Storm Island: A Kate Pomeroy Mystery (The Kate Pomeroy Gothic Mystery Series Book 1)

by Linda Watkins

  “I’m coming!” I yelled as the pounding intensified.

  Finally, free of the quilt, I hurried, worrying that it might be someone needing medical help. I threw the door open.

  He was standing on the stoop in the rain, his hair plastered to his head.

  Jeremy

  “What the hell?” I exclaimed, looking behind him at the driveway. “Where’s your truck.”

  He grinned sheepishly. “In a ditch. Raining so hard, I couldn’t see. Guess I took the turn at Parson’s Lane too close.”

  I stood frozen for a moment trying to make sense of what was happening. Jeremy, who had been absent for four weeks, was back and had had an accident on the way to see me.

  “Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?” he asked.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Yes, come in out of the rain.”

  I backed away and, as he walked into the light of the living room, I could see he had a nasty gash on his forehead.

  “Oh, dear,” I cried. “You’re hurt. Come with me.”

  I took his hand and led him to the bathroom where I sat him down on the toilet. “Let me look at that wound.”

  Examining the gash, I discovered it wasn’t serious, but it was deep and was bleeding profusely.

  “I can stitch this,” I offered. “It might lessen the chance of scarring.”

  Jeremy laughed. “No, not necessary. A scar will serve as a reminder to me not to drive so fast in the rain.”

  Nodding, I cleaned the wound and applied a couple of butterfly bandages to hold the edges together. Then gave him a quick exam to rule out the possibility of a concussion.

  “I think you’re okay,” I finally said. “But you’re cold. Your lips are blue. Go change into something dry and then come sit by the fire.”

  He nodded and, stripping off his soaked sweatshirt, walked to the bedroom where some of his spare clothing was still stored.

  I watched him go then went to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of Crown Royale from under the sink, grabbed two glasses, then walked back to the fire. Jeremy joined me on the couch a few minutes later.

  “This might help warm you,” I said, handing him a glass.

  “Thanks,” he replied.

  He sat down next to me and leaned forward gazing at the blaze inside the woodstove.

  I leaned back, taking a sip of the whiskey. The silence between us was deafening. Finally, not able to stand it any longer, I reached out and put my hand on his arm.

  “What’s happening?” I asked. “Between us?”

  He took a deep breath then turned to look at me. “I need to tell you something,” he said softly.

  “If it’s…”

  He shook his head. “No, let me tell you. Then we’ll talk.”

  I nodded and waited while he took another sip of his drink.

  “Remember how I told you I was in the Navy?”

  Again, I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Well, I wasn’t just a regular guy. I was in Special Ops. I enlisted right after Nine-eleven, went through the rigorous training and graduated.”

  He paused, remembering, then continued. “We were on a mission to Afghanistan. Me and my squad were sent to a village up in the mountains. Our assignment was to search for signs of Osama bin Laden and his al-Qaeda comrades in the caves and tunnels up there. We were also to infiltrate a small village at the base of the mountain range – make friends with them – convert them to the American way of thinking. Start a network and all that sort of stuff.”

  He hesitated again, sipping his drink, his gaze still resting firmly on the fire in the woodstove. He was talking so softly, I had to strain to hear.

  “So, we did what we were told. We searched the caves and made friends with the villagers, helped them with their crops, and tried to impress upon them the virtues of democracy. One night, the headman invited us all to dinner. A celebration of friendship, he said. There, we met his family – wife, children, and a niece and nephew who had been orphaned by the war.”

  His voice broke when he mentioned the niece and I watched as an errant tear slid down his cheek.

  “The girl, Darya, was seventeen. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. You remember how I stared at Hiram’s new wife? Well, she resembles Darya, but isn’t near as beautiful.”

  When he spoke those words, I recalled how he’d seemed entranced with the new Mrs. Levine. Now, I knew why.

  “I got to know Darya and her younger brother. She wanted to learn English and, in return, she taught me some Arabic. When my squad wasn’t out searching for al-Qaeda or helping the villagers in some way with their agriculture, I found myself with her.”

  He paused and I refilled his drink.

  “Thanks, Katy,” he said, taking a swallow. “There’s no easy way to say this. I fell in love with her. Head over heels. Time I spent with her was the happiest in my life. Oh, I’d had girlfriends before, but never like this. Maybe it was the constant fear of dying that made it so intense. I don’t know. I just know we were in love and, despite her strong religious ties, we became intimate. I told her I would bring her here –to Maine – and together we weaved fantasies about the life we thought we’d have. I believed it, Katy. I truly did. But later I found out that in the real world, dreams don’t always come true and there are nightmares lurking around every corner.”

  I stared at him, a hundred questions on the tip of my tongue. But, somehow, I knew it was important to let him finish first. So, I remained mute.

  He sighed, then took a deep breath. “We’d been on a mission into the mountains that lasted two days. We’d finally found some evidence that indicated we were close. We came back to the village to contact headquarters and let them know about our find and await further orders. I spent that night with Darya. We talked a lot. I don’t think I revealed anything about our mission, but I can’t be sure. By then, she knew me like the back of her hand. I’m sure she realized something was up.

  “The next day, me and the guys were just hanging out. Most of them were in the main room of the house we rented from the headman, cleaning their firearms and shooting the shit. I was in the kitchen fixing up something for lunch. My buddy, George Ramos, was in the latrine.

  “Darya and her brother came to the door. Without hesitation, the guys invited them in. I remember smiling when I saw her. She was wearing traditional garb – a chador – which covered her from head to toe. All that was visible were her eyes. I saw her glance around the room and I assumed she was looking for me. I later realized she was counting us, making sure we were all there.

  “I walked over to the kitchen doorway. She must have caught my movement because she turned in my direction. Her eyes met mine, but her gaze not soft and yielding like the night before. No, now her expression was cold and hard as stone. I remember feeling confused. What had I done to anger her so?

  “Then she turned to her brother and nodded. As she made that gesture, her hand moved under her chador and, at the same time, her brother’s hand moved under the vest he was wearing.

  “In that split-second, Katy, I knew. I yelled, ‘STOP!’ at the top of my lungs, but it was too late. The bombs hidden under their garments went off. Darya, her brother, and my brothers in arms were blown to bloody hell. I was hit by shrapnel, tearing into my chest and leg. You’ve seen the scars. I lied and told you they were from a fishing accident.”

  Stunned by the horror of what he’d just revealed, my mind pictured the wounds on his chest and right calf. I remembered wondering when I first saw them how a “fishing accident” could have caused such damage. The scars were reminiscent of ones I’d seen on a lot of veterans who came to our E.R. in L.A. Most caused by shrapnel.

  Jeremy took a long swallow of his drink, then continued. “George escaped unscathed and performed triage on me. He radioed base and they sent a helicopter to Evac us to Germany. I spent about a month in the hospital there and then was sent home. I found out later that Darya’s family had been killed in a drone strike that apparently hit the wrong tar
get. As a result, she and her brother were radicalized. Her love affair with me was all a front. None of it was real.”

  He paused, staring at the flames and I sensed he was no longer with me, his mind far away, reliving the loss of love and the brutality of war.

  Another deep breath, then he continued. “I was honorably discharged and the doctor stateside recommended I stay at the hospital – that I had PTSD – and needed therapy. I declined. All I wanted was to get back to Maine – to the water. I thought that would heal not only my physical wounds, but my emotional ones. But I was wrong.”

  He finished his drink, then turned to look at me. “I went along okay for a while. Started dating again about two years after returning to Storm. But nothing lasted. I couldn’t. Every time I started to get close, my guilt rose up colliding with my grief, and the only thing I could do was walk away. That is, until I met you.”

  He paused and, in the silence that followed, I thought about the warning my aunt had given me about him. A new girl every summer. Now I could understand why.

  He reached out tentatively and touched my hand, his voice now barely a whisper. “I think I fell in love with you the moment I saw you standing in the road looking like a drowned cat. God, how I wanted to make this work. But the closer we got, the more scared I became and, despite my resolutions, I couldn’t help but pull away. So, after everything thing that happened with your uncle and aunt, I made a decision.”

  His face was deadly serious and I held my breath, waiting. Was this it? After all the secrets he’d revealed, was he just going to let me go?

  He bit his bottom lip. Tears welling in his eyes.

  “I called the VA in Bangor. They put me in touch with a doctor there – a psychiatrist. I made an appointment. That’s when I told you I was going to the mainland for a couple of days. That’s what I thought then. But when I got there, she told me I had PTSD and, if I wanted to find a way out of the dark tunnel I was living in, I would need to commit myself to the hospital for three to four weeks. During that time, she would oversee intensive therapy to help me find peace. Katy, I didn’t want to lose you. So, I risked everything. I knew you’d been seeing your attorney – knew you might move on while I was gone. But I had to do it anyway. It was the only way we would ever have a chance.”

  He was staring at me intently now, as if trying to read the emotion that was building in my eyes. He took both my hands in his, then continued. “One condition of my treatment was that I stay focused. No contact with the outside world. So, I couldn’t call you. I know that must’ve seemed cruel and I’m sorry for any hurt I caused. I had individual therapy twice a day and group therapy every evening. Rest of the time, I had assignments to complete. I stuck with it. Did it all. And, when I was discharged, the doc said the first thing I had to do was come clean with you. Tell you everything.”

  He stopped talking and just looked at me. Then he reached up and wiped tears, that were falling steadily now, from my cheeks. “I’m sorry, Katy. I messed up. I love you more than anything and I hope, no, I pray, you can forgive me.”

  I caught his hand as it left my face and squeezed it. “I love you, too, Jeremy,” I said. “And probably have from that day I looked like, what was it? A drowned cat?”

  He grinned. “Yeah, a drowned cat. But you’re the most beautiful drowned cat in the world.”

  I smiled, then turned serious again. “As for forgiveness, there’s some to be had on both sides. You have mine. But we need to be straight with each other from now on. Can we do that?”

  He nodded. “Yes, we can be straight. And, I won’t disappoint you again. I promise.”

  As he spoke, he leaned forward and took me in his arms. We kissed, probably, for a lifetime. Then he lifted me and carried me to the bedroom.

  Later, as I rested in his embrace, I thought to myself,

  Maybe this time I’m really going to get my happily ever after…

  Well, at least that’s what I thought then…

  THE END?

  Special Note From The Author

  Thank you for reading Storm Island: A Kate Pomeroy Mystery. I hope you enjoyed it and, if you did, will be willing to write a brief review on Amazon and/or Goodreads. Storm Island is the first of what I hope will become a series of mysteries involving Dr. Kate Pomeroy and the other strange denizens who inhabit or visit this small island off the coast of Maine. In addition to the Kate Pomeroy Series, I am also beginning a series of prequels to the Kate Pomeroy Series, set in the late 1600s and featuring Maude Prichard, the witch. The first of these: Storm Island: Book I, The Turning, is currently part of a 21-book boxed set entitled, Love Under Fire. This set is available at all major eBook retailers. A part of every sale of the set will be donated to Pets for Vets to help them in their mission of matching abandoned or unwanted shelter animals to our veterans when they return from service.

  In addition, if you enjoyed Storm Island, you might want to check out my other books:

  The Mateguas Island Series

  Book I: Mateguas Island

  Book II: Return to Mateguas Island

  Book III: Ghosts of Mateguas

  Summer Girl, A Novel

  Sarah & Zoey: A Story About the Power of Unconditional Love

  All of these works can be found on Amazon in both eBook and paperback formats.

  About the Author

  Linda Watkins is the author of the multi-award-winning MATEGUAS ISLAND SERIES. She currently resides in Sedona, Arizona and, in another life, was a Senior Clinical Financial Analyst at Stanford University School of Medicine. In 2006, she packed her belongings and, along with her four rescue dogs, took the plunge and moved to a remote island off the coast of Maine. It was there that she wrote MATEGUAS ISLAND, which has garnered the following awards:

  2014 Gold Medal, Supernatural Fiction, Readers Favorite International Book Award Competition

  2014 First Place Award, Contemporary Gothic, Chanticleer Book Review, Paranormal Awards

  2015 Outstanding Novel in Horror/Suspense, IAN Book of the Year Awards

  The second novel in the series, RETURN TO MATEGUAS ISLAND, was also awarded a First Place in Contemporary Gothic Fiction in the 2015 Chanticleer Book Review’s Paranormal Awards and was named 2015 Finalist in Horror by Readers Favorite International Book Award Competition, and 2016 Finalist in Horror by the IAN Book of the Year Awards.

  GHOSTS OF MATEGUAS, the third novel in the series, was published in early 2016 and, in 2017, was named "Finalist in Thrillers" in the Book Excellence Awards and "Finalist in Horror/Suspense" in the IAN Book of the Year Awards.

  In addition to the MATEGUAS books, in 2017, Linda published a new stand-alone novel, SUMMER GIRL, and a novella, SARAH & ZOEY, A STORY ABOUT THE POWER OF UNCONDITIONAL LOVE. Both of these books are also award-winners.

  Serious about dog welfare and rescue, all net proceeds from sales of THE MATEGUAS ISLAND SERIES are donated to Linda's charitable trust, The Raison d'Etre Fund for Dogs, Dedicated to Rescue and Research.

  Linda is a member of the Horror Writers Association, The Great Lakes Association of Horror Writers, The International Association of Crime Writers (N.A.), and the Authors Guild.

  To take a look at her other works or communicate with her, please visit her website (www.lindawatkins-author.com), her blog where she posts book reviews and other features (www.lindawatkins.biz) and/or her novel website, dedicated to the Mateguas Island Series (www.mateguasisland.com).