Chapter 39
That night, Harper dreamt of the sea. The sharp stab of ice that penetrated her bones, the pain like a thousand knives as she hit the water.
She was falling into what felt like a wall of rock, and the surprise that something so inconstant could be so solid was nearly as strong as the pain.
All cohesive thought ceased, only the awareness of the peering eyes that watched her descent from the rail of the ship.
A wailing keen lifted into the air, and Harper’s dream-self knew it was not her.
Her voice was frozen through; no, the despairing scream came from the women on the deck of the ship so far above her.
It was drowned out by the crash of the waves.
Harper’s heavy clothes weighed her down, pulled her under the angry flow of salt and ice.
The ship and its inhabitants drifted away as she fell under the waves, drifting down, down, down.
The pain eased, and she was at peace. Her little boy called to her from deep below, where he lay with the deep-sea scavengers and eels.
Her heart was at peace, and she felt her arms fan out like angel’s wings, bringing her home, bringing her to the boy.
Harper floated outside dreamer’s eyes, aware it was a dream, not able to start or stop, not able to force this girl to fight for her survival, to kick her legs and arms and struggle for the surface.
She understood this surrender. She, too, had heard the call from deep below, where her mother and father waited for her down in the depths of the ocean.
Where the water snails and deep-sea viperfish pecked at their corporeal selves, and their spirits swam with a freedom they had never known in their waking life.
She bolted awake to find not only Polly, but three other giant cats sleeping on her bed.
They lazily glanced up and then went back to sleep.
Harper looked to the door, which she had closed but had been urged open by her bed companions.
She could see the first streaks of dawn outside; the rain had stopped, but the sky was arriving in shades of stormy gray instead of gold.
Harper shivered and pulled the blanket up to her chin, staring at the ceiling.
She had the urge to run, to chase the dream from her head, but she was housebound, would be even if she were in the village.
Harper found herself wondering if Hedy’s grocery had made it through the rains, if it had flooded.
She thought about what Lady Bell had said about Hedy the night before, a guardian of the village.
There was so much to unpack from that conversation.
When she had finally returned to her room, Harper had felt drained, and more tired than perhaps she’d ever been.
Her head filled with thoughts of her parents.
She found herself staring at the void where she had carefully stored memories, the void she could not access and never tried.
Anytime her mind strayed to this place, she turned it elsewhere, but last night, she stared at the pit where her memories lay dormant and let it consume her.
Their flat in Vestmannaeyjar, Harper remembered the smell of sea water and birds that ate fish in the air.
She had a purple wall in her bedroom, one purple wall where she hung a huge poster of Megan Rapinoe from the World Cup.
There were houseplants in hand-painted pots dotting the corners and windowsills.
Harper could see the worn furniture in the living area, a child’s sculpture of a sea turtle on the wooden coffee table.
Harper looked for her mother, the sound of her father scuffling down the hall.
Only silence. No living soul was left in this space, not even Harper herself.
This memory was a snapshot, a photograph left in the sun that had been bleached of its occupants.
It was more than Harper had allowed herself to remember since everything happened, and as she had stood under the brass shower head, she had let the water wash away every cobweb from her faint memory until she had been too tired to stand.
Harper pulled her phone from the nightstand and checked her messages. Carli had responded at 2:32 a.m.:
Call whenever you can—HAVE to hear about this
She immediately hit FaceTime on her phone. It buzzed expectantly and the blank screen was replaced with Carli’s face, her hair wild and her eyes puffy from sleep.
“OMG, girl. Finally.” She grinned and yawned.
“I woke you,” Harper said apologetically.
“It’s good to see you haven’t lost your early bird ways. Besides, I had really just gone to bed. I have twelve pages of tweaks I need to make to my dissertation before Monday.” Carli grimaced. “How is my favorite haunted mystery manor?”
Harper paused. “It’s … it’s good.”
“Good?” Carli twisted her face in frustration. “Good? That’s all I get? Look, I’ve been worried about you, everything okay?”
Harper nodded, her throat suddenly closed. “I …” she stuttered. “I don’t know, I’m remembering things here.”
“Family things?” Carli nodded in understanding.
Harper nodded back, afraid her voice would break if she had to speak.
“Maybe that’s good, maybe it’s time,” Carli said softly.
Harper swallowed hard. “Yeah, I better go, and you should get some sleep.”
“Hey, Harp … you okay?” Carli’s voice was tinny, scared.
“Yeah, I’m just, I’m having a moment, but I’m good. Promise,” Harper said, forcing a smile.
“Promise promise?” Carli pushed.
“Yeah, promise promise promise … try not to be axe-murdered by your roommate,” Harper said, the knot in her chest loosening.
“That is a whole saga in itself. I will fill you in later. Call me whenever—seriously.” Carli looked at her though the lens, her concern palpable. “Love you.”
“Love you back. Talk soon.” Harper ended the call and lay back in bed.
She felt like she’d been having an out-of-body experience since she arrived at Bell Manor, and maybe this was all part of an even more elaborate dream.
Harper sighed, knowing it was not. This bed, the cats, the large windows with their cream curtains, everything was real, and yet completely disconnected from the rest of the world.
She rolled out of bed careful not to disturb her roommates.
It was barely 6:00 a.m., and she was fairly sure that breakfast would not be ready until a more reasonable hour, nor would her clamoring around Bell Manor’s kitchen on her own be welcomed.
She pulled on a robe and made her way across the hall to the study, where she had a coffee machine waiting.
She opened the study door and was hit with the view from the picture window that looked over the entryway.
The sky was gray, expectant, heavy. Harper shivered and filled the carafe with water.
She was pleasantly surprised to find prefilled filters in the small fridge.
Coffee percolating, she made her way back across the hall to her luxurious bathroom.
Harper brushed her teeth and pulled on a clean pair of hiking pants and a forest-green sweater.
In the study, she stirred sugar into her coffee and was hit with another memory that made her head swim.
She held on to the countertop to steady herself.
She was young, not quite a teenager, her hair was long and pulled back off her face.
She stood in the small utilitarian kitchen with her father, his prominent cheekbones, dark eyes, wavy black hair contrasted against his fair skin clear in her head for that moment.
He laughed at her while she dumped a spoonful of sugar into a cup of coffee.
He said something she couldn’t hear, or remember, in a booming voice and laughed.
Harper pulled away from the counter and the memory disappeared.
Her father’s face had been clearer than it had been since she was thirteen.
It was no longer just the grainy image from a photograph.
Her hands shaking, she took her cup and made her way to the window seat, curling up on the soft cushions.
Clutching the hot coffee in both hands, she stared out the window at the stormy day.
The clouds were already gathering, and the winds were resting but would soon gust again.
The landscape was drowned. In the daylight, Harper could see the vast front space of Bell Manor, the land that had been divided up into agricultural plots, the sturdy fruit trees barren for the season, but strong against the wind and rain.
The memories, her father, their flat, and the dreams of the mysterious girl who had always followed her were the same. They were memories, not stories. Both had happened, both were real, and both were as real as the other. None of it made sense anywhere except in this place.
Suddenly her phone buzzed. Harper barely had time to read the warning alert from GeoRata before the window seat shifted and coffee sloshed out of the cup.
Harper quickly moved it from her lap, where it made a puddle on the floor.
The room continued to roll like the ocean waves.
A small oil painting that sat on the bookshelf fell on its face.
Harper pulled out her phone as the motion stopped, clicking on the GeoRata app.
4.7 epicenter N 42.3305, W 70.8817
Harper quickly copied the coordinates and placed them on a map.
That was just northwest of Bell Island, slightly off from where the other epicenters had been tagged.
Harper picked up her mug, taking it to the counter and wiping up the mess on the pillows and floor.
She paused, staring out the window, her mind as clouded as the sky.
The ghost-like tentacle wrapped itself around her throat and stroked her cheek.
It was gentle, comforting, but it also held a warning.