Find Me, Keep Me: A Let Me Go Novel (A Let Me Go series Book 3)

by L. L. Akers

  “Hello? Hello?”

  Ozzie nosed the door open and crept outside. He took the few steps off the porch and looked around, flattening his ears.

  As Olivia spun in a circle, looking for a signal, she saw Ozzie standing in the downpour. Dang it! Ember had told her he was terrified of storms. Why the heck did he come out, then? He must’ve been worried about me. His long hair was soaked in seconds. Olivia rolled her eyes and walked toward him.

  “Ember?” she tried one more time. The call had dropped. Frustrated, she slapped the phone against her wet leg and stomped to the dog.

  “Ozzie!” she screamed, “Get back in the house!”

  The dog sniffed the air. He looked frightened.

  Lightning cracked and thunder boomed.

  He turned in a tight circle, dazed.

  He’s gonna bolt!

  Olivia lunged.

  30

  Olivia chased Ozzie. Barefoot through the rain. The wind caught her umbrella, turning it inside-out and snatching it out of her hands. She barely noticed it as she pushed herself to run faster.

  Her heart picked up speed and she suddenly realized she loved that stupid dog. What if I lose him? What if he’s hurt in the storm—what if he’s killed?

  As if to emphasize the danger, a beach chair flew past her head. She ducked and dodged it. Omigod.

  “Ozzie!” she yelled again. Sand flew in her eyes. She swiped at it and glared through the rain.

  Crap! He was getting farther ahead of her. Push, Olivia! she told herself. Run faster.

  She wanted Ozzie. If Ember didn’t take him back, maybe he could help push away her loneliness. Turned out, he was a good dog. A sweet dog. Just needed some love and attention, and probably to get away from Ember’s manager. Olivia could just imagine the way he’d treated poor Ozzie if he’d hurt Ember as bad as he had. Ozzie was probably a survivor, too, just like her and her sisters.

  Ozzie ran and Olivia chased, blinded by the fierce sheets of rain spitting all around her in a streaming barrage. Stupid dog. He was headed straight for the churning, rolling water of the sea.

  She was already soaked through, the thin nightgown doing very little to protect her. It billowed and whipped around her, slapping and stinging her skin with sharp, wet cracks. She shivered as she ran.

  She cut through sea grass that once stood tall and proud, slicing through the protective dune, but now was bent and broken in the storm, waving to and fro in a frenzied dance with the petulant wind.

  She held her hands over her eyes, shielding them from the sharp pinpricks of the spate.

  There he is! Ozzie was now headed straight for and old, dilapidated fishing dock that she could just barely make out.

  He ran faster.

  She ran faster.

  “Ozzie! Ozzie! Come ‘ere, boy!”

  The wind snatched her voice before it could carry to the frightened dog. He ran frantically, zig zagging through the sand. The gray ocean rolled over the beach, startling him and causing him to zig, then retreated back to sea, causing him to zag.

  What is that goofy dog doing, following the shore line? Playing?

  He ran in jerky movements. As though he wasn’t sure which way he wanted to go.

  No... he’s not playing.

  Ozzie ran as though his tail was on fire, as if Lucifer himself was giving chase. Olivia’s heart squeezed. She knew that feeling. She’d run from her own demons for far too long, too.

  31

  Grayson shook his head as he hurriedly pulled on a shirt and shoes.

  Damn woman. Didn’t she hear me when I told her I was no hero?

  But he couldn’t let her chase that crazy dog alone. The storm was picking up. After a few seconds watching to see if anyone was coming out to help her, it was clear no one knew Ozzie was loose yet. He’d have to go.

  He had just stepped to the front side of the crofter to finally lie down—after a long, wretched day of walking all over this godforsaken island—when he’d caught sight of Olivia stepping outside with her phone and a flimsy umbrella—as if that’d keep her dry in this squall.

  And didn’t she see the damn lightning? Holding up a piece of metal in a storm like this was just asking for trouble. He’d been relieved when the wind had snatched it from her.

  Her nightgown had soaked through and through in seconds, and Grayson couldn’t help but stare. A streetlamp pushed hard against the storm, insistent on sharing just enough light to tease him with things he had no business seeing. He hadn’t been able to look away.

  He wished he could un-see it now. The way the wet nightgown clung to her full breasts, the peaks pushing against the thin, white fabric, her long, wet hair blowing in the wind—

  He shook the picture of her out of his mind. That crazy dog is gonna put me in the middle of a clusterfuck, he told himself. Even if she caught him, how’s she think she’s gonna get him home? She didn’t have a leash, and she sure couldn’t pick that dog up.

  The leash he’d braided last night from the old rope he’d found in the garage still hung next to the door. He’d had plans to take Ozzie to the ferry landing after the wedding tomorrow; to try to help out by keeping the dog—as well as himself—away from the wedding reception.

  He grabbed it, took a deep breath and stepped out of the crofter, cursing the tempest that threw itself over him as though it’d just been waiting to claim another victim. He shouldn’t have bothered with a shirt...five seconds later he, too, was soaked.

  Shaking the water out of his eyes, he ran down the steps and to the beach.

  ***

  Grayson was blinded by the storm, but he kept running. There was only one way they could have gone. If they’d stayed on the beach, he’d have to run into them eventually.

  The ocean raged next to him, throwing the waves far over the sand and then jerking the waters back into its arms again.

  This was no typical storm. Grayson felt the hairs on his arms standing up in alarm, even against the wind and the rain. Electrified. A warning.

  He pumped his arms harder, willing himself to run faster while clutching the rope leash as it whipped and cracked painfully against his legs, as though trying to escape.

  What little he could see of the sky was ominous. He’d seen this before... a terrified shiver ran down his spine. This is a hurricane, dammit.

  He needed to find Olivia fast. Even if they had to abandon the dog for now, he needed to get her to safety. He didn’t want to—he’d taken a liking to that mutt. But the storm would get worse before it got better—much worse. Maybe he could get Olivia to safety and come back for the dog...

  How’d that work out for you last time? His mind conjured up a bitter memory. He shoved it back down.

  Grayson pushed against the wind, feeling as though it were defiantly pushing him back. He cursed it. He called it out, and challenged it. He’d faced a storm like this before and lost. But now...he himself had nothing to lose. Not here. But he wouldn’t let it take Olivia.

  “Bring it, you bastard! Is that all you got?” he screamed, feeling himself slip and slide into the past.

  Stay in the here and now, Grayson. Keep your head, he silently told himself. He turned his face left to right, searching through the gale.

  There.

  Olivia’s in the water!

  He slid to a stop, falling down in the wet sand. He’d sworn he’d never step foot in an ocean again...

  But it was her. Flailing and fighting for her life. Her long hair swirled in the angry waters. He couldn’t let it happen again.

  ***

  Snapshots of her lifeless body flooded his mind. The terror. The denial. The never-ending sorrow. Grayson trembled in fear. He’d failed her once. Would he fail her again? He couldn’t live through it twice.

  He threw his arms out, one after the other... slapping and flapping at the furious waves.

  It was no use. He was too tired. He was floundering...sinking...the battering he’d taken from the storm and the waves had drained every drop of en
ergy from his limbs. He was exhausted. A stinging fear worked down his spine, competing with the painful shivers.

  He was going to fail—again.

  He floated down into the darkness.

  He pushed back up.

  Again and again. Trying to stop the descent.

  But the heaviness of the ocean beckoned to him. Promising to finally give him the comfort he endlessly sought, if he’d just let go. Promises that he would never have to fight the nightmares again.

  Join her, the voice in his head said. Be at peace.

  He gave up and slid into the water, feeling it wash over his face. Maybe it was right. He just wanted to feel at peace. Would this finally give him his peace? Would it silence that voice in his head that wouldn’t shut the hell up? Of course it would. If he was dead...he couldn’t hear or feel anymore.

  He let go and sank down into the depths. He waited for the stillness of his heart, and the silence in his head that he longed for.

  But instead of peace, defeat rang throughout his body. His heart clenched. It was breaking, all over again. Her face flashed before him. Her voice—drowning out the bitter voice that had haunted him for ten years—encouraged him to keep trying. He couldn’t abandon her.

  He kicked up...and up...and up.

  His face broke through and he gulped for air and spun around in the water, searching again.

  There she is...

  Dark hair twirled in front of him in the dark waters; she was still fighting too, thrashing and battering at the sea. Only a few feet away.

  He pushed harder. Kicked his feet faster. Prayed for help. Just an arm’s length away now...

  His fingers reached...stretched...inches away from the hair. If he could only grab it...

  There.

  He quickly fisted a handful.

  But it slipped through his fingers.

  Disappeared again, falling under.

  No! his mind screamed.

  A wave splashed violently against his face and he lost the spot. He treaded water, spinning around.

  Where?

  Where is she?

  Huge waves rippled across the sea. He was blinded by the saltwater. He pushed up long enough to wipe his eyes with wet hands. He saw nothing but seaweed.

  The wind howled over his head. He frantically searched, his eyes blurry and his arms screaming for rest.

  Pure terror ripped through him. A massive green-grayish swell rose out from the sea like a final curtain, threatening to finally put an end to his story—a story that had started as a fairy tale but had turned into a never-ending nightmare.

  He watched it roll toward him.

  It was over.

  32

  A voice called out to Grayson. He ignored it, trying to push it back into the inky depths, but it persisted.

  It’s not over yet.

  He remembered Olivia’s words from yesterday: You can start a new story.

  Could he?

  A sliver of hope broke through his despair. He sucked in a huge breath and dove under, aiming where he thought he’d last seen the sodden strands.

  His arm connected with something. He frantically reached for her, pulling her against his chest and kicking up. He was running out of air. His lungs screamed for breath.

  He shot through the top of the water and gulped, swallowing the wet, salty air. Stinging saltwater forced its way down his throat. He coughed and sputtered and filled his lungs again while he kicked and fought to stay afloat, using only one arm and two feet. He couldn’t see a thing; he didn’t know which way to swim.

  He frantically spun in the water, blinking furiously, trying to see the shore...to see anything.

  His foot hit something solid. A pole. He spun around and forced his face up. He could barely make out a wooden dock.

  He heard faint screams over the murderous winds. Arms were reaching down. Helping him.

  They pulled and pulled, saving him from the currents that tried to suck him back in.

  Once his arms were free, he too climbed out with some help, falling on the dock in exhaustion. He turned his head sideways, coughing. His stomach heaved, purging the bitter water from his lungs.

  He opened his eyes to see Olivia kneeling over him, soaked with rain and tears. She threw herself at him, hugging tightly. He could feel her violent shivers against his own.

  “Thank you! Thank you, Grayson. You saved him!”

  “Him?” Grayson sputtered out, around his coughs. He sat up and looked around.

  Ozzie lay in a wet, sodden heap, like a sorrowful sea monster dragged from the depths. His eyes were tiny red slits but his mouth was wide open, his tongue hanging out. He was breathing hard.

  The dog? It was the dog?

  Grayson laughed; a bitter bark that turned into a loud guffaw. He looked at Olivia again, and pressed his cold hands against her wet cheeks. He gazed into her eyes—assuring himself she was real...and alive—and laughed some more.

  “Grayson, are you okay? Why are you laughing?” she screamed over the wind. She rubbed his arms vigorously, as if to warm them up. She must’ve thought he was in shock.

  She’s worried about ME?

  He shook his head and held his sides, trying to get control of himself.

  It wasn’t Olivia he’d seen in the water. Or his wife. But it was her voice...pushing him, prompting him.

  Or was it Olivia’s?

  He shook his head again, trying to sort it out.

  This ain’t Katrina. Nobody died.

  “You’re both okay?” he yelled over the wind.

  Olivia nodded and tried to pull him up. “Yes, come on. We have to get out of this storm!”

  He stood and pulled her to his chest, tightly squeezing her. He leaned back and laughed again, running his hands over her wet hair and looking into her eyes once more as tears streamed from his, camouflaged by the coursing rain.

  She was solid. Real. Here. Olivia was okay.

  The cold disappeared, pushed out by a warm current moving through him. There—in her eyes—was the peace he’d sought.

  He covered her lips with his own, and kissed her deeply. Squeezing his eyes shut, he drank her in, while the storm exploded around them.

  He didn’t care. Let it bathe him. Let it cleanse him. If felt as though the sharp wind was pushing the rain through him, saturating his pain... and wiping it away.

  And he felt like a new man.

  He hadn’t failed again.

  33

  Olivia looked over her shoulder again. They were still back there. Grayson struggling to carry the heavy dog now. The strain of fighting for his life—and almost drowning—had sapped the poor thing’s strength. He’d tried to stand but had only wobbled back down onto the dock.

  Olivia had been afraid Grayson would insist on leaving him behind. He’d surprised her when he found his own reserve of energy and scooped Ozzie up, as easily as carrying a child. But after fighting their way through the powerful gusts and onslaught of rain, he was quickly falling behind.

  “The lighthouse, Grayson! We can go there,” Olivia screamed over the wind. “If they had to evacuate, I know that’s where they’d go.”

  “I can’t make it that far. Not while carrying him.”

  Olivia held her hands over her eyes, trying to block out the rain and see clearly.

  “There!” She pointed. An old crofter stood tall. The foundation was brick. The dilapidated steps leading to the wooden-built top were leaning, but still viable.

  They fought against the hurricane’s fury, staggering nearly bent over. Olivia’s nightgown was waterlogged, as were Grayson’s clothes. Rivers of water cascaded down their faces, competing with the flurries of sand to blind them. Branches and other debris flew around them in a halo of devastation.

  Olivia led them up the stairs. Grayson tripped, nearly crumbling under the dog’s weight.

  They hurried in and shut the door behind them, not that it would do much good. The small bedroom, similar to the one Grayson had been staying in, was in
disarray. The windows were on the front and back walls, and the glass had been shattered, inviting the storm in and creating a wind tunnel.

  But it was shelter.

  The room held little more than a bed. A bamboo mattress had blown off the frame and had taken the worst of the storm. It stood, curled against the wall haphazardly, soaked and dripping.

  Wet linens were strewn everywhere. Sheets and one large quilt. There was nothing dry to be found.

  Olivia pulled the sheets together, making a pile, and Grayson carefully laid Ozzie down atop them.

  He sank to the floor beside him, checking his breathing. “He’s going to be fine. Just tuckered out.”

  Olivia squatted down and rubbed Ozzie’s ears. “It’s gonna be alright, boy. You just rest.” Ozzie whined and licked her hand.

  Grayson stood and grabbed the mattress, pulling it back to the frame. He pulled the entire bed away from the windows. Olivia brought the soaked quilt and spread it over the mattress. Something was better than nothing.

  She plopped down on the mattress, shivering and shaking. Grayson pulled off his wet shirt and sat beside her. He rubbed her arms and pulled her close, sharing what little bit of body heat they could between them.

  Soon, Grayson stood up, pacing nervously and braving the storm to look out the window. He ran his hands through his hair, and constantly looked over his shoulder, as if assuring himself Olivia and Ozzie were still there and still safe.

  “Grayson, you want to talk about it?”

  He stopped pacing and faced her. “Talk about what?”

  “About what happened out there? I thought you were cracking up for a minute.”

  Grayson gave her a grim smile. “I never have before...talked about it, that is.”

  He sat beside her again, giving her a long look. “Maybe it’s time I do.” He nodded, as though to himself. “Yeah, I would like to talk about it...with you.”

  Olivia tilted her head. “I’m listening. Go ahead.”

  Grayson took a deep breath and began. “It’s not a good story. It’s a nightmare. But I think it’s over—finally. A long time ago, I came face to face with a monster. One related to that one.” He pointed to the storm howling out the window.