By Kamery Solomon
Praise for The Swept Away Saga
“Amazing! The best way I can think to describe it is Pirates of the Caribbean meets Outlander! There is action, adventure, romance and so much more! You will not be disappointed!”
~Heather Garrison, Amazon Customer
“Kamery Solomon never disappoints a reader in her ability to tell a great story. She has proven she's not a one trick pony and capable of writing across genres. Highly recommend reading any and all of her books.”
~Lisa Markson, The Paranormal Bookworm
“This book has so many twists and turns that will keep you reading all night long. I love the characters and the mystery. The author does a fantastic job weaving every part in this story that will leave you wanting more. I highly recommend!”
~Laura Collins, Amazon Customer
“I was pulled in right away and I did not want to put the book down, nor did I want the story to end . . . a must read!”
~Holly Copper, Amazon Customer
“This is the book you MUST be reading NOW!”
~Julie Engle, Amazon Customer
“This is a story I will read time and time again.”
~Angie Angelich, Book Banshee
“What else could you want?!”
~Vonnie Hudson, Amazon Customer
Other Books by Kamery Solomon
Forever
Hell Hall (A Halloween Novella)
The God Chronicles
Zeus
Poseidon
Hades
Adrastia
Exoria
Dreams Novels
Taking Chances
Watching Over Me
The Swept Away Saga
Swept Away
Carried Away
Hidden Away
Stolen Away
Taken Away (A Swept Away Saga Origins Story)
By Kamery Solomon
Happily Ever After Publishing - Arizona
Copyright © 2017 Kamery Solomon
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Published by
Happily Ever After Publishing
Arizona
Smashwords Ebook Edition
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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For my fellow privateers and our mermaids
Scott Williams
2016
The aching feeling in my knees was always worse when it rained. It wasn’t all that bothersome, to be honest, but with each little water drop that fell from above, it felt as if the muscles and ligaments tightened the tiniest bit, until I would consider maybe taking some pain medicine for it. In the past year or so, my elbows had joined in the fun, giving me a pinching, tingling feeling as the humidity wrapped around my body. My mind would wander at points, wondering what would be next. My feet? Hands? Perhaps my back would hurt and I would stoop over like the old man I was. Whatever was going to happen, one thing was very clear to me.
I was too old for this.
Rain pounded against the tin roof, practically screaming all around me, the lightning flashing brightly through the large sliding glass doors that led out to the deck attached to my tiny home. Watching the storm from my queen-sized bed, I sucked in a deep breath, feeling my eyes widen at the monstrous display of elemental power outside. It was hard not to feel insignificant under the scrutiny of the skies, or to wonder what my part was in this blip of life I had to make my own. At the same time, it was almost impossible to ignore the electricity in the air and the driving force it filled me with.
Suddenly, the magic of the squall was broken by a loud pounding at the door. Jumping slightly, I turned toward the sound in the dark, reaching to pull back my covers. With the power out, I couldn’t see what time it was on my digital clock, but I knew it was at least past ten. Who would be coming over so late?
The hammering increased as the icy touch of the ground seeped into my bare feet, my form flitting down the hall to the living room, the lightning and my memory the only guides I had through the space. Cool, hardwood floors sent a chill through me, my fingers lightly dragging down the cream-colored walls. If there’d been enough light, perhaps I would have stopped to look at the pictures hanging up, to appreciate the things I’d gathered around myself. Now wasn’t the time, though, even if there had been power, and I hurried into the large living room, frowning at my uninvited company. Narrowly avoiding the couch on the right hand side of the room, I grabbed the handle and wrenched the door open, shivering slightly as the cold air rushed through the thin layer of my striped, button up pajamas.
“Yes?” I asked the burly man on the other side. He was hunched down in his black rain jacket, looking thoroughly soaked through and somewhat annoyed, though apologetic. A cap covered most of his head and face, but I wouldn’t have recognized him without it; I had no idea who he was.
“Are you Scott Williams?” He shook his shoulders slightly, water droplets cascading off him as he waited in what appeared to be anxiousness.
Compassion shot through me and I nodded, instantly wanting to help this poor, wet stranger. “I am. Here, come in out of the storm.” Moving to the side, I watched him pass, curious as to who he was and what he wanted.
“Thanks. That’s some rain, eh? I was hoping I’d make it here before it hit, but no such luck. Of course, all the power is out, so I couldn’t just call around.” His voice was low, warm, and friendly enough. However, there was the slightest distinction to it that made me feel like he was worried about something. The small talk also suggested he didn’t know how to say whatever it was he needed to share with me.
Realizing he might need a little prompting, I decided to be blunt. “I’m sorry. Who did you say you were?” Smiling tightly in the darkness, I kept my hand on the door knob, ready to show him out if need be.
“Oh, right! Joe—Mark’s friend.” He straightened some, extending a hand toward me.
Relief flooded through me at that and I sighed, releasing the handle to shake. “Of course. It’s your dive and salvage company he’s working for. You must be keeping him pretty busy. I haven’t heard from him in over a month.”
Even in the shadows, I saw Joe’s face fall, his bushy moustache seeming to droop even more after its rain bath. “You haven’t?”
“No?”
Nodding, he pulled the cap off, revealing his bald head. A great sigh slid from him as he fiddled with the sopping hat, his eyes focused on my face. “I haven’t either. He left to do some research for our project and basically disappeared. The last I knew, he was in New York City.”
Eyes widening some, I felt my own peaceful mood dip. The last time I’d seen Mark he’d been in New York. I knew all too well how easy it wa
s to fall into isolation while doing research, but a month was a long time for him to have not contacted anyone. The fact that his employer was here suggested that Mark had been unreachable through all his normal routes of communication, as well. Clearing my throat, I nodded, adding what little I knew to Joe’s narrative. “I met up with him in the city and asked him a favor. Well, it was more like I convinced him to run an errand for me.” Seeing that the information I’d offered didn’t really help, I bit back the story of what I’d needed assistance with and continued. “He told me he was leaving to Arizona and then returning to Texas to work. He never came back?”
“Nope. Didn’t even leave a message for where he was going and why. I didn’t even know he was heading out west.”
An uneasiness spread between us, silence blanketing the room as my mind searched over the last time I’d seen Mark Bell, looking for any clues as to what could have happened.
He was in New York City, doing research for a work project, just as Joe had said. There had been something about the way he was acting that worried me, though. It was as if he were constantly looking over his shoulder for something, a nervous motion always present in his eyes. He’d never been like that before. The ambitious, self-sufficient, and determined young man had seemed a shell of his former self, his smile rarely appearing as we spoke together.
Thinking back even further, I thought of the Mark I knew when he lived here, in Maine. He’d been a history professor at the university and a part of the team working on Oak Isle. I could easily recall his laughter as he worked on the island, continually slaving away to find what he was sure was pirate treasure. The sound of his voice, as he suggested new paths and ideas for getting to the bottom of the mysterious Treasure Pit, was instantly played over in my mind.
At the same time, I could recall exactly how his face had looked when the Treasure Pit collapsed and killed Michael, our leader and friend. The sound of his ragged, disbelieving breath filled my mind as I remembered a moment only a few weeks later, when our group was told that Samantha, Michael’s daughter, had drown in the Pit and the efforts to recover her body had failed. I could feel the tension in the air as he announced to me some time later that he was leaving. The image of him as he walked away would forever be burned in my mind’s eye.
We had each handled the deaths in our own way. Mark’s was to leave, mine was to keep working toward an answer from Oak Isle. After more than two hundred years of people trying to get to the bottom of the mysterious, booby trapped pit, I wasn’t having much luck finding my resolution. That was why I’d met up with Mark in New York City; I wanted him to help me get more information about a vase that had been found in Samantha’s bag. It was the only thing they were ever able to find when she was claimed by the Pit.
He’d seemed unwilling at first, but Mark had agreed to take the vase to his professor friend in Arizona for me, to have tests run. The container was very old and I believed it came from the treasure vault in the bottom of the Pit. If I could prove that, the state would have to lift the ban they’d put on the island after Sam and Michael were killed and let me excavate the other artifacts down there. To some, it appeared that I was hungry for riches, but all I really wanted was to discover the answers my dearly departed friends had sought. Maybe, once the Treasure Pit was solved, their souls would rest, their business finished.
Thinking of spirits brought another recollection of my time with Mark to the surface. It had taken him a while to admit, but he believed Samantha had been haunting him. It was part of the reason he’d been so nervous and unhinged, I realized now. At the time, I’d dismissed the notion as the troubled dreams of a mourning friend. Now that he was missing, though, I suddenly found myself wondering if his specter had anything to do with his sudden and extended departure.
What if he’d done something to himself in his grief? Why hadn’t I realized how badly he needed help at the time?
Frustrated with myself, I tried to think of anything else he’d said to me that would lend any clues to where he’d gone after we’d met. If it wasn’t Arizona, I didn’t have any idea where to even start looking.
The storm outside seemed to be slowing down some, and there was a surge to the air, suddenly. Lights flickered on around us, the power finally coming back on and throwing Joe into full focus. He appeared upset, his brow furrowed and lips pursed tightly as he clasped his hands around his hat, water dripping off his jacket and splattering lightly against the floor. It was clear that he didn’t know who else to turn to in his search.
Thinking quickly, I raised a finger, nodding once more. “Let me get you the name of the professor in Arizona,” I said, moving away from the door and toward the end table on the other side of the couch. “It’s not much, but it’s another avenue you can follow to try and find some answers. He might have an email or office phone you can try. I’ll call the university office and see if Mark ever made it there in the morning.”
“Thank you.” The relief was palpable in his tone. “I don’t know where he could have gone. It’s not just that we miss him at work. He’s my friend, you know? I’m worried that something’s happened to him.”
More alarm bells rang in my head. What cause did Joe have to worry about Mark’s safety? Did he know about the supposed ghost, too? “I agree,” I responded tightly. “He is my friend, as well, after all.” Smiling slightly, I sat and opened the drawer on the small stand, pulling out a pen and paper. Scribbling down the information, I tore the parchment from its pad and handed it over, trying to ignore the mounting worry that was growing within me.
Taking the note, Joe stared at it, pursing his lips once more. It was clear that he’d hoped I would be able to give him more information, but he would have to settle for what I’d offered. Breathing deeply, his expression changed from that of worry to curiosity as he looked up, glancing around the living room, his eyes lingering on the antique coins, salvaged anchor, and other artifacts I’d gathered over the years. “That’s some collection.” Motioning to the coins, he stepped forward as he tucked the paper into his pocket, as if asking permission to study at the bookcase housing them.
Caught off guard by the change in conversation, I nodded for him to have a closer look. “I’m somewhat of a coin aficionado.” Watching as he went to the shelves and stared at the beaten pieces of metal, I imagined that he was ready for some type of break from his search. It was too late to call the professor now, so there was no sense in hurrying him out. He seemed more than willing to gawk at my findings, his face as close to the glass barrier as it could be without smudging it up.
“You ever work for a dive company before?” His voice had a calculating tone to it now, like he was trying to think of where and when each of the coins came from.
“When I was younger,” I offered. “Before I really knew anything about Oak Isle.”
Regarding me over his shoulder, Joe grinned. “I hear it’s easy to get sucked into it here. What’s that all about?”
Laughing, I shook my head, slowly walking over to join him, my worries about Mark slightly capsized by the conversation in front of me. “If I told you, you would only want to know more. That’s how it starts, believe it or not. You’re curious about what’s going on, so you ask someone, but the information is never enough. You find yourself reading about it at the library, researching online, asking those who’ve been working there what they think. Your own opinions start to form and you suddenly realize that you want to get out there and try your own hand at it. And who knows? Maybe you’ll be the one who solves the Treasure Pit. There’s no way to ever know. You could be out there for a week or a decade. The island is like a capsule; she holds everyone who comes ashore suspended in time for as long as they’ll allow her.”
Turning from the cabinet, Joe watched me with curious and cautious eyes, seeming to think over what I’d said. “How long have you been in the time capsule?” The question hung in the air, not insulting but directly to the point he wanted answered.
“Several decades.”
Smiling tightly, I stared hard at the coins, one of which was the very piece Mark had found in the swamp. It was the first real proof we had that something of value was waiting to be discovered on the island.
“You’re still out there, aren’t you? Even though the state won’t let you set foot on Oak Isle, that’s where you are, mentally.”
Realizing that Joe had been examining me for the length of our meeting, as I had him, I felt a tiny prick of amusement at his assessment of me. The probing felt a little odd, coming from a stranger, but I agreed all the same. “I see it every time I close my eyes.”
Blowing air out, he half laughed, shaking his head. “I would have given up a long time ago, especially with everything that happened.” The tone of his voice brought Mark back into clear focus in my mind, and I was certain that he was thinking of our mutual friend in worry again. Mark had given up on Oak Isle, after all, but her mysteries continued to follow him.
Pursing my lips, a non-committed noise gurgling in the back of my throat, I stared hard at the coin once more. Mark had run, yes, but that didn’t mean he’d escaped the repercussions of what happened on the island. “That’s the problem with being stuck in a time capsule,” I replied, suddenly wishing I could understand the ghosts that plagued our friend. “It doesn’t want to give you up.”
“Hand me that notebook, would you, Eric?” Motioning to the table behind me, I continued to study the photocopy of the old letter in my hands. It had been written sometime in the seventeen hundreds, just after the Treasure Pit was first discovered. So much had changed in the centuries since people had been searching on the island, I felt it was important to glean as much information from the original find as possible. God only knew what had accidentally—or purposefully—been destroyed in the hunt.
Hidden Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book Three) Page 1