he said (and wonder how he finished that cup of coffee so damn fast), a shrill voice interrupted my thoughts.
“Perry Palomino?” it exclaimed from behind me.
I froze, not recognizing the voice off the bat, but still worried that someone here knew my name.
I glanced warily at Dex, who was already looking over my shoulder. I slowly turned to the direction of the sound.
A medium-sized girl with long, slim arms, a cascade of radiant red hair that wasn’t found in Mother Nature, and enviously shaped jeans was staring at me with her mouth open. It took me a second to recognize her face, but once I saw those pink lips, jaunty nose and darkly-framed emerald eyes I knew who it was: Debbie Birmingham.
Her name said it all—she was always the belle of the ball. I had gone to college with Debbie. She had been in the same advertising program as me, though her looks and steely resolve were always better matched for public relations; she wasn’t exactly the creative type. She was actually one of my better friends throughout college, but we kind of lost touch after the second year. It hadn’t ended awkwardly; I mean, we were “friends” on Facebook and everything, but I had literally not seen her for a few years now and that in itself was a bit unnerving.
Nonetheless, I flashed Debbie my brightest smile.
“Hey, Debbie,” I said trying to sound as confident as possible. All my feelings of inadequacy from being her friend came flooding back.
She walked across the pump divide and put me in an awkward embrace that smelled like Dior and Pantene Pro V.