Chapter 10 #3
But this is a familiar scene. There’s an unusual darkness to the clouds, a hint of something sinister. This is the kind of night where the power goes out and lightning cracks the sky. Already, it’s pouring rain.
Probably, I shouldn’t be doing this. I should wait for Jane. I should ask Aleo to come with me.
But I can’t wait. I need to know. I’m going to go insane if I don’t learn anything. If I can just confirm that the symbol is the same as Mom’s, then that’s something. A jumping off point. Confirmation that it’s real, that it’s a lead worth pursuing.
I stole my flask back from Jane last week. It’s heavy in my pocket, so I decide to do myself a favor and lighten the load.
I know better than to mix wine and tequila, but tonight I’m feeling reckless. If I’m going to finally face down the cliff, I’ll need all the help I can get.
And if I’m honest, I’ve been looking for an excuse to get drunk for a long time. A proper bender, not just a couple of drinks here and there.
What the fuck did Mom do? The question follows me everywhere I go, haunts my days and nights. Was she truly neurotic? Or was there a reason she wouldn’t let me anywhere near the water?
I imagine tentacles, and squirm. I should probably feel guilty about that. Apparently, there are Kraken shifters, and they might be extremely offended to learn how much I dread becoming one of them.
But there are loads of other things to worry about besides tentacles.
After several sleepless nights, I’ve compiled a mental list. Maybe I’ve been dedicated to the sea since birth—if I enter willingly, it will just take me back.
Maybe I’ll become some kind of incomprehensible Eldritch horror.
Maybe the world will end. Maybe I’ll just die.
With every step nearer to the cliffs, the humming in my bones grows stronger. It’s almost impossible to ignore now, here on the edge of campus, where the manicured lawn turns to a muddy trail flanked by pine trees.
The rain started up again a few minutes ago. There are puddles everywhere. I slip and slide in the mud.
Dread builds in my belly, so I quell it with a swig of tequila, then another.
I’m not sure I could turn around if I wanted to.
It’s like there’s a tether pulling me ever closer, and I’m at its mercy, getting dragged along for the ride.
Maybe if I were sober, I could fight against it.
But I’m buzzed, and the world around me is soft and pleasant, and it’s easier to let the sea claim me than to keep fucking fighting.
So I take another drink.
I should be worried. I should call someone to come rescue me. Rain beats down, batters my coat, runs in rivulets down my face, sloshing over my eyelashes.
Or maybe I’m just crying.
When I finally reach the cliffs, darkness has all but fallen. I’ve miscalculated the hike, but I keep moving.
I’m afraid to try to stop. Panic claws at my chest. I attempt to force it down, but it’s no good. Acid stirs in my gut, reaches a crest that burns my throat.
Fuck. I might vomit. The sudden clench of nausea stops me in my tracks. For a moment, I have control again.
A rapid glance around me reveals a black sea. Waves slap thunderously against the rocky cliffs. Perhaps a hundred feet away, I spot the outline of a crumbling tower, reaching skyward. I can only just make out the entrance, a shadowed arch like a gaping maw.
Shit. I need to go in there.
It’s only five or six stories high. As I get closer, I can see just how weathered the stone is, how cracked and ancient the structure really is.
When is this from? It looks like something straight out of the European countryside, complete with arrow slits and the outline of rickety, winding stairs.
Moss crawls along the outside of the tower.
Vines dangle, shivering in the harsh wind.
I have to look. Even if the weather’s bad. Even if the tower is on the edge of the cliff, and the sea below is vying for my attention.
Part of me pleads to turn back. The rest of me wants answers, now.
I pass a sign that says, Danger! Do Not Climb, and ignore it. If anything, the tower is a refuge from the rain.
The edge of the cliff is steep, slippery. I step carefully, but my limbs are fluid, unsteady, drunk.
I lose my footing almost immediately, stumbling over sharp rocks. I catch myself right at the cliff’s edge. The toes of my boots line up perfectly with the serrated stones.
Shit, I think. Shit, that was way too close.
When the cliff collapses beneath me, I don’t even have a chance to yelp.
Cold air rushes up to greet me. My coat flaps helplessly. Rain and debris pelt me in equal measure, with enough ferocity to leave welts. I flail, and then I’m crashing through the waves.
It’s like slamming into a brick wall. Agony screeches through me. I’m sinking like a cannonball, fighting to keep my eyes open in the salty water, but it’s no good. I can only just make out hundreds of tiny bubbles, then a jagged rock shelf, rapidly growing closer.
I’m going to hit it. I’ve got too much momentum from the fall, and no way to slow down.
I have about two seconds to process this before pain blossoms in my skull, and everything goes black.