I woke up early the next day and opened the blinds. The bay sparkled in the distance. I put on my bathing suit and jogging clothes and took a towel from the bathroom. I slipped out of the house before anyone woke and walked down to the beach near Lovers Point.
It wasn’t even eight o’clock, but there were a few people down on the beach. A man out for a stroll with his dog, and a dive-master testing his equipment in the shallows. Connor carried wet suits down onto the sand in preparation for a group of high school students.
“You’re a brave one going in the water,” said Connor. “This is becoming a regular habit of yours.”
I smiled. I visited the beach every other morning, but this time, I intended to dive in. “I need the practice,” I said, taking off my jogging clothes. My mom bought the swimsuit for me a couple of years earlier, for vacation, and I’d only worn it for sunbathing—never in the water.
I dipped a toe into the water—it was cold, so I wet my limbs in an effort to adjust. Finally, I took the plunge and started to kick. I managed a few breaststrokes in the shallows while keeping an eye on the pier, making sure I didn’t swim out too far.
Not entirely over my fear, but I was taking baby steps to get there. I would remember that Henry said I was brave. Also, I learned something very important about life—when you’re swimming, it’s important to keep your head above water.
Epilogue
What I learned later was that when O’Reilly fell backward, he tumbled into the water with a heavy splash becoming submerged in a swell. The strong current swept him out to sea, and from an observer’s standpoint, looking up from the cliff, it looked as though O’Reilly perished when the surge of electrical and energetic bolts coursed through his corpse.
When in fact, O’Reilly surfaced a mile out to sea, head bobbing in the water like an inflated soccer ball. Always a strong swimmer, he began fighting to save his soul—remaining afloat despite being battered around by the violent swells.
The dim lights of a small tanker could be seen in the far distance. O’Reilly needed an army, one he could raise to wreak his revenge on Henry and take his wrath out on the residents of Monterey. The men on the tanker, once turned, would be his servants—and he their new captain.
With strong powerful strokes, O’Reilly began to swim toward the ship. Soon he was alongside the stern, grasping a rope that dangled from a life boat. Climbing aboard, he stood for a moment on deck, clothes dripping wet, eyes fixed like daggers. With an angry bellow, he marched toward the lights on the bridge.
The fate of the tanker is unknown. . .
About the Author
Tony Lee Moral was born in Hastings, England in 1971, and later moved to California. He is the author of three books on the film director Alfred Hitchcock. Ghost Maven is the first in a series of Young Adult novels.
www.ghostmaven.com
www.tonyleemoral.com
twitter: @TonyLeeMoral
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