by M. K. Krys
“This is the only hotel in town,” their dad said. He parked the car next to an ancient blue truck with wood paneling on the side that Beacon had only ever seen in ’80s movies. “The lady on the phone said we were lucky to get rooms at all.”
“Yeah, because tourism is obviously booming here,” Everleigh deadpanned.
There were no cars. There were no people. There were no neighbors for miles. It looked like you could go days without ever having contact with another person, if you wanted. It was so different from LA, where you couldn’t step out of your front door without bumping into someone.
“It’s just temporary while we do some house hunting,” their dad said. “A couple of those places we found online looked very promising.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Beacon said without much conviction.
A thickset woman with ruddy cheeks and wiry gray Brillo Pad hair came out of the front doors. She shielded her face and scowled down at the family, the wind sucking her apron away from her body.
“That must be Donna,” their dad said.
“Donna seems like a blast,” Everleigh replied.
“Who are ye?” Donna called over the wind. Beacon didn’t know whether to be annoyed at Everleigh’s rudeness or respect her honesty, because really, there was nothing to be happy about here. He’d been trying to be optimistic for his dad’s sake, but it was getting hard. Couldn’t he have found anyplace better for their fresh start? He didn’t see anything appealing about this town. It was as if their dad had thrown a dart at a map and said, “Driftwood Harbor it is!”
“Malcolm McCullough,” their dad said. “And these are my kids, Beacon and Everleigh.”
For a minute, Donna looked as if she was going to turn them away, and Beacon got hopeful that they would have to leave after all. A whole sequence played out in his head. They wouldn’t find anywhere else to stay in town, so they’d be forced to leave entirely, and once they did, they would decide to never come back. Maybe they’d move to Hawaii instead. Canada, even. He wasn’t picky.
But then Donna gave a curt nod and said, “Welcome to Blackwater.”
“Welcome to Blackwater, my butt,” Everleigh said under her breath.
Beacon and Everleigh followed their dad into the inn.
Happily, the inside was a lot cheerier than the outside. The walls were made up of knotted-wood paneling, and there were overstuffed couches set around a stone hearth that had a crackling fire inside. It smelled like baking, which was another improvement over the outside, which smelled like fish.
“You kids must be hungry,” Donna said. “I’ll get the oven going.”
“Oh, it’s okay,” their dad said. “That’s very kind of you, but we had a bite to eat at that Home Sweet Home diner on the highway. The kids ate their weight in crinkle-cut fries. I think we’d all just like to get some sleep.”
“Very well,” Donna said. Her mouth pursed as if she’d sucked on a sour candy. Beacon made a mental note never to refuse her cooking.
They followed her brisk footsteps through the inn.
“I suppose you’ll be wanting the bigger room for yourself?” she said to their dad, gesturing to a large bedroom on the main floor. She raised her eyebrows, as if challenging him to disagree.
“Well, yes,” he stuttered.
“I figured,” she said. “I’ll let you get settled in. Kids, follow me.”
She led them up a set of narrow, winding stairs to the second floor.
“The bedroom at the end of the hall is free, but one of you will need to stay here.” She used a hook from the hall closet to reach up and unlatch a door in the ceiling. She pulled down a set of accordion stairs that led up into the darkness.
“It’s not ideal,” Donna said, “but we’re tight on space.”
Beacon peered warily into the attic, then at his sister. Everleigh crossed her arms and lifted her chin. It was a look he knew all too well. She was prepared to argue to the death until she got what she wanted.
Beacon sighed. “I guess I’ll take the attic bedroom.”
He hiked his backpack over his shoulder, then gripped both sides of the steep wooden ladder and climbed up. When he got to the top, he poked his head into the room. Pale moonlight slanted in from a small window in the corner, but otherwise, it was completely dark. He couldn’t even see his hand when he waved it in front of his face.
“Light switch is on the wall!” Donna called from below.
“Okay!” Beacon replied shakily.
He gulped, climbing up farther, wondering idly if he’d somehow walked into a trap. Maybe this woman wasn’t really an innkeeper. Maybe she was a serial killer, and this hotel was just a clever ruse so she could lure unsuspecting families into her death trap.
He’d been halfway expecting chains and bloodstains, but when he flicked on the light switch, he was happy to find a queen-size bed with a patchwork quilt and a braided rug thrown down over the wooden floor. The peaked ceiling was so low in spots, he couldn’t stand upright near the walls, but other than that, it wasn’t so bad after all. In fact, it would be nice to have this space away from the rest of his family and Donna.
That’s what he told himself as he emptied his belongings into the dresser, changed into his pajamas, and climbed underneath the covers.
He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but the old house creaked and groaned. Outside, the ocean bashed against the rocks in a rhythmic roar and crash.
A memory came flooding back. The Halloween before Jasper died, his older brother had had a bunch of his friends over to marathon scary movies. Jasper invited the twins to watch, and Everleigh had immediately plopped down onto the couch. Even though Beacon actually wanted to go trick-or-treating, he’d wanted to seem cool, and Everleigh and Jasper were always spending so much time together fixing cars and talking about cars and poring over car magazines that he sometimes felt left out. So he’d joined his sister and the older kids, who were in the middle of a movie about an evil clown who lived in the sewers. Beacon couldn’t sleep for weeks after that, and even though he was eleven, he’d crawled into his dad’s bed every night. Every day, he’d lived in fear of Everleigh finding out. If she did, he’d never hear the end of it.
One night, as he was trekking to his dad’s room, he ran into Jasper, who was in the hall on the way to the bathroom. Jasper asked what he was doing up, and Beacon admitted that he hadn’t been able to sleep ever since that movie with the evil clown. Jasper’s face had grown serious, and even though Beacon knew Jasper wouldn’t make fun of him, he’d gotten embarrassed. But then Jasper told him to wait right there. He came back a minute later, wielding Beacon’s Little League baseball bat.
“Come on, little brother,” he said, all business. Then he’d stormed into Beacon’s room and flicked on the light. He yelled at the empty room that he was here, he wasn’t scared, and he was ready to fight anyone who messed with his brother. Then he hit his chest like a caveman and spit into the garbage. It was so ridiculous that Beacon couldn’t help laughing. Soon, they were both keeled over. Everleigh came in moments later, blearily rubbing her eyes, and their dad wasn’t far behind, wielding his own baseball bat like he was going to strike an intruder. But neither Beacon nor Jasper could get control of their laughter long enough to explain what had actually happened, so eventually their dad and sister both got annoyed and went back to bed, leaving Beacon and Jasper wiping their tears. Evil clowns never seemed so scary after that.
But Jasper wasn’t here now.
It took him a while, but Beacon finally drifted off to sleep.
That night, he dreamed of the ocean. He stood on a ledge of sharp rocks. The wind howled in his ears, and huge, angry waves crashed against his feet. But somehow, Beacon stayed dry. He bent down and touched the water. Suddenly he was tumbling through the ocean, and then the dream changed, and he was standing on the seafloor, the muted roar of the wind stil
l loud in his ears. Jasper lay on a bed of bright green coral, his pale white hands clasped over his stomach. Fish darted around his body, flashes of silver and scales. Beacon called his brother’s name over the thunderous scream of the water. Jasper’s chest heaved, as if he were trying to speak. Beacon stepped closer to hear what his brother would say. Then Jasper’s mouth gaped open wide, and a big black fish swam out of his mouth.
Beacon screamed.
* * *
...............................
He woke with a start. His cheeks were wet, and his body was drenched in cold sweat. His heart pounded against his chest.
The room was dark, and for a minute, Beacon forgot where he was. Outside, the wind shrieked against the windowpanes. Branches from a nearby tree scritched over the rain-splattered glass and made ugly, sharp shadows dance across the walls. His nightmare trickled away, and memories of the previous day came flooding back—the car wreck, the junkyard, the bedroom in the attic. He was in Driftwood Harbor. This was Blackwater Lookout. And something had woken him up.
Beacon pulled the covers up to his chin. It was just the storm, he told himself. He closed his eyes. But it was no use. He was wide-awake now.
He whipped off the covers and sat up. A gust of chilly air sent goose bumps racing up his back. He set his feet onto the cold wood floor, feeling exactly like those idiots in horror movies who hear a noise and go investigating even though you know it’s a terrible idea.
One peek, he told himself. Just to make sure it was the trees that had woken him up. Then he could go back to bed.
The floor creaked and groaned as he crept toward the window. He peered outside, through the frosty glass.
Without all the lights and smog of the city, he could actually see the stars. They shone above, illuminating the angry black waves that battered the rocky shore below. He squinted into the dark, but he couldn’t see anything wrong.
And then a lighthouse beacon trailed lazily over the ocean, and he caught something in the water. Or rather, someone in the water.
Beacon gasped, and the person in the water whirled around, almost as if hearing him. Her hair was plastered against her head, but he recognized the bright blond curls and blue-and-gold varsity jacket instantly.
Their eyes connected for a brief moment. And then a huge wave reared up and swallowed Jane’s body whole.
3
Beacon slammed his hands against the glass. For a horrible second, he was frozen with panic. He watched the waves ebb and flow, waiting for the girl to reappear, for a hand to reach out through the water. But Jane never came back up. She was going to drown.
Beacon jerked into action, skidding across the room and landing on his knees. He threw open the trapdoor.
“Help!” he screamed. He nearly lost his footing twice scrambling down the ladder. When he was near the bottom, he jumped the last four steps, landing hard and sending a shock wave of pain up his legs.
Everleigh blearily pushed open the door at the end of the hall. Strands of dark hair were pulled loose from her ponytail and stuck to her cheeks, which were flushed through with pink. She blinked and shielded her face against the pale light in the hall as if she were a vampire.
“There’s someone in the water,” Beacon said between gasps of breath.
He didn’t wait to see what she would say. He ran down the hall, then thundered down the steps two at a time.
“Beacon, wait!” Everleigh called.
But he didn’t stop.
He careened through the darkened inn to a back door off the kitchen. He unlatched the dead bolt and leaped down the steps into the cold, stormy night.
The rain blew in diagonal sheets, battering the shore. He hadn’t taken the time to put on shoes, and rocks and pebbles dug into his bare feet. He hardly felt it as he ran toward the water. But when he got close, Beacon stopped dead.
The ocean churned like a black sludge vortex. Mountainous waves crashed against the shore like hungry monsters destroying everything in their path. Wind blew a thick, briny mist across his face and soaked through his pajamas.
There was no way Jane could get back on her own.
He had to go in.
Beacon took a hesitant step forward. The icy water slapped his shins, and he gasped at the shocking cold. His legs were as heavy as cinder blocks, freezing him in place. He knew he needed to be fast, but he kept thinking of Jasper. Thinking of that night.
He gave his head a hard shake and forced his body to move. He had to help her. He was her only hope.
Beacon was only knee-deep when a powerful wave knocked him off his feet. He fell hard, swallowing a mouthful of salty water. There was a terrifying moment when panic overtook him and he flailed helplessly. But then he managed to push himself up to his feet. He stood stalled at the mouth of the ocean, coughing and gagging, dwarfed in the shadow of the waves.
He needed to go farther. He needed to try harder. But he couldn’t make his legs move. All he could think about was how water just like this had stolen the life from his brother.
But she was out there, and she needed his help.
He took another step, but someone grabbed his arm and yanked hard. Beacon stumbled backward, pulled onto the shore like a misbehaving toddler being dragged out of a grocery store. He was dumped unceremoniously onto a long rock slab. Everleigh stood over him, her face twisted into a mask of rage.
“What were you thinking?” she screamed over the sound of the waves.
“I need to help her,” Beacon said.
“You’re not going to be helping anyone if you’re dead.”
The back door flew open and their dad rushed out.
“Police are on their . . .” His words died on his lips when he saw the twins, drenched on the rock slab. “What are you doing? Why are you so wet? Please don’t tell me you went in there.” His eyes were as round as saucers and his lip trembled. Beacon was suddenly back to that night, the night they got the news. The sound of his dad’s choked breathing made his chest squeeze hard, as if it had a cramp.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Of course we didn’t go in the water,” Everleigh interrupted. She yanked Beacon up. “We stood on the shore to get a better look and got blasted by a wave. It knocked Beaks off his feet, but that’s it.”
The lie came out so deftly that it had a ring of truth. Beacon didn’t dare look at his sister and give it away.
“Okay, well, let’s get you inside and into dry clothes,” their dad said. “You shouldn’t be out here.”
He hustled them inside. Beacon went upstairs and changed into a pair of clean, dry sweatpants and a hoodie. When he came back down, Donna was making tea like lives depended on it, briskly pouring steaming water into sturdy-looking mugs.
Everleigh sat at the kitchen table. She twisted her hands together and looked out anxiously at the lone fire truck and volunteer rescue workers rushing to and fro, siren lights reflecting off the ocean. Beacon knew what she was thinking about. Who she was thinking about.
He sat next to his sister. Together, they watched through the foggy, rain-splattered window as chaos unfolded outside. Rain hit the window like it was trying to wash the house away, but somehow the room felt deadly quiet.
After a year, Beacon still wasn’t used to the silence. For the first couple of months after Jasper had died, he’d been too torn up with grief to notice much of anything going on around him. But then the casseroles stopped coming, and the visitors left, and it was just him and Everleigh and their dad, and the quiet that ate up everything made you think about all the things you didn’t want to think about and feel all the things you didn’t want to feel. It had been like he was living inside of a tomb. He’d started spending as much time away from home as possible so he could escape the ugly truth that Jasper was gone.
Everleigh, on the other hand, rarely left the house. If she wasn’t in her room, she
was in the garage, working on the car, the way she used to with Jasper. Beacon often wondered if she was punishing herself. If she thought she didn’t deserve to forget, not even for a little while. Not after what happened.
The door burst open suddenly, and their dad and two officers in shiny wet jackets came in on a blast of cold air. The kids popped up from their chairs as the officers took off their hats and rubbed warmth back into their hands.
“Sheriff Nugent, Deputy Steele,” Donna said icily.
“Donna,” the one with the dark bushy mustache and bulbous red nose said with equal animosity. He wiped a smudge of dirt off the faded gold star on the lapel of his jacket. He must be the sheriff.
“May we come in?” the one with the graying red hair and beard said. Deputy Steele.
Donna looked as if she was thinking about saying no. There was obviously some kind of history between Donna and the law enforcement here, and it didn’t make Beacon feel better about his living arrangements. After a long pause, she finally opened the door wider and ushered them into the kitchen, reluctantly pressing coffee mugs into their hands.
“Bless you, Donna,” Sheriff Nugent said.
“Real kind,” Deputy Steele said.
“Well?” Beacon asked impatiently.
The sheriff raised a thick eyebrow—he clearly wasn’t happy about answering to a kid, especially one who’d used that tone.
“It’s too dark and the water’s too angry,” he finally replied. “We’re going to have to send a team out tomorrow morning.”
“What?” Beacon cried. “It’ll be too late then!”
“I’m sorry, son. It’s all we can do.”
Beacon sank down into his chair. If only he’d been quicker. Louder. A better swimmer. Why had he hesitated? He should have done everything possible to save Jane.
He buried his face in his hands. Long minutes passed. A century, maybe.
A ring pierced the tense silence. The sheriff pulled a blocky cell phone out of his pocket.