by Dale Mayer
“I’m fine, thank you,” she whispered.
The words were barely out of her mouth when both dogs stood, the hackles on the back of their necks rising. He told her, “Don’t you move.”
He stepped to the front door with the dogs and studied the outside, wondering what had set them off. He had guests at odd times, but none were expected now. Even if Bruce had decided to make his weekly visit, the dogs knew him. Samson understood that the dogs saw and heard things nobody else did. As far as Samson’s work went, the dogs were in themselves essential.
Their only way to communicate with him was through their body language and barks. And he was very good at reading both. A threat was out there. As they bared their teeth, he realized the threat was one they knew well.
Whatever the hell had happened to his island was happening again right now.
He reached for the shotgun beside the door, and, with a hard look back at her, he said, “Do not move no matter what you hear.”
Her gaze widened, and he could see his words had the desired effect. She was terrified. He stepped outside the front door, both dogs at his side, and walked into the bright sunlight. It was more common to see these threats at nighttime. But everything on this island was topsy-turvy. Especially these last several months. And he wouldn’t be at all surprised to see something nasty working its way toward him in the daylight now.
He walked to the lookout post, the dogs at his side, as he searched the rolling water of the sound around him. The shotgun was very little defense against some of the things that lurked down there. Even as he searched below, the dogs calmed down. He sighed and said, “You could give me a secondary warning that says it’s all good now.”
Both dogs barked and jumped around him playfully. With a final look at the murky depths around him, he turned and walked back toward the house.
Halfway there, the dogs stiffened, heads up, growling deep in their throats. He stopped, looked at them to see them both looking off to the side. He slowly walked toward whatever it was that bothered them. He trusted them implicitly. They had that animal instinct of preservation which humans had long ago lost.
There were rocks, trees, lots of hiding places. Samson had yet to see any four-legged predators of any size, but he knew they were here. He had seen signs of dead rabbits and the occasional bird. So he knew someone was hunting. He was content to leave them alone—if they left him alone.
As soon as he approached the trees, the dogs started to howl. He stopped, raised the shotgun in that direction and called out, “Leave now.”
A howling sound returned, as if wind wound through the trees. It grew and grew and grew, and then suddenly, with a whine, it disappeared. He reached up a hand, ran it through his hair, turned to look at the dogs and said, “Good job, guys.”
They were once again calm, at peace. He turned with a final glance over his shoulder and walked toward the house. He didn’t want to leave Whimsy alone for too long. He didn’t know what the hell was going on in all corners of this property, but he knew some things out there were well beyond explaining to her. You had to be born into this world of spooks and terrifying things that went bump in the night. Like he had. Like his brother had. Not the brother who lived back East. But Jamie. His younger brother.
Who even now spent more time in a mental hospital than any single person deserved. But, until Samson found a way to help Jamie stabilize his abilities, there wouldn’t be any other answer for him. He was too dangerous.
Samson had tried hard to keep his younger brother with him, but, when Jamie had his episodes, he went berserk. At least this way, he was safe, and other people were safe around him.
So much had been going on in this place after Jamie’s last episode, which had been way worse, way more catastrophic than anybody could have imagined. It had been a final straw. Jamie had begged and pleaded not to go back to the hospital, begged and pleaded that things were in this place which Samson didn’t know about. And neither did Jamie.
As Samson opened the front door, he stopped for a moment, his senses on high alert as he looked around. But everything was calm. He stepped into the living room and saw she’d fallen asleep on the recliner again.
He hemmed and hawed as to whether he should pick her up and take her to the bed, then decided she would be warmer where she was, whereas the corner of her bed was still damp. He put on coffee for himself, then headed to his lab. His computers were up and running, data flowing with streams of numbers and codes in the background.
When a voice came through this room, he half expected it. Stefan seemed to know when Samson was in his lab. Then again Stefan Kronos was a terrifyingly accurate psychic, energy worker, artist, and who knew what other talents he had. Still he’d been in touch with Samson for years now. Maybe the acoustics made it easier to communicate in here. He had never bothered to ask Stefan, never spoke to him any other time. But apparently Samson’s lab was a conduit for all things spooky and unearthly.
“Stefan, how are you?”
“Maybe the better question is, how are you?” Stefan asked.
Samson could see the weird ghostly light off to his side, the presence of Stefan.
“You haven’t been in your lab very much these last few days.”
“No,” Samson said. “I’ve been busy.”
“You can’t spend all your time trying to save your brother.”
“Is there a better way to spend my time?” Samson countered. He’d heard this argument many times before.
“There is,” Stefan said. “It may have to do with a woman who is sleeping even now in your living room.”
Samson froze. “You can see her?”
“I can feel her. So can you. That’s how you found her. Jamie sent you after her.”
Samson stubbornly shook his head. “No, the dogs found her.”
“Sure,” Stefan said. “The dogs found her because they were tuned to her. And so were you. You’d been looking for her for hours.”
Samson shoved his fists into his pockets. “I could feel something,” he said cautiously, “but I wasn’t connected to her.”
“No, you weren’t connected to her. You were connected to what saved her.”
Samson’s breath caught in the back of his throat. And he didn’t say anything for a long moment. He’d heard and felt a lot in the panic of the moment, but that didn’t mean he was willing to dissect the event to this extent. Maybe some things were better not placed under a microscope.
“Remember, Samson,” Stefan said. “I don’t need words. I can see the truth and your energy at any time.”
“Can you see the truth in her energy?” Samson asked. He hadn’t wanted to even bring it up, but there was something about her. And her nightmares …
“Oh, yes,” Stefan said. “I can definitely see her energy. And I can see the connection between her and the dogs … and this place. I was trying to figure out if that’s because you saved her life, if that was her putting out those connections. But her dreams, her nightmares, now those are interesting.”
Samson frowned at the extent of what he could read from miles away. “How is it you only talk to me when I’m in my lab, but you can see things like that throughout my house?”
“Because the lab is where the electronics are, which makes it easier for me,” Stefan said with a half laugh. “And that’s where you like to keep me. But I don’t get kept easily. Anytime you don’t want to communicate with me, you just have to say so.”
Samson dropped his large frame down onto his chair. “You know that won’t happen.” He looked around. “This is way too unique an experience.”
“And it completely aligns with the other unique experiences in your life,” Stefan said. “You just have to accept that not all answers can be found all the time.”
“Why can’t we at least find some of them?” Samson cried out passionately. “You know what Jamie was like when he was here last. It was ten times worse than at any other location I’ve seen him in.”
“Yes
, because he’s so sensitive,” Stefan said. “He’s picking up everything. For whatever reason, he’s very attuned to the marine life—and the marine life around this island in particular. And whatever is going on here now. He didn’t have that reaction any other time he was here.”
“I thought being here would help him,” Samson said, guilt riding through him. “Instead it made him worse.”
“And yet, maybe, if he could have stayed a little longer,” Stefan said quietly, “he might have been able to sort through all the messages and visions he was receiving.”
“Maybe,” Samson said, wanting to switch topics. “And what am I supposed to do with this woman? I could have taken her back to the mainland. I could have arranged for a helicopter or a boat to come and get her. I know the storm just broke, but it’s not like I couldn’t have had one lined up to take her away.”
“So maybe that’s a question you need to ask yourself. Why can’t you let her go?”
“That’s easy. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why,” Samson whispered bitterly. “But she’s connected. And I don’t dare let that connection leave.”
Chapter 5
When Whimsy woke the next time, she found herself alone in the living room with dying embers in the fireplace beside her. She stood slowly and looked around. Dozens of windows revealed the wooded areas outside. She was fascinated by what she could see. The aftermath of the storm appeared to have left trees and branches toppled over. The island was remote. She wasn’t even sure how to get off the island, but, with Samson having computers, she could at least contact somebody to come and get her. It would cost, but that was just the way it was. He also had to get supplies, so either he could take her back to the mainland, or he had somebody who delivered to him on a regular basis.
Plus, she’d seen someone else that first day. Surely she could catch a ride with someone.
Maybe water taxis were here? Although she might be too far away from the mainland for that.
There was no sign of Samson in the big room. She walked outside onto the large front porch area and stared out at the island. A gentle breeze lifted strands of her fine blond hair. Sunlight drifted through the trees to kiss her cheek. Rocks jutted all around her with moss and trees, adding beautiful green touches. There was a peacefulness to the remoteness.
She tilted her face to the sky.
It was lovely. Having spent so much of her life buried in books and city suburbs, this felt like the sanctuary she had always craved but hadn’t experienced before. She was eager to reach out and touch the rocks. The lovely smooth surface was warm. The moss under her feet felt different, soft, cooling, almost soothing. All in direct contrast to her current physical state, where her every move hurt, everything felt disjointed, almost hot. Everything about her body still ached. That whole tumbleweed syndrome from her watery journey.
She dared not think about her supposed fiancé. She didn’t want to think he was dead, but it was also hard for her to pull him close into her emotions. She didn’t understand it, but it was like everything about her life was protected behind a wall of cotton batting.
She walked several minutes out onto the island, going higher and higher, trying to see everything. As she stared down, she spied Samson and the dogs standing on a rock outcropping that overhung the sound. He had a large net in his hand. And a weird bullhorn, like one seen at a sports game.
Plus a handgun stuck in the back of his waistband. Probably needed with the island wildlife.
She watched as he picked up the bullhorn, which made an odd noise, calling out to the water. She had no clue what he was doing, but it was interesting.
She wondered about joining him, asking him questions about his work, but he hadn’t been too forthcoming yet. Neither did she think she could manage the climb down and back up again on her dwindling energy stores.
As she stood, both dogs turned and looked up at her.
“Can’t get anything by you two, can I?” she murmured. As if understanding what the dogs had been alerted to, Samson turned and looked up at her. She lifted a hand and waved. He lifted a hand back and turned, grabbed his nets and came toward her.
When he finally stood in front of her, she said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
He gave an irritated shrug, giving her notice that she had, indeed, disturbed him.
“I wasn’t having much luck anyway,” he said. He motioned back at the house. “You need to be careful out here.”
She stopped and looked at him. “Why?”
And again he didn’t appear to like her question. He shot her a hard look. “What if you fell on the rocks?”
“I’d cry out for you and the dogs,” she said. “And I get that I’m still weak and that my body is still sore, but that doesn’t nullify the fact I am getting stronger every day.”
He nodded and led the way inside. He’d lifted a box on the side of the porch and put his nets and the megaphone in there.
“What benefit would the megaphone have?” she asked.
“It makes my voice go farther.”
Of course, that was what it was for, but it didn’t explain who, or what, he was calling to. But then he wasn’t into explanations at the moment.
He kept up the stern countenance as he made coffee, then turned to look at her. “Are you hungry?”
She wrapped her arms around her stomach and nodded. “If you have anything you could spare,” she said. “I get that I’m in your way and that I’m intruding. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. If you could help me get home, it would be great. Obviously I need a ride back to where I belong.”
“I’m leaving in two days anyway,” he said. “I’ll take you back then.”
She opened her mouth to protest, then decided she really had no reason to. She’d been here four, maybe five days now. Two more wouldn’t make any difference and would help her regain her strength. They walked into the living room. He stoked the embers, added wood and coaxed it into flame. She sat down at the hearth, loving the fire’s warmth.
“As long as we get word to the mainland that I’m okay,” she said anxiously. “I don’t want them to think I was lost at sea.”
“I told you already that I’ve spoken to the police. They’ve contacted the university.”
“Right. I’d forgotten that. Could I possibly use your computer for a few minutes?” she asked hesitantly. “I’m not trying to intrude, but I have friends I would like to let know I’m alive and well.”
“I can do that after we eat.” And he pulled out a slab of meat, cutting off thick slices, which he then proceeded to chop up and toss into a pan with onions and what looked like potatoes. She sniffed the air as a warm hearty aroma filled the kitchen. “That smells so good,” she confessed. “I am really hungry.”
He gave her an assessing look and then cut off another slab of the meat and threw it in. “Hunger is a good sign. When you return home, what are you going to do?”
“I had just finished my education.” She frowned. “At least I think I had. My memories are really spotty.”
“But you remember your friends?”
“Some of them. I was hoping I could remember my email and refresh my memory about others.” She forced cheerfulness. “It’s worse to consider that maybe I don’t remember everybody.”
“It would also be normal,” he said. “How are the headaches and nightmares?”
“I’m not sure I remember any nightmares from last night,” she said with a bright smile. “I do feel much better today.” She held out an arm, revealing her bruises were now a nice yellow across her forearms. “I am healing.”
He nodded. “You are, but you’re not healed. There’s a big difference.”
“I guess if it’s two days before I can get away from here,” she said, “then I should be well and truly strong enough by then.”
He didn’t say anything.
“And I really do appreciate all you’ve done for me.” She felt awkwardly ungrateful. “I can see I’m intruding, and I
’m sorry about that.”
He shot her another look. “You already apologized.”
She slammed her mouth shut, then opened it again. “What else am I supposed to do? You seemed very irritated at my presence this morning.”
“You interrupted something,” he snapped.
Instantly she felt bad. “I’m sorry.”
“There you go again,” he said.
She raised both hands in frustration. “Okay, so I won’t apologize anymore. Is there anything I can do to help?”
He nodded. “Set the table.”
Determined to be helpful this time, she hopped to her feet and walked to the glass-fronted cupboard where she could see the plates. As she grabbed them and turned around, she bumped into him. Her foot twisted, and she banged up against the counter. The soft tissues of her healing body were not expecting the hard blow, and it sent searing signals of pain. She cried out.
He got her before she tumbled. “Easy,” he said. “Like I said, you’re not healed.”
She glared at him. “I was just trying to help.”
He released a heavy sigh and let her go. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not trying to be a bear. Some of my research isn’t going very well, so I was having a rough morning.”
“I get that,” she said waspishly. Then she took a deep breath and then another one. “Look. I’m not going to apologize again. It would just be nice if you wouldn’t take out your temper on me.”
He looked at her in astonishment. “I didn’t do or say anything angrily to you, did I?”
She thought back and then realized he’d just been curt. And maybe that was who he was. She groaned. “I guess I’m not used to living with people. You seemed very irritated. I assumed it was because I was here.”
“I am irritated,” he said, “but it’s got nothing to do with you.” Then he half muttered, “Or at least not much.”
As she turned away, not sure what to make of that last comment, she finished setting the table and then sat down out of his way.