Dark Beach

by Ash, Lauren

  “You! I knew you’d come for her.” Jenny’s voice was empty, blank as the night. Turning, she walked toward them. Some of them passed her, running towards Kurt and Kip. Poor, lost little Kip.

  Jenny thought she recognized some of them, but she kept going, then she turned and started to run. She ran up the beach, up past the dune to the beach house. Snatching up the knife—her knife—from the kitchen, she spun and ran back down the beach until she stood before the massive beached whale. It made a low bellow and its flippers slapped in the sand.

  That was it, she thought. It was calling me.

  Its black bulk, interrupted by patches of decay, lay like a mountain before her.

  She held up the knife. A woman screamed and backed away, her face twisting from sadness to confusion and disgust. The noise came again.

  Maddening.

  Jenny’s mind’s eye saw it then—the same glossy black, the same sharp teeth. The blow-up whale floating in the bath. It had been the twins’ favorite bath toy, ever since SeaWorld. Why had she left the toy in there to tempt them? Why hadn’t she pulled the plug, let the bathwater out like she always did?

  She saw it again: Kim’s blonde hair floating out around it like seaweed. Her little face upside down in the water.

  Jenny raised her knife again, prepared to plunge it in the heart of the creature. It moaned again, flapped again. A sudden weariness gripped her. Falling to her knees in the sand beside it, she put her head down on its great wet head.

  One man approached, but she put her head up and pointed the knife at him and he retreated. “Leave,” she screamed. “Go!”

  They did. They ran.

  She knelt there alone, the ocean wind calling her to put an end to all of this misery. The whale moaned again, stranded and alone.

  “I’m sorry.” She whimpered. “So sorry.” Taking the knife, she sat up and looked along the animal’s shiny hide. Where was its heart? It must be quick. Finding a likely spot, she slid the knife forward in one fluid motion. A hiss of air escaped. With one last thrust, she plunged the knife in as deep as it would go. The labored breathing stopped.

  “You took Kim. You took Kip. And I took you—no more.”

  Her dress bloodied, her knife the same, Jenny threw herself on top of the beast and wept.

  * * *

  “Jenny?” She felt a hand on her head, a touch so familiar.

  She looked up to see casual jeans, a navy raincoat, blue eyes. “Ron?”

  “What are you doing down here? I came to the house. I—”

  “Ron, you’re here.” She sat up, hiding her face from him. “What are you doing here? What about work?”

  “I quit,” he said matter-of-factly. “What are you doing here? I was pulling into the drive when I saw you run out.”

  “I killed her,” she blurted out, her tone chilling. “She’s dead. Kip’s dead. She’s on the jetty.”

  “Honey, what do you mean?” Ron pulled her to her feet, pulled her to him.

  Jenny pushed him away, one bloodied arm pointing to the commotion down on the jetty. “See. She’s gone … forever. Just like Kim.”

  “Honey. Oh, honey.” Ron looked at her there, standing with her arms open, her face a mask of pain. “I’ve just been down there. I thought it might be you down there. She’s breathing, Jenny. A man was down on the beach, a fisherman. He did CPR. And an ER nurse was down there, too—a lady named Betty. Look!” He pointed to a stretcher being carried up the beach. “Come on, come with me. We need to go to hospital with her. But she’s breathing. She’s alive, honey.”

  Jenny gazed back at him vacantly. “It’s my fault, Ron. I had her. My pills. Kip,” she pointed. “It’s just like before.”

  Ron sighed and reached out for her, pulling her into his arms, blood and all. “Jenny, Kim died. It was an accident. Chance, or fate—or I don’t even know. She was our baby, and she left us, but she’s okay now. It’s not your fault. It’s never been your fault. I love you. I should never have left you here alone.”

  Jenny let herself fall into his embrace, feeling his warmth, his love. “Ron,” she said slowly. “I’m pregnant.”

  “I know. I heard. It’s a miracle.”

  * * *

  “May she rest in peace.” they all said, as Geraldine Rose James was lowered into the hallowed ground. Ron hugged his petite, sobbing mother and Jenny and Kip all together. Rachael tossed a white bouquet of roses and seashells onto the ivory coffin before the first clod of soil was thrown in on top.

  The crowd retreated in broken groups back to the beach house for the wake.

  Jenny, clad in black, fanned her face with one hand. I need fresh air, she thought, escaping unnoticed to the back patio to watch the swaying dull-green dune grass. Her thoughts flew to Kurt, burying his father on the same day. She felt a strange peace at that. Crazy to the end, she thought. Gerry and her fisherman both went together, at least. She closed her eyes, squeezed the tiny hand in hers. Kip sat up straight beside her in the patio chair. “Thank you,” Jenny whispered silently. Kip’s hand squeezed hers back.

  I love you, little girl. I’m not perfect, but I’ll do my best to protect you. It was the truth.

  She slipped her other hand in her pocket, feeling the metal shape there, small and odd-shaped. Something she had been putting off. She hadn’t been back up to the hex room since that night. No one had, except for the police. The wind whistled in through the shattered glass.

  But Gerry had said the key was for up there. This belongs to something.

  She led Kip inside, finding Molly Coggington and John the locksmith deep in conversation on the sofa. “Molly, can you watch her for a moment?”

  “Of course.” Mrs. Coggington held out her arms and Kip crawled into them, smiling.

  Jenny climbed the stairs to the hex room, her heart heavy. She glanced around. Apart from the windows, it looked the same as ever. One picture was still missing on a wall packed with them. Barney. She focused on the blank spot for a moment, noticing that the white wooden boards appeared slightly uneven.

  Jenny ran her hand over them, tapped the wall. There was a hollow spot. She slid her nails in between the crack of the long thin board; it loosened slightly. She did it again. It gave way. Pictures above and below toppled from the wall, crashing down the staircase.

  Jenny squeezed her hand through and felt around. There was something in there—something thin and hard. She gripped it and retrieved a thin metal box, locked. Fumbling in her pocket, she pulled out the key, slipped it into the keyhole, and turned. Two envelopes sat inside. The first was dated several years ago. The other fifteen years ago. Both had an official seal on the back.

  With trembling hands, she opened the older envelope first.

  The Will & Wishes of Geraldine Rose James

  Everything that I own after the passing of my dear husband shall pass to my only daughter. I have nothing else to say other than, if you are reading this now, my dear Rachael, I ask that you take care of the things that filled my days. I love you very much. I will always be with you. In death, comes birth. Don’t be sad, and think of me happy in other places. We will meet again.

  Jenny dropped the letter, her hands caressing her swollen belly, the baby inside. She opened the newer envelope.

  Addendum

  The Will & Wishes of Geraldine Rose James

  This is the addendum to my first will. I went through my years loving only one man until I met Barney Suther. He has comforted me in my darkest hours. As my mind escapes me, I must write this before it is gone and missed. Rachael, I know you never enjoyed the beach house. I want Barney have it. To live there. He is my fisherman, my man of the sea. I love him as I loved my first. My house belongs to him.

  “Oh no…”

  Jenny tucked the letters back in the envelopes.

  “This is his house, after all.”

  TEN

  Jenny glanced up to see Kurt, in his usual happy plaid, approaching up the beach. A tear stung her cheek in the salty wind. Wiping it
away, she stood. “What are you doing here?”

  “Come on, come with me,” he grabbed her hand, leading her down to the beach, into the wind. “I needed to talk to you. Where you been?” he asked.

  They stood in silence and awe at the soft yellow sky lined with rippled, rapidly thinning charcoal clouds.

  “In bed—resting.”

  “I had to tell you.”

  “What?” she turned to face him.

  “The lawyer called, Gerry’s will—”

  “I know.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes. I found the wills in the hex room. She wanted him to have it.”

  He said nothing, just looked puzzled. His hair ruffled in the light breeze.

  Jenny smiled and took Kurt’s strong hand in hers. “I have news for you.”

  “What? You staying?”

  “No … absolutely not.” They both laughed awkwardly.

  “Then what?”

  “Turn around.” Jenny pulled him around to look back at the beach house. “You see that little place there?” She pointed to the beach house. “It’s yours.”

  He looked at it a minute. “I suppose so. Dad willed everything to me,” he said finally. “But I don’t want it. Do you think she’d mind terribly if—”

  “It’s your house,” she interrupted.

  “When you leave,” Kurt said quietly, gesturing to the house. “I’ll call the cops—tell them why he did it, what he said about Mom. They might want to talk to you. I imagine they’ll want those journals, and to search the house and yard for...”

  She took up his hand again, squeezed it. “Here,” she said. Taking back her hand, she held it up and tugged the ruby ring off her finger. “It was your mother’s.”

  “Keep it,” he said. “I want you to have to it.”

  Jenny looked at him. “Kurt, I can’t. You know that.” She twisted her wedding ring subconsciously.

  “Give it to Kip, then,” Kurt said. “When she’s older.”

  Jenny smiled and slipped it back in her pocket. “That I can do.”

  They sat in silence.

  “I’m thinking of bulldozing the house,” Kurt said after a while. “Making a memorial garden; maybe with some sculpture. I was thinking a whale.” He winked.

  “No way,” Jenny said.

  “Way,” he said, his eyes crinkling into a smile.

  She smiled back. “Ron and Rachael know it’s yours anyway. Not much to be done about it, I suppose. I need you to do one thing for me, though.”

  “What?”

  “Did you see Gerry’s will?”

  “No,” he shook his head. “Only Dad’s.”

  “Well, I want you take her will out to your father’s graveside. I want you to read it to him. He needs to hear what it said.”

  “What did it say?”

  “That he was loved.”

  Kurt sighed and turned to face her.

  “I see,” he said, taking her hand. “You want to move in with me, then?”

  “Oh Kurt,” said Jenny, and hugged him tight.

  * * *

  Seven months later…

  “Push! Push!”

  A piercing cry rang out. “It’s a boy!”

  “A boy!” cried Ron.

  The baby, wrapped in a worn blue hospital blanket, was placed on Jenny’s heaving chest.

  “A boy,” she said, tears misting her eyes.

  She took the wet, blanket-wrapped boy in her arms and kissed his perfect upturned nose.

  “What shall we name him?” Ron asked, leaning over her shoulder to get a good look at the little guy.

  “What do you think?” she asked, examining the baby quizzically.

  “You know what? I was thinking maybe Kurt?”

  “Kurt?” Jenny looked up at Ron, startled.

  “Yeah, Kurt. You know, the fisherman who saved Kip.”

  “Kurt,” she said, slowly. It had been so long since she’d said his name.

  “Yes, Kurt. It has to be.” Ron nodded.

  “No,” Jenny said finally.

  “Why not?” he asked, sounding miffed but too happy to argue.

  “From death comes birth,” Jenny answered. “How about Jerry? Oh, but I like Kurt too. We’ll flip a coin.”

  There once was a beach. . . and it was dark. . . but the sun rose.

  Author Lauren Ash

  Lauren Ash lives in Seattle spending her time exploring the Emerald City.

  She enjoys writing dark poetry as well as novels. You will find her sitting by the fire, sipping on tea while brewing up a great tale.

  http://authorlaurenash.blogspot.com/

  More from this Author:

  The Emerald Night Series