The Possession

by Spikes J. D.

  “What do they call me?” I took the dishes and placed them into the dishwasher.

  She turned to me, surprised. More, I think, because she assumed I had heard it, not that I’d never voiced the question before.

  “The town kids call you vacationer.”

  I had to clear up her misconception.

  “No, Aunt. What would the Indian kids call me?”

  She hesitated but a moment. “I don’t know,” she answered, “except maybe a pain in the ass if you were one.”

  With a quick grin in my direction, she turned from the sink and slapped her leg. “C’mon, Rowdy. Time to go check the lights.”

  Her bullmastiff leapt to his feet from his mat in the corner. It always surprised me that such a large dog could move so swiftly. He loved to prowl the lighthouse keep after dinner and after dark, making him the perfect dog for my aunt, considering her occupation.

  Aunt nodded toward the sink. “Finish up the dishes, Daphne.”

  “Sure.”

  She hustled from the kitchen.

  I finished the dishes then put Rowdy’s food and water out, so he’d have his meal when they returned.

  Showered and changed, I intended to greet Aunt Dwill and Rowdy at the kitchen door. I entered the kitchen to find my aunt letting Rowdy back in. She spotted me and called, “I’m going to go gas up the truck, Daphne. I’ll be right back.”

  Rowdy ignored me, heading straight for his dish, but stopped suddenly a foot away from it. He cocked his head in my direction. Whining, snapping with a woof at the air beside me, he refused to eat from his dish. His head tilted, he growled.

  I glanced over my shoulder. “What’s the matter, boy?”

  When I turned back, he’d lowered his head, not in submission but in a threatening kind of way. I moved away from the area of his bowls. He put his face to them, but not without one eye in my direction.

  He’d never acted this way before. I moved slowly, quietly to the kitchen door and slid through, into the front hall. My hands, pressed against the door’s wood, trembled.

  Hopefully, Aunt Dwill would hurry back.

  * * *

  It was nearly noon by the time I headed out to the cemetery. Though I hadn’t slept well after the Rowdy incident, I’d still risen early. Today, we cleaned the lights, no small task. Aunt and I did not believe in cutting corners. Once breakfast was finished, we applied ourselves to the task as though fuel still burned, residue clinging to the glass. No ship would go down on our watch.

  Satisfied with our work, we stored the cleaning materials and Aunt Dwill sent me on my way.

  The cemetery gate stood proudly at attention, scraped clean of old paint and with a new first coat. As I pushed it open gingerly, I heard the low hum of a motor.

  I dropped my canvas bag of tools at my feet and scanned the forest in the direction of the sound.

  Zach rumbled into view. He rode a narrow, old fashioned tractor, pulling a small flatbed-type contraption behind him. His hair hung down today, a rolled bandana headband keeping it from his eyes and face. He pulled up beside the gate.

  Once he’d climbed down from the tractor, he smiled. I discovered the meaning of a smile lighting up the place. My heart banged oddly in my chest.

  “Work as hard as you want today. We don’t have to carry it this time.” Then he finger-slapped the visor of my hat. “Smart.”

  I watched him take a small bag from the tractor before I turned to head to the back corner of the cemetery, where we’d left off yesterday.

  Zach called out, “Daphne. Hold on.”

  I’d never been overly thrilled with my name, but in that moment I loved the sound of it.

  I turned back toward him, and he motioned me forward with a wave. As I stopped beside him, he lifted something from the bag he held and presented its content to me.

  The small brass bell shone brightly in my hand. When I grabbed it by the top and lifted it to eye level, the crisp tinkle sounded through the woods.

  “For the gate,” he said.

  I turned to the gate and for the first time noticed a small S-link hanging from the center scroll. My eyes returned to the bell and the hook-eye at its top telling me it’d be a perfect fit.

  I hooked the bell onto the gate.

  Zach pushed it open then pulled it closed. The bell sounded in both directions. He turned to me, dark eyes unreadable.

  “Blessing called to sea,” he said.

  My heart swelled, though I wasn’t sure why. A sea-tinged breeze ruffled my hair. “For Sarah,” I replied.

  He returned my smile when it broke through with a nod of agreement. “For Sarah.”

  We both bent to retrieve my canvas bag, but Zach’s arms were longer. I led the way toward the back of the cemetery and the cracked stone in the second-to-last row that had been our stopping point yesterday. Zach passed behind me when I stopped.

  Say you’ve missed me.

  I spun in his direction, confused by the half-whispered comment. “What?”

  Zach knelt beside the canvas bag, pulling my work gloves and garden tools from it and placing them on the ground by our feet. He never looked up.

  “Why did you say that?” I questioned, my mouth dry and heart shooting quivers across my chest.

  His head came up with a jerk, perhaps due to the tone of my voice.

  “Huh? Say what?”

  I went to repeat the words, but a sudden heat in my face prevented it. “You know,” I responded instead.

  “No, I don’t.”

  He looked sincere. Still, I had heard the words. Maybe it embarrassed him that I’d caught him? My gaze fell away from his face. Maybe I’d just imagined it. Aunt thought I’d over-dramatized the whole snapping Rowdy incident.

  “Never mind,” I mumbled.

  With a shrug, Zach finished emptying the bag. I knelt beside him in the leaves and twigs as he handed me my gloves. He pulled a pair from his back pocket for himself, tugged them on, and began to yank the larger plants growing haphazardly around the headstones. As they released their grip on the soil, he tossed them into a pile near the still-folded lawn bag. I dug into my own work, ignoring Zach’s curiosity and his attempts to catch my eye.

  As the afternoon passed, I gradually shook the uncomfortable net that had settled over me, and Zach and I talked. He’d graduated this June and waited to hear on scholarship applications for the Fisheries and Wildlife degree he wanted to pursue.

  I was impressed, and reluctant to admit that I was a junior and still uncertain of my future. He had gone to an uncle’s house in Nova Scotia every summer since Sophomore year, having won the right to participate in their Native Youth Fisheries and Wildlife Program. He’d won a work study scholarship in the pilot program with the Mi’kmaq Mi’kmaq Fish and Wildlife Commission.

  “Their goal is to introduce Indian teens to the field of wildlife conservation. It’s a six-week program, running three days a week. On my other two days, I worked in a stable for my uncle’s friend.”

  He never broke his work stride and I could imagine him well-thought of on both sides of the border.

  This thought warming me, the bell on the gate suddenly rang out. Ting-ting-ting-ting-ting.

  Zach and I instantly cranked our necks in that direction. The bell swayed, coming to stillness after such a ringing. The gate remained closed. The breeze barely stirred a leaf.

  Our gazes shifted, locking on each other, then back to the gate. Instinctively, we moved closer together, closing rank. Zach’s hand reached toward mine, but he stopped. I flipped my hand palm-up and reached for his.

  “The town kids would crucify you.”

  My gaze flicked back to his face. Though his blue-black eyes scanned the trees beyond the gate, I knew he watched me. I reached again. He pulled back. My eyes narrowed.

  “It’s bad enough you spoke up in town, Daphne, to that group. Really. You have no idea.”

  My face flushed.

  “I don’t miss much.”

  Then he turned his eye
s toward me and smiled. It was sad and sweet and inviting and invigorating.

  I grabbed his hand firmly in mine. “I don’t care much what they think.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said, but his fingers closed over mine. Together we rose as one to our feet.

  Nothing.

  We turned slowly, back to back surveying the woods beyond the cemetery borders then shoulder to shoulder and facing the gate once more. Something odd tinged the air.

  I felt enclosed. Suffocated. Before I could speak, I saw a blue-white flash and started to fall.

  Zach reached for me, but he didn’t look like Zach. His dark hair waved back from his face and he pulled me toward his ruffled shirtfront. His indigo eyes lightened to gray.

  Ro! he whispered, I’m here.

  His lips crushed to mine.

  Everything went black.

  Chapter 3

  I don’t know how long I was out. I woke to darkness, and a cold, wet sensation on my forehead and eyes. My hands flew to my face, to the slight pressure at each temple. They landed on skin.

  Not mine.

  Warmth and shock buzzed me simultaneously. I froze, then struggled to rise. The pressure moved from my temples to my shoulders, holding me in place. I struggled harder.

  “Daphne! Calm down,” the voice soothed. “Relax. You’re okay. Take it easy.”

  Familiarity seeped into my brain. Zach.

  My shoulders sagged and I exhaled, relieved.

  Once I had quieted, he removed the cool wetness that had slipped across my face and helped me to sit up.

  My head had been resting in his lap. The bandana no longer graced his forehead; it hung from his hand, unwound, dark, and limp. A bottle of water, cap missing, leaned at an odd angle near his leg.

  My brain tried to process the scene. I remembered a flash of light. The bell! The bell on the gate had sounded and Zach and I figured the town kids were up to no good. After the flash of light, nothing.

  No. That wasn’t right. After the flash of light, I saw a man. Twenty-ish, maybe. Dressed oddly. Staring. At me.

  I shivered. Zach wore an old, button-down striped shirt over his t-shirt and he removed this and placed it around my shoulders. I started to shake. I couldn’t control it.

  Our eyes met. He leaned forward, touching my shoulder, and I moved without thinking into his arms.

  He held me, close and sure. I leaned my head against him. He stroked my hair, soothing. His heart thundered beneath my ear, and I suddenly realized what a scare he must have had, me dropping to the ground unconscious in front of him.

  “I’m sorry, Zach.” Somehow it came out a whisper, though I hadn’t intended it to be.

  “Well, at least you got my name right this time.”

  His words startled me. I bolted up, but that put us face to face, and for a moment I got lost in his eyes. A lot could be seen there if you looked close enough. His gaze remained steady on mine, and I found the strength to ask my question.

  “What happened?”

  “You called me Vincent.”

  I didn’t expect that. Vincent? I have never known anyone by that name.

  “I don’t know any Vincents.”

  Relief etched his face, then uncertainty. He lowered his eyes. I concentrated, trying to recall something, anything from those moments, that blank nothingness between the flash and my awakening.

  Lips. Determined. Pressing. Knowledgeable.

  Claiming.

  “You kissed me,” I accused.

  I didn’t mean to sound that way. I wasn’t even sure it had really happened, but the words could not be pulled back.

  Zach’s eyes flew to mine and anger began to smolder there. If I had thought him even-tempered and agreeable, I was about to learn my error. You did not accuse Zach of something he didn’t do, and walk away from it.

  “You kissed me,” he snapped.

  The kiss was real.

  “No.”

  “Yes,” he insisted.

  “No.”

  Zach dropped his arm from around my shoulders and stood. I instantly felt the loss and wanted him back. I jumped to my feet.

  “Tell me why,” I said. “Why do you say it was me?”

  His eyes penetrated as they locked onto mine. “Are you really going to listen, Daphne? Or just claim to, then point at me anyway, blame me anyway?”

  My heart stopped. Blame him? I wasn’t looking to place blame. I wanted to understand what had happened to me.

  “I’ll listen, Zach. I need to know the truth.”

  Whether my words or the need for truth did the trick, I’m not sure, but Zach seemed to reconsider his stance.

  “We were facing the gate. None of the town kids were visible.” He turned me toward the gate and took his place by my side. His hand closed over mine and I twined my fingers through his. “I started to say it must just be the wind,” he continued, “but you were bleach white.”

  Zach looked nervous as he retold the tale. No. Worried. Like his worry relived itself, too.

  “From the lightning flash, no doubt. I don’t like lightning,” I reasoned aloud, glad to have found an explanation. I’d never fainted over lightning before, though.

  “What lightning?” Zach asked.

  “Th-the flash that lit up the place.”

  “There wasn’t a flash—of lightning or anything else.” Zach’s words were matter-of-fact, but the worry in his eyes deepened. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I ignored his question and asked another. “Was it the man, then? Tell me the truth, Zach. Did he hit me or something?”

  “What man? No one was here but us. It’s just us.”

  I bit my lower lip, thinking it over. Zach still held my hand, but he looked out beyond the tractor, into the woods. Suddenly, he huffed.

  “Look, Daphne. We were standing like this, no one was out there. I looked at you, you looked awful, like you were sick or something. When I asked if you were okay, you looked up at me, but your eyes were funny and you started to fall.” He tilted my face up toward his as he spoke.

  God, he was cute. My heart began to pound. I nodded, keeping my silence, hoping he didn’t notice my hand getting sweaty in his.

  “I tried to catch you.” Zach released my hand and threw his arms around my waist, leaning toward me. I leaned away.

  My slamming heart stopped as my arms involuntarily wrapped around his neck to keep my balance.

  “That’s exactly what you did.” His voice sounded odd now, kind of rough and low. His eyes moved from my eyes to my lips and back again.

  A flutter started in my chest. “Zach . . .”

  “No . . . you said . . . Vin—”

  Our mouths met, lips connecting softly as we both closed the distance, then firmer, lips buffing as we explored the connection. I moved closer. Zach’s hands pressed my back. A fleeting zing zipped a direct path from my lips to my stomach, quaking me.

  A lightning strike for sure.

  Zach pulled away. “I should get you home.”

  That kiss was nothing like the last and we both knew it. He was right. We should both go home. Nodding agreement, I turned aside and bent to retrieve our tools. Dizziness swept over me and I teetered.

  Zach took me gently by the arm. “Leave it. I’ll come back for them later.”

  I let him lead me to the tractor. I couldn’t climb onto the flatbed, though. When I tried, my leg started to shake so badly that I nearly fell. Before I could try again, Zach spun me toward him and lifted me with ease. He placed me carefully on the flatbed and pulled his shirt closer about me then stepped quickly away.

  My eyes felt large and round in my face as I watched him move toward the tractor then climb onto the seat. Before he could start the engine, I called out, “Zach!”

  He twisted in the seat to face me. I reached a hand toward him, desperate that he not refuse me. “I don’t want to sit back here by myself.”

  I threw a worried glance toward the cemetery and when I returned my g
aze to Zach, he was already walking back to the flatbed. He stopped between the two pieces and pulled a tool from his back pocket. He fiddled with something. I heard metal clink on metal, then he straightened and offered me his hand.

  “C’mon.”

  I slid my arms through the sleeves of Zach’s shirt, so it didn’t blow away, and managed to slide down from the flatbed, my knees only buckling slightly as I hit the ground. I followed him to the tractor and he climbed back onto the seat.

  It wasn’t very big or very high, but my legs still seemed to want to ignore my commands. He moved his foot aside and his body forward, so I could get a better foothold to climb aboard. Once I had started up, he grabbed my arm and pulled me the rest of the way. I swung up behind him and placed my hands on my thighs as he started the engine.

  The tractor lurched forward, leaving the trailer behind. I had to grab him by the waist to keep my balance. He glanced back but said nothing.

  We bumped along through the trees. The rough terrain kept me firmly plastered to Zach’s back. A chill fingered its way up my spine, but as we moved farther from the cemetery, I relaxed. He squeezed my hands lightly where they now locked over his stomach.

  He drove the tractor out of the trees and across the lawn, right up to the lighthouse keep doorway. I jumped down before he could, and backed several paces away from the tractor.

  “Thanks. I . . . thanks.”

  Zach climbed down from the tractor despite the fact that I’d made it perfectly clear he didn’t need to. He advanced a few steps. He may have looked thin, but he was solid and strong beneath that shirt and I didn’t dare touch him again. I reached for the doorknob, one eye still on him.

  “You sure you’re okay, Daph?”

  My mind switched gears, back to the problem as he surely saw it. I kind of liked that he worried about me, and hated that I’d made him worry. He’d had enough for one day. We’d both had enough.

  “I’m sure. I’ll . . .” I opened the door and slipped inside. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” The words rushed out and I slammed the door shut. I didn’t move from it until I heard the tractor start and the engine sound slowly fade away.

  A half hour later I heard the tractor again. From the window upstairs, I saw him stop just outside the tree line. He swung down from the seat, the strap of my canvas bag slung across his chest.