Chapter 4
Four
SARAH
Gairloch, Scottish Highlands
The first time I walked down Gairloch Beach, I fell in love.
It was a warm spring day back then, the sand perfectly soft and golden, the waters near shore a vivid turquoise because of the warm Gulf Stream that hit this part of the coast. There was only Grandpa and me on the beach, and I thought this was what peace, true peace, felt like.
I suppose that’s what I was looking for when I bought my wee cottage up on the cliff overlooking Loch Gairloch.
When I arrived at the cottage, I was still raw from my goodbye with Jared and I cried myself to sleep that night.
The next morning, however, I woke up determined to embrace my new home and the words I hoped to find there.
After cleaning up a bit, I went grocery shopping and even drove farther north to shop in a village that held a weekly market.
It was surprisingly busy. Upon my return, I got stuck into my new book.
The cottage was a two-bedroom midcentury bungalow, and it had spectacular views from its large windows.
I set up my desk in the living room, facing the view.
Unsurprisingly, I got swept up in Juno’s world in the coastal city of Dundee.
It felt good. I felt like I’d made the right decision coming here.
Today, however, when I decided to take a break from writing and walk the beach to clear my mind, I noted my legs trembled a little as I got out of the car.
Now, twenty minutes later after sitting by the shore on this rare, splendidly sunny October day, I had to admit I wasn’t feeling great.
Physically. I stared out at the water, watching it ombre from turquoise to sky blue, my eyes drifting over the coastline to my right, peppered here and there with white homes up the cliff, and to my left a rugged collection of hills.
Lifting a trembling hand, I pressed a palm to my clammy forehead and grumbled under my breath.
Perhaps I caught a bug at the market. I’d best return to the cottage.
I pushed up onto my now very weak legs and trudged back along the beach. By the time I reached my car, I felt like I’d run a marathon. My head was pounding and my stomach was sick.
Muttering expletives, I got into the car and tried not to panic at how light-headed I was as I drove along the coast. My bungalow was along from the center of Gairloch, just off the coastal road and up a wee winding lane into the hills where a few homes had been built to enjoy the loch view.
The older woman who owned the home next to me was out in her garden, and she waved as I practically slid out of the car.
Giving her a half-hearted wave back, I got inside the cottage just in time to make it to the bathroom where I promptly threw up my breakfast.
After I’d purged as much as I was going to from my stomach, I got up on even shakier legs than before. Shivers wracked my body as the room spun and my hair felt damp against my neck. The thumping in my head, along with the dizziness, made it hard to concentrate. How had this come on so quickly?
Stumbling into my bedroom, I clumsily kicked off my shoes and yanked free of my coat and sweater before face-planting in the bed.
Fire everywhere. I couldn’t get out. And looming like the gatekeeper to hell was a mammoth black demon, at least two hundred feet tall. It lunged for me and I screamed.
My eyes flew open, my pulse throbbing in my ears.
Slowly, my vision adjusted to the dark, and I remembered where I was.
The room wasn’t quite familiar to me yet, but I recognized it as the primary bedroom in my new bungalow.
It was then that I slowly became aware of everything else.
Sweat drenched my body. My skin was on fire, and my head still pounded like the devil from my fever nightmare was banging drums inside my skull.
My nose and head felt stuffy, and as I moved to check the time, my limbs seemed to be made of rocks instead of flesh, muscle, and bone.
Forcing myself out of bed, I had to lean a palm against the wall to steady myself.
It took me twice as long as normal to get to the living room and to my handbag to retrieve my phone.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this poorly.
A look at the screen told me I’d been asleep for hours. It was nine o’clock in the evening.
I needed water, so I pushed myself to get up to fetch a glass from the kitchen. I also forced down some paracetamol and changed into a nightdress. It wasn’t the weather for nightdresses, but a touch to the skin on my chest told me what I already knew. I had a fever.
That was never more obvious than a few hours later when I woke up again with chills. I chittered miserably in my bed, pulling the duvet covers tight around me, too weak to do anything about it, and hoping it meant my fever might break soon.
I felt drugged.
The room wouldn’t stop spinning, and I could do nothing but lie in misery in my bed the next morning.
My fever hadn’t broken, my headache hadn’t abated, and I kept drifting in and out of consciousness.
I knew I should probably call Jared. I’d had the flu as a child and this felt the same.
It wasn’t just a bad cold. I was really unwell. But I could barely make myself move.
Do it, Sarah, I heard Jared’s voice say. Get on that phone and call me now.
Groaning, I rolled over and was just reaching out a heavy arm for the phone when a banging sound reverberated through the cottage.
Is that my head? I thought on a moan.
The pounding continued.
Then … “Sarah? Sarah McCulloch?”
Why was that voice familiar?
“I know you’re in here because your neighbor said she saw you go in and you haven’t come out since yesterday.”
What the … Somehow I got out of bed, listening to that familiar posh accent I couldn’t quite place rattle on about his long drive and how I better be in here.
Sickness rose as the world spun, and it felt like I was on the deck of a ship in the worst storm ever as I made my stumbling way through the bungalow to the front door.
With trembling fingers, I opened a door I realized I’d forgotten to lock.
And standing on my doorstep was Theo Cavendish.
“Oh, great,” I muttered as black spots crawled around the edges of my vision. “I’ve progressed to full-on hallucination.”
“Dear God,” I heard him say just before all the lights switched off.