Storm Surge

by Celia Ashley

  Hearing her footsteps on the gravel, the two women walking at the rear turned and smiled. “Beautiful day,” said one.

  “Have you been here before?” Paige asked.

  “Nope,” said the other, “first time.”

  “Me too.”

  “Feel free to tag along, then. And ignore Sylvie,” the woman said loudly enough for another up ahead to turn and flash the finger. “She’s got a mouth like a trucker.”

  To one side of the map was a brief history of the finding of the stones, the development of the park, and a bit about the mythology of Alcina, a sea nymph who acquired mortals as lovers and afterward changed them into rocks and trees. The women took turns reading portions of the history aloud, making raunchy jokes about taking stones as lovers. Afterward, they all headed down the indicated trail.

  Breathing pine resin and salt air, Paige followed them up the brief ascent to a place where the woods gave way to a rocky crest. She stopped, open-mouthed. Obviously, much time had been spent clearing the area, which, according to the signage, was deeply overgrown. The once-tumbled circle of standing stones had been righted and stood tall against the evergreen backdrop beyond, looking both prehistoric and breathtakingly lovely. Far smaller than the grandeur of Stonehenge, the gray, striated stones made an impressive circle, like crooked teeth in a giant’s open mouth. Paige estimated most stood about fifteen feet tall.

  “Amazing,” announced one of the group. Another released a low whistle of appreciation. Then, as one accord, they all marched forward in hushed reverence. Paige followed, overwhelmed. She’d never seen anything like this in person.

  Inside the circle, they walked from stone to stone in clockwise progression. Paige placed her hand against the surface nearest. A sharp, sudden chill coursed along her body, and the flesh tightened between her shoulder blades. She noticed several other women had similar, shivering reactions. They all laughed in an attempt to dismiss the sensation. Except Paige. Beyond the sunlight shining down into the ring’s heart, she spotted movement in the shadow of the stones.

  Several seconds passed. Her breath whistled out. It was only a raven alighting on the ground. She observed its bobbing momentum across the grass to be certain before continuing on her way.

  “You okay?” asked one of the Ladies.

  Paige nodded. “This is quite the experience.”

  “I’ve heard of sounds coming from this ring at night, almost like singing. Don’t think I’d like to come back at night.”

  Paige smiled in agreement, although she couldn’t help thinking that if people heard singing in the stones at night, it probably was a human group of singers, not something fantastical.

  Another shadow passed across the ground inside the circle. Paige looked up to find a second raven floating overhead with wings spread to land on the grass beside the other. Breaking into abrupt chatter, the Ladies moved on toward the path at the other side, a trail leading, so the sign said, to a small pond farther in the woods. Before Paige could reach the worn path at the edge of the ring, a dark silhouette undulated across the stones. Paige shot a quick look toward the sky, seeing no bird. The shape was that of a man, anyway, tall and thin. Spinning, Paige searched the circle, looking for a point of origin. She found none.

  “Hello?”

  The Lazy Day Ladies had gone on without her, joyfully oblivious. When the shadow appeared again to her left, Paige’s heart exploded. Adrenaline forced her legs into action, jerking her into a ground-eating race away from the stone circle. Blood pounding in her ears drowned out the distant, laughing voices of the Ladies as Paige ran along the path toward the parking lot, refusing to look back, filled with terror that the shadow would come after her. This wasn’t anything human, not the sinister thief of bookmarks, but something in Liam’s jurisdiction—a specter, a ghost, a thing in which she didn’t believe.

  She skidded in the gravel beside her car and went down onto one knee. Scrabbling upright, jabbing the lock release on her key fob, Paige managed to yank open the door and throw herself inside. She slammed the button to lock all the doors and shoved the key into the ignition. Stone spurted from beneath her tires as she wheeled the vehicle around in reverse. Jerking the gear into drive, she sped forward with a last, fearful look in the rearview mirror. Nothing. Thank God, nothing.

  She returned her attention to the road ahead and slammed on the brakes.

  A hollow, breathless cry tore from her throat. Three hikers were crossing the road in front of her car. Although affronted by her careless driving, they waved, possibly in appreciation of the fact she hadn’t run them down. Something about the incident struck her as both comical and so very mundane in terms of a world where ghosts did not exist, she found herself succumbing to a nervous laugh in the midst of her apology. Clamping her lips tight against hysteria, she waved back at the three men and continued driving. Having been negligent before, Paige checked the backseat in the rearview mirror when she reached the main road. Her eyes were underscored by the dark half-moons of shock in a face as white as paper.

  Remembering Liam’s number on her arm, half hidden beneath the lightweight, three-quarter length sleeve, Paige pulled out her cell phone and dialed. After several rings, his voice mail came on.

  “Liam,” she said, “nasty-tasting or not, I could really use one of those beers right now.”

  Chapter 15

  Liam pulled the door shut and checked the lock. He held a twelve-inch square wooden box under his arm, a dripping bottle of beer in his hand. He’d gone out and bought a six pack of something he thought Paige might find more appealing, but he wasn’t having one himself. Now was not the time.

  Crossing between their two houses—if the cottage could technically be called a house—Liam thought about what Paige had told him on the phone. All of it. He’d talked to Dan Stauffer about part of the conversation afterward. He didn’t like where the investigation was heading. Not the course it appeared to be taking and not what he feared might be its ultimate outcome.

  And then, there was the whole ghost story. Paige didn’t believe in apparitions, but skepticism did not preclude having an encounter, whether a person accepted it or not. If he’d known where she was going, he might have warned her. He’d filled half a book on the tales of the stone circle, although he hadn’t experienced anything for himself when he’d gone out there to take photographs and gain a feeling for the overall ambience. Stories of hauntings had been told for years, even before Dr. Columbus had located the stones shrouded in forest growth.

  Liam knew the occurrence had frightened her worse than the break-in to her cottage and the later appearance on the street of the man in possession of her bookmark. A bookmark. To steal such an intimate item with no monetary value had nothing to do with greed and everything to do with a personal campaign. But Paige had not recognized the man. Liam had asked Stauffer if there was a possibility he might view the photo he’d shown Paige. As far-fetched as the notion might be to some, Liam’s association with Paige might have made her a target. He needed Stauffer to recognize that fact. Liam had made arrangements to stop by the station the next day.

  When he came around to what was, essentially, the front door to the cottage, despite its position facing the ocean rather than the road, Liam set the box and the beer down on the stone step. At the tide line, Paige stood gazing out to sea. Liam observed her for a minute, wondering at her stillness. Paige Waters was nothing if not a ball of energy. He rarely saw her sit still for longer than it took one thought to move on to another.

  Honestly, though, how well did he know her? Sometimes he forgot they’d only met a few days ago. He didn’t know if forgetting was a good or a bad thing.

  “Paige!”

  She didn’t hear him. Not surprising. The tide’s roar at close range could easily drown out any noise. He trotted down the stairs to the rocky beach and crossed over to her. “Paige,” he said again when he got closer. She remained unaware of his presence. Not wanting to startle her, he wal
ked in a wide semi-circle toward the water so he’d fall into her peripheral vision first. She turned to him slowly.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi,” he said. Stepping in, he leaned forward and kissed her on the side of her head. The gesture felt significant, as if they’d crossed a boundary. He was in deep shit. “Everything okay? God, Paige, your hair.” He ran his fingers through the locks behind her temple, careful not to tug on any tangles.

  She brought both hands up to grip the curly mass. “What about my hair?”

  “It’s adorable.” Had he actually said that? What had happened to “Keep an eye on her, Liam, and keep your fucking distance”?

  She rolled her eyes. “If you say so.”

  His stomach churned with the knowledge of how much he meant it, and that transported him right to something resembling panic. “I brought you a beer.” Voice sounded normal. Good.

  She glanced down at his hand.

  “It’s up by the door.”

  “Oh.”

  “I brought you something else, too.”

  “What?” Her gaze lost its distance and lit up with curiosity.

  “Something I found in the attic.”

  She didn’t wait to hear any more, but began a brisk walk up the beach. He watched her with an idiotic smile on his face. About thirty feet away, she pivoted to look back at him. A burst of wind blew her curly chestnut mop into a shape like a dandelion seed puff around her head. Lifting her arm, she held out her hand.

  “You coming?” Her fingers curled in, beckoning. He closed the distance and slipped his hand around hers, her slim digits fitting between his like the pieces of a puzzle. He didn’t want to let go.

  “God help me,” he whispered. Fortunately she didn’t hear.

  Paige had locked the deadbolt when she went down to the beach and handed him the key to open it while she gathered the items he’d left on the doorstep. Liam noted that the cottage had been rearranged yet again in a way he found charming. The bed was back against the wall, but angled. She’d placed the low chest on the rug over the trapdoor and set the chair beside it, like a sitting area.

  “I can drive a few nails into that trapdoor if it will make you feel better,” he said.

  She picked up a hammer from the kitchen counter and wagged the tool at him. “Already done. I stopped in town to grab a few things once my heart stopped racing. I have dinner if you’d like it.”

  “We’ll see. First, you want to tell me again what happened today?”

  She twisted the cap off the bottle and took a tentative sip of the contents. Her right eye scrunched in a lopsided squint as she took the beer’s measure. “Better,” she said with a distinct lack of conviction.

  “Not everybody likes beer.”

  “In general, I don’t really like alcohol.” She shrugged. “I just thought I’d give it a try. People rave about how wonderful a beer is in the summer heat.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not all that hot today.”

  “No.”

  “Did you think it might calm you down?”

  “I guess.”

  He reached out, took the beer from her, and swallowed several mouthfuls before setting the nearly full bottle in the sink. “Don’t like it myself,” he said.

  “Did you buy that for me?”

  “I did.”

  “Liam…”

  “Tell me again what happened at the standing stones.”

  Her demeanor altered with his request. She dragged her fingers through the mop of her hair and began to pace. “You’ve talked about these things in such a matter-of-fact manner, as if they were true. As if you’d known them to be true. Before today, Liam, I didn’t believe you at all.”

  He took a seat in the single chair and crossed his arms over his chest, following her movements with his eyes.

  “When you said this town had been referred to as Haunted Alcina Cove, I had all I could to do to keep from laughing.” She paused, facing him with an earnest expression. “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

  “Go on.”

  “But what I saw today… There was no human present besides me. I was alone. But I wasn’t alone. I had no doubt of that. That’s never happened to me before.”

  On her third pass, he grabbed her hand and pulled her down onto his knee. She didn’t seem to notice where she’d landed. He could see her remembering the event, eyes darting from side to side, not quite focused, pupils dilating.

  “Don’t be afraid, Paige.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “I’ve never seen you afraid, not even facing me in the dark when we first met.”

  “Well,” she said, leaning her forehead against his, “you’re a man.”

  “And as a man,” he answered, “I could have done a lot more damage than a ghost ever could.” He hadn’t realized he’d put his arms around her, but he felt her ribcage beneath his hands, her torso expanding and retreating in slow respiration. Her face pivoted until her mouth was a bare inch from his own, the warmth of her breath passing from her lips over his. He tasted the sweet-bitter flavor of hops in the moist passage of air.

  “Paige.”

  “I know.” She rose, moved away. “This can’t happen. Like I said this morning, I get it. And I do.”

  That wasn’t what he’d meant at all, but he let it go. What he wanted to tell her was how much he craved her, every inch of her, what he wouldn’t give to lose all memory of himself deep inside her for as many minutes, hours, days as she would grant him. Sighing, he lifted his chin toward the box he’d carried over.

  “That was in the attic. I think it was…well, I think it was your father’s.”

  She jerked around with a small jump, staring at the box as if she thought the lid might pop open and pull her in like an element of some deep, dark magic. “What’s in it?”

  “I have no idea. I only know it’s not mine. But I did see there are photographs in there.”

  Her brow puckered. Still, she wouldn’t touch it. Liam rose to stand beside her, eyeing the wooden container.

  “Pick it up. You need to lift the lid to find out what’s inside. That’s how it works.”

  “Maybe…maybe I don’t want to know what’s in there.”

  “You told me you were looking for answers from your past. I can stick the box back in the attic if you’d like.” He made to reach for it, hoping to motivate her to action. She took the bait, snatching the box from the edge of the bed where she’d set it down.

  “You’re right, of course.” Climbing up onto the mattress, she kicked off her shoes and sat cross-legged, contemplating the box settled against her calves for several minutes more. Liam lowered himself onto the other end of the bed, waiting. The ancient box didn’t possess any quality and might fall apart once opened. He’d delivered it, and that was all he could do. The rest was up to Paige. He didn’t enjoy lying to her. In fact, he would have preferred all the honesty she deserved. But certain falsehoods were created to protect her. He’d been forced to recognize that fact from his very first conversation with her.

  Teeth set in her lip, Paige pulled her hair away from her face, circling the length of it up into a self-contained knot behind her head. She placed her hands to either end of the lid, palms flat, fingers stiff, and slowly drew it open. For what seemed a very long time, she gazed into the box without touching anything. Lashes lowered, her hooded eyes remained unreadable to him.

  “Paige?”

  She shook her head. With shaking fingers, she grabbed one, then another, then a whole packet of photographs, spreading them like cards on the bed.

  “They’re me.”

  “Yes.”

  She shot him a look.

  “I saw some of them, like I said. I didn’t mean to, but I did open the box. I had no idea where it had come from or whom it belonged to.” He had a sudden vision of his sister when they were children, dancing around him, chanting, ‘Liar, liar, pants on fire!’ He closed his e
yes.

  “They’re all photos of me. And not only from when I lived here. There are some more recent. And this—this is me at my high school prom with that dork, Ashford. Who names their son Ashford?”

  He knew she was crying without looking up. He kept his gaze on the floor below his knees. A moment like this shouldn’t take place in front of someone who was little more than a stranger. He should have acknowledged that, walked out the door the moment she took the box into her hands.

  “I don’t understand. I don’t understand. Why would my father have these? Why? Where did he get them?”

  She didn’t appear to expect an answer, and he had none to give.

  “I don’t understand,” she said again, quieter this time. With a flurry of motion she snatched up the photos from the bed and threw them back into the box. She shoved the container toward him. Without a word, he moved it to the floor.

  Rolling, she landed on her side on the mattress and buried her face into the pillow. Liam scooted closer, curving his fingers over her upper arm. “I can go. I’ll take the key with me and lock you in.”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “Stay.”

  The timbre of the single syllable dug like a swift, sharp knife into his abdomen. “I can’t make this go away for you, Paige.” But hadn’t he been thinking that very thing? Losing himself and all he wanted to forget in the fierce, heated act of sex with a woman he’d begun to realize meant more to him than he had any right to expect.

  “You can.”

  “Not—”

  “For a few hours.”

  A few hours. Fire rushed, molten, to his groin. He lay down, curving his body to fit around hers and pulled her close. “Paige…”

  “Take off my clothes, Liam. Let’s pretend for a while that we’re real lovers.”

  He stilled beside her. “For the love of God, Paige, if we do this thing together, what is it you’ll think we’ll be?”