Chapter Fodder #3
I saw this just after I got out of the hospital. It’s the oldest piece of written music—called “The Song of Seikilos.” The words kind of stuck with me, and now they remind me of you:
While you live, shine
Fear no grief at all
Life exists only for a short while
And time demands its toll
~N
I fold the note in half, then grab my gear and leave the cottage.
But my day won’t start at the search. My day will start at the Capeside Inn.
I park in my favorite spot, taking a moment to look out at the sea that stretches past the cliffs the way I always do. When I first arrived here, my blood came alive with the thought of bringing vengeance to Harper’s doorstep. And now, the need to protect her consumes me.
I get out of the vehicle and stride to the lobby.
It’s nearly five-thirty in the morning when I enter, and as expected, Irene is not at the front desk.
She’s back in the kitchen, starting to prepare breakfast for the guests who are likely still sleeping.
I take my opportunity to slip behind the counter, and flip open her reservation book to check out the list of recent guests.
Charlie Abbott + two guests (Emma, Tylor)
Harper was right—they’re all due to check out in a week. And they’re all sharing room 116, the suite that’s next to mine.
That’s all I fucking need—for Irene to tell them how I piloted the drone for their beloved cult leader.
I can almost hear her now. Did you know Mr. Rhodes went out with Sam to film for his documentary?
Nolan is a Search and Rescue specialist. Used to be a firefighter before an accident! His social security number is—
“Christ,” I hiss as I close the book.
I tilt my head to one side, relishing the pop of the vertebrae, the release of building tension.
It helps, but not enough. Harper’s words from yesterday echo in my mind: Maybe the things I need are things I shouldn’t have.
She probably has a point, because the thing I really need is to kill the occupants of room 116 and paint the walls with their fucking blood.
I’m pretty sure it’s the only way I’d sleep peacefully tonight.
I sigh, dragging a hand down my face. I’m nearly set to leave the reception desk and head to the Search and Rescue command center when two voices approach from down the hall.
“—and then I’ll get changed. Tylor and I can meet you in the breakfast area,” a woman says as I duck into the shadows of Irene’s office. “I’m sure Irene won’t mind if we just chill there for a minute and wait until breakfast is ready.”
“Yeah, sounds like a plan. Who’s the guy Sheriff Yates said we’d have to find to join the search?”
“Rhodes,” she replies. “Nolan Rhodes.”
My blood crystallizes as I peer around the edge of the door. A man in cargo pants and hiking boots and a woman in pajamas are walking through the lobby, backpacks slung over their shoulders. And one of those backpacks has a patch on it—a patch that says Sleuthseekers.
It’s Emma and Charlie.
I watch as they each carry the handle of a heavy cooler between them.
They sidestep out the door and into the rising sun, shuffling out of view.
They must be the new volunteers Yates mentioned yesterday.
He didn’t seem to like their type—at least, that’s the impression he gave the time I waltzed into his office with a post-mushroom crash and some half-baked plan to protect the woman I came here to kill.
I’m sure he likes them even less with that knife wound still healing in his shoulder.
Maybe they lied to him and claimed to be well-intentioned visitors wanting to help, or maybe he figured it would be easier to keep them out of his business if he occupied them with the search.
Either way, the effect is the same. It puts them a step closer to our secrets.
And that leaves only one thought in my mind: Harper is in danger.
My fists are tight at my sides, my body humming with tension as the woman returns and walks through the lobby, her focus entirely on her phone. When I’m sure she’s down the corridor, I slink out of the office and head for the door, closing it quietly behind me.
I halt just outside the inn. Motionless. Muscles coiled. I watch the man standing just beyond the parked cars, at the cliff’s edge. His phone is raised. He’s taking a picture of the sunrise.
My steps are light and nearly soundless as I run straight for him.
Time slows. He hears my footfalls as I hit the granite. He lowers his phone and starts to turn. There’s a smile on his face, as though he’s expecting one of his friends. It transforms into confusion the instant before I barrel into him. And then fear, as I take us both over the edge of the cliff.
We fall together. He screams. The impact of hitting the water together jars the injuries in my body that have never fully healed. But the pain is dulled by adrenaline. And purpose.
The man thrashes beneath me as we plunge into the cold water.
He kicks for the surface and tries to reach past me in a flurry of white water, but I grab him by the throat and swim for the depths.
He’s a fit guy. But it takes him a beat too long to process everything: The disbelief that someone would take him over the cliff.
The awareness that I’m dragging us deeper.
The realization that I’m aiming to kill.
Those brief delays add up, and they give me the advantage.
By the time he truly starts to fight back, he’s already lost.
He tries to punch. To kick. To scream. A torrent of bubbles escape from his mouth, his horrified pleas muted by water.
But I keep calm, saving my air. I tighten my grip around his throat and stay focused on my destination—the black nothingness beneath us.
And I don’t stop. Not until I feel the first spasm of his body and the weakness in his limbs.
I watch his face as the end takes hold. It’s just like it was with Harper that day, the way the terror dissolves and biology replaces emotion.
His features soften. His eyes become unfocused.
The rhythmic convulsions of his chest slow, the final bubbles trailing from his mouth toward the surface beyond the reach of his slack hand.
I let him go when I’m sure it’s not a ruse.
He drifts away from me, suspended in the deep blue, and I kick for the light with the last of my air.
I breach the surface with a gasp and look toward the horizon, where the clouds are painted in shades of pale pink and yellow.
Even though I know it shouldn’t, and that I might have killed one risk just to breathe life into another, a sense of calm still washes over me.
I know it won’t last long in this place. But I savor it nonetheless.
I still remember every moment of pulling Harper from the water, memories dragged to the surface by the scent of the sea.
I think of the first beat of her pulse beneath my fingertips when I brought her back to life.
The relief. The purpose that possessed me in that moment and will never let me go.
I knew then that I would do anything to keep her heart beating.
To keep her safe from a world that seems to want her to suffer.
I’m the one who said we had to stop killing, but I’ll break every rule for her. Even my own.
With a final glance at the rising sun above the black water, I turn and swim to shore.