A Stranger on the Beach

by Michele Campbell

  I was trapped here.

  The house was not safe. Aidan could be hiding anywhere. He knew his way around, and I had nobody to blame for that but myself. My nerves tight as a drum, my heart beating frantically, I took out my phone to call the police. They hadn’t responded to my earlier call because nobody was in danger. I could very well be in danger now.

  I stared at my cell phone in dismay. No reception. And we hadn’t bothered installing a landline. Not only was I trapped, I was cut off from all help.

  I rifled through my bag until I found the kitchen knife. It gave me the comforting illusion that I could defend myself if Aidan jumped me. I hurried through the living room to the kitchen, my eyes sweeping left and right as I took inventory of the damage. A vase had been knocked over on the kitchen table. A pile of newspapers sat on the white marble top of the kitchen island. What the hell? I hadn’t left those there.

  And then I saw them—and froze. Muddy footprints on the white-oak floors. No footprints had been visible on the living room rug, which was itself muddy and soaked from the storm. But here in the kitchen they stood out in terrifying relief. The prints were large and serrated. A man’s footprints, made by heavy boots. The wind didn’t do this. A person did. A man. Aidan had been here. He might be here still. I felt sick realizing it.

  I followed the footprints, clutching the knife in my sweating hand as they led me toward the terrace door. Was he outside? I caught a movement from the corner of my eye. Something was moving around, low to the ground, out on the terrace. Heart pounding, I raised the knife and moved toward the French doors. I squinted out but couldn’t see clearly through the glass, which was fogged with rain and condensation. If Aidan was out there, I could surprise him. I could attack him with the knife. Did I have the nerve? I was reaching for the door handle with my right hand, holding the knife in my left, when a thick, dark thing crashed against the glass and fell to the ground.

  “Aagh.”

  I staggered backward, the knife slipping from my hand and clattering to the floor. I grabbed it up again, panting with fear. But when I peered through the glass, I saw only a cushion from the chaise longue, lying on the ground. That thing had hit the door—it wasn’t Aidan. The terrace furniture was blowing around like so many matchsticks out there, and the cushion had knocked up against the glass, terrifying me so much that I felt my heart would come through my chest.

  Nobody there, nobody there, calm down.

  Maybe he’d left. Maybe he’d gone out through the terrace door. I was shaking so hard. I had to get ahold of myself or I wouldn’t be able to continue. I went to the cabinet and grabbed the bourbon Lynn had brought me that night when I despaired over my marriage. That worry felt so quaint to me now. I took a swig right from the bottle. It burned going down, warming my blood, stilling the trembling of my hands. I left the bottle out on the counter and set off to search the rooms.

  The first floor consisted of the enormous great room that combined kitchen, living room, and dining area, a powder room, a laundry room, and a media room. The overhead lights were on in the great room, but I walked the perimeter of the cavernous space, turning on every lamp, even switching on the gas fireplace to illuminate shadowy corners. I threw open closet doors and pawed through to make sure nobody was hiding inside. I tiptoed to the powder room, yanked open the door, and switched on the lights. Nothing. In the media room, I hunched down to see under the seats, but Aidan wasn’t hiding there. Everywhere I went, I saw Aidan’s muddy footprints, but they grew fainter the farther I walked from the kitchen. That didn’t mean he wasn’t here. It simply meant the mud had worn off his shoes as he walked. I crept up to the second floor and searched all the bedrooms. The whole time I was clutching my kitchen knife, mentally preparing to defend myself, but I checked room after room, and there was nobody.

  Aidan had been here. I was certain. Now he was gone, and I was alone, but I didn’t feel safe. He might come back. I had to do what I could to prevent him from getting in again. I went downstairs. I stripped off my wet raincoat, which I’d been wearing all this time. I felt so weak. I stood at the kitchen island with some crackers and a jar of peanut butter and wolfed down a makeshift dinner, eating until I felt my strength coming back. Then I went around and checked the locks on every door and window and pulled all the shades. It was the best I could do, but it wasn’t much. He’d broken in through the same security before. I’d just have to pray that he was done terrorizing me for the night, that he would wait out the storm before trying anything more.

  I grabbed the bourbon and the knife and went upstairs to change out of my wet things. The wind was so strong that my brand-new, supposedly hurricane-proof bedroom windows rattled with every fresh gust. I propped myself up against the down pillows, bourbon in hand, and clicked on the TV for a weather report. The screen lit up for a second, then displayed a floating graphic saying NO SIGNAL. Between that and my phone not working, I had no way to monitor the storm. I went to the window, looked out at the beach, and gasped. In the lurid light, the surf was higher than I’d ever seen it. It crashed against the dunes that formed the last bulwark sheltering the house from the ocean. And the dunes looked smaller than before. Hours ago, the Weather Channel people were projecting landfall at midnight along Maryland’s Eastern Shore or even as far north as Delaware or New Jersey. If the storm turned sharply north, Long Island and the Hamptons could take a devastating hit. This was just the outer edge of the storm, and things were bound to get a lot worse before they got better—a terrifying thought.

  As I contemplated that, the lights in the bedroom flickered—once, twice, three times—and went out. I gasped. Now I was alone here in the dark. Was it possible a breaker switch had tripped? I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and flicked on the flashlight, sweeping it around the room jerkily. The furniture took on lurid shapes, and seemed to lurch at me like an attacker. I cowered in my bed, too afraid to go downstairs and look for the breaker box. I couldn’t remember where it was, and I wasn’t handy anyway. I pulled the covers tight around me. The bottle of bourbon was on the bedside table. I could see its outline in the watery light shining through the windows. I downed what was left in one gulp and reached out to touch the handle of the kitchen knife, reassuring myself that it was within easy reach. Then I closed my eyes and surrendered to exhaustion.

  * * *

  The music was coming from very far away. It felt like a dream. Sinatra, crooning. I’ve got you under my skin. I’ve got you deep in the heart of me. The richness of his voice, the swing of the beat, was muffled by my heavy sleep. But it didn’t stop, and after a minute, my reptilian brain realized that was weird, and my eyes popped open.

  The music was real. The power had come back on while I was sleeping. It was still dark outside the windows, but light blazed in the bedroom. I shut my eyes and pulled the blanket over my head, too bleary to get up and turn it off. But, wait a minute. I hadn’t played that song last night. I wasn’t playing any music at all when the power went off. So why would this music play when the power came back on?

  My heart turned over in my chest, and I couldn’t breathe. The lights coming back on I could explain. But the music could only mean one thing. Aidan was here.

  Slowly, I lowered the blanket, my hand creeping out, reaching for the knife. But it was gone. Of course. Don’t allow the target access to a weapon. That was Stalking 101.

  Aidan sat in a chair that he’d positioned right in front of the closed bedroom door. In his lap was the big silver gun I’d seen at his apartment.

  He smiled. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

  40

  Aidan was still in Hannah Stark’s dorm room when he got the text that the bar was closing for the storm, and he shouldn’t come to work tonight. The Red Anchor never closed, not even for blizzards. He scrolled through the weather alerts on his phone. This storm looked serious.

  He sat beside Hannah on her bed, keeping a safe distance. He’d been trying for a while to make an excuse to get away. Hannah liked him more
than he was comfortable with. She’d offered him vodka (he’d declined), leaned her thigh against his until he’d inched away, taken cute selfies of the two of them. He’d kept things polite, but she was sure to be upset when they met again at some future date, and she learned that he was her mother’s boyfriend. Any points he earned with Caroline for conducting a safety check on her daughter would get erased then. But Aidan would cross that bridge when he came to it. For now, he needed to escape without hurting the girl’s feelings. The storm gave him the excuse he’d been looking for.

  “This storm they’ve been making the announcements about?” Aidan said, standing up and pulling on his coat. “It’s a Category Four hurricane. That’s serious. I have to go take care of things at home. You should go, too. I’m not convinced your dorm is safe.”

  “It’s so sweet of you to worry,” she said, and came to stand a bit too close to him. “This dorm is brand-new and super well constructed. I’ll be fine.”

  “The security isn’t as good as you probably think,” he said. “Anybody could get in simply by following someone with a key.”

  “The campus police are everywhere. It’s not a problem, really.”

  What more could he do? He’d tried his best to warn Hannah of her vulnerable position. There was nothing else he could say without revealing that he’d followed her father and watched him meet with some street thug to contract hits on his own family. She’d never believe it—at least, not unless he explained why he’d followed Jason Stark, which in turn would reveal his relationship with Caroline. Aidan knew better than to do that. Caroline would never forgive him for telling her daughter about them without her permission. And he could hardly ask permission when she refused to return his phone calls.

  “When will I see you again?” Hannah asked.

  “I’m not sure. I’ll call you.”

  “Can I get a kiss goodbye?” she asked shyly.

  He kissed her on the forehead, in a fatherly sort of way.

  “Stay safe,” he said.

  Then he crossed the campus, bracing himself against stiff winds, to find his truck.

  On the LIE, the rain started coming down hard, and visibility was poor. His truck was so big that folks deferred to him on the highway. But it was so old that the brakes acted up in heavy rain. A guy cut him off, and he slammed on the brakes and fishtailed, correcting course at the very last minute. His heart pounded. He kept his eyes on the road, the radio tuned to the weather, but he thought only of Caroline. He worried about her safety, and fought against the urge to call her again. It galled him that he wasn’t allowed to. All he wanted was to help her, but she’d constructed this phony wall between the two of them, making that impossible.

  It took Aidan an hour to get to his apartment. He arrived to find Ron, the super, boarding up windows. Ron was an old guy with a big belly and arthritic fingers. When he begged for help, Aidan had a hard time saying no, even though his thoughts were elsewhere. He let himself be dragged into helping Ron secure the apartment complex, getting soaked in the ever-worsening storm. The whole time, thoughts of Caroline’s house in the path of the storm weighed on his mind. She’d be devastated if that house was damaged, or God forbid, destroyed. He’d ridden out lesser storms on his grandfather’s land as a child, and remembered how the wind could howl, how the surf could pound against the dunes. She must be crazy with worry. Maybe she was even driving in this mess right this minute, trying to get there to secure her place. The more Aidan thought about it, the more certain he became that Caroline was out in this evil weather right now, heading to her house. He wouldn’t be able to stand it if something happened to her, something he could have prevented. All he had to do was go take care of her house for her, and let her know she didn’t have to worry. How hard would that be? How terrible would he feel if he didn’t, and then something happened? Aidan lived with so much guilt already, from old wounds. Samantha. Matthew. The worry he caused Tommy on a daily basis. Tommy’s blood pressure was high because of him. If Caroline got into a car accident driving out from the city, when Aidan could spare her the risk by looking after her house for her, he would never forgive himself.

  “Ron,” he said, “listen, buddy, I just realized. My girlfriend’s house is sitting empty right in the path of the storm. I have to go check it for her.”

  “Now? But we’re not done.”

  “Hey, man, that’s what they pay you for. Nobody’s paying me, and I got other obligations.”

  “What if the place gets damaged?”

  “Then maybe the landlord can get some insurance money and finally fix this dump up. I’m sorry. This is too important. Good luck, my friend. See you later.”

  Aidan sat in his truck and dialed Caroline’s number. His number was still blocked and went straight to voicemail.

  “Caroline, it’s Aidan. I don’t know if you blocked my number, or whether you’ll even get this message or not. But I want you to know, I’m heading to your house now to make sure it’s okay in the storm. There’s no need for you to come out here in this weather. I’m praying this gets to you. Stay safe, baby. I’m thinking about you.”

  Then he took off in the direction of Caroline’s house. Aidan knew that what he was doing was risky. He wasn’t worried about the storm. He was worried about getting caught. Because, if Caroline wasn’t there, he planned to break in to secure the place. He knew he shouldn’t. If Tommy found him, he’d be so disappointed, especially since he’d read Aidan the riot act after finding the St. Christopher medal at Caroline’s house. Tommy had been right, of course: Aidan was the one responsible for setting off the alarm at Caroline’s house that night. Tommy knew the score, because back in the day, Aidan and Matthew had gone through a phase of breaking into the big houses along the beach. They were stupid kids, sowing their wild oats. They’d go into places they knew were empty, taking only enough to pay for a good time on a Saturday night. It was only after they got caught that Aidan realized how much harm he’d caused. Their families were devastated. They would have gone to jail if not for Tommy. Aidan never did anything like that again. Not even after he got out of prison, when he was broke and desperate and a pariah. He’d stayed out of trouble—until Caroline came along.

  He’d never seriously thought about breaking into Caroline’s house before. But the fascination had been there, ever since the night she came into the Red Anchor and dissed him with that insultingly big tip. The insult infuriated him, and yet afterward the thought of her consumed him. She was beautiful and rich and beyond his reach. And she owned that house, on that land. The house became a siren song to Aidan. He would go there at night, look up at the light shining from the windows, and dream of her. He would walk around, peek in through the glass, imagine her life there. One night, he’d made the mistake of reaching for a door handle on the terrace. Not because he planned to break in. But to make sure she’d locked it, that she was safe from those who would do her harm. That one enthusiastic jiggle of the handle wound up setting off the burglar alarm. Aidan had run away so fast that he’d dropped the St. Christopher medal, which led to that big lecture from Tommy. Now, tonight, he would break in for real. But only for the purpose of protecting her house. He didn’t have the material with him to board up the windows, but he would use whatever he found inside. He knew breaking in was wrong. But he was acting out of concern for Caroline. He just hoped to hell his brother never learned of it.

  When he arrived at the house, it was raining buckets. As Aidan pulled into the driveway, he noticed the light on next door, and worried Mrs. Eberhardt would see him and call the cops. Back when he was a kid, and Gramps was alive, Mrs. Eberhardt gave them hell from dawn to dusk. Aidan and Tommy and their cousins could do no right in her eyes. Hard to imagine she was home tonight, since anybody with half a brain would evacuate that rickety beach shack at the first sign of a storm. But she was stubborn, and if she was there, she’d make trouble.

  He turned off the engine. He could barely see out the windshield of the truck, that’s how hard it
was coming down. Climbing through Caroline’s bedroom window would have a certain Romeo-and-Juliet quality, but scaling the building in this weather would be too risky. He’d have to go in the front door. He kept a toolbox in the bed of the truck. He rifled through it in the rain, pulling out anything that might help him—a screwdriver, a bolt cutter, some wire that he could use to pick the lock. The deluge made the ground look like it was boiling. He pulled his hood forward, but the rain streamed into his eyes anyway, making it hard to see as he ran to the front door. He stood in the midst of the downpour, trying to work the lock with a stiff piece of wire. But he couldn’t see, and couldn’t hear the click of the tumblers beneath the roar of the wind.

  He was about to quit when the lock finally gave, and he stumbled into Caroline’s living room. The screeching started immediately. He had to shut the damn thing off before Eberhardt heard it and called the police. The keypad was right inside the door. Aidan held his flashlight in his mouth, shining it on the keypad as he popped the plastic surround off with his screwdriver. He eased the bundle of wires from the wall and aimed the flashlight at them. He couldn’t make heads or tails of the writhing mess of wires, and besides, he didn’t want to damage anything. He’d come here to help, not to destroy her burglar alarm. He pushed the wires back into the wall and snapped the plastic cover of the keypad back into place. Even if Eberhardt heard the alarm and called the cops, it would be a while before they’d show. In weather this bad, cops had other, more pressing concerns. He’d do what he could to protect the house, then get out before he got caught.

  Aidan walked around flipping on lights, checking things out, trying not to get distracted by the beauty of the place. This house was magic. It glowed with light and smelled of flowers. He wanted to protect it, to keep it safe, for when he could live here openly with the woman he adored. The windows and the terrace doors were locked, but there were no storm shutters and no boards up. He went to the mudroom and found some newspapers in a pile near the trash bin. It was the best he could do. There was no wood here, not even any cardboard boxes. He brought the newspapers to the kitchen and tossed them on the island, planning to look for tape and then cover the windows with newspaper. Then he heard a sound behind him, turned around, and saw his brother standing there.