CHAPTER 20 #2
“Oh, I’ll definitely be back.” As I exited the shop, I sighted a few maps of Dracadia and, when I stopped to snag one, noticed a poster beside the rack.
It showed a man, apparently wanted by police for the brutal abuse of his son, who was believed to have been hiding away on the island.
Wanted and Missing posters decorated just about every pegboard back in Covington, so seeing one wasn’t anything special.
It just seemed out of character for the island.
Salt and pepper hair put the man about mid-forties, and his sunken brown eyes gave me the creeps.
He looked like a child abuser. I glanced down at his name.
Barletta. Not one I recognized, but what stood out to me was how much he reminded me of Angelo, for some reason.
Just that disheveled look of a criminal.
Which took my mind right back to home. I hadn’t heard anything more from Conner since our phone call, and nothing more had been reported on the news. Hopefully, things had died down.
Beside Barletta hung a Missing Persons poster whose corners were curled a bit, as if it’d been there a while. A blonde with bright blue eyes stared back at me–Jennifer Harrick–the girl who’d gone missing. The one Mel had told me about on my first day.
On a somber note, I left the shop and hopped back on my bike.
After stowing my goods in the little wicker basket, I opened the map.
The main street looped all around the island and came back around on the other side of the university, where I hoped the incline would be less steep.
Ten miles up the road, the complete opposite side of the island, stood Bone Bay.
I pushed off, pedaling an easy pace toward my next stop.
Wind sifted through my hair, the salty sea air thick on my tongue as I inhaled it.
A blissful warmth scattered over my skin where rays of sunlight touched me, the first full sunny day we’d had in a week on the island.
Again, I found myself thinking how much my life had changed in just a few days.
How I’d transitioned from carrying around a pocketknife and scurrying home in the dark, to a quiet, seaside bike ride.
The sense of freedom scared me a little, like I’d become naive and soft.
After all, the place hadn’t entirely earned my trust yet, so it didn’t make sense, the way I felt so at ease there.
I hadn’t even bothered to bring my pocketknife on my excursion, which was still tucked in my desk back at the dorm.
Conner would’ve called me stupid for the oversight.
After my mother’s death, I’d gained certain freedoms that I hadn’t had growing up, mostly out of necessity.
Conner had moved in and needed help with the rent, so I’d had to get a job, and going to school meant working late at night.
Because Conner couldn’t drive, thanks to too many DUI’s, I’d had to rely on public transportation.
It was a scarier brand of freedom. One I didn’t care to exert, but again, necessary.
I’d been thrown out into a world that would’ve eaten me alive, had I not learned how to navigate it quickly and so young.
I supposed I could’ve thanked Conner for that, since he’d been the one to give me a good shove into adulthood, but honestly, having had the mother I’d had, living the life I’d lived, maybe I’d been preparing for it my whole life.
It didn’t take long before the winding road curved alongside a stretch of cliffs, and I came upon a weathered and cockeyed sign that read Bone Bay, with a crude blackbird carved into the wood.
About a hundred yards away, an archway of spindly branched trees created a tunnel over a long, descending staircase.
I tugged my phone from my pocket and snapped a quick shot, thinking how absolutely enchanting it would look if it were decorated in lights.
The stairs creaked and groaned as I made my way down to where the tree tunnel opened onto lush green pines and white sandy dunes that tapered into the rocky shore of the cove.
Black birds, whether crows or ravens, I couldn’t tell, had settled in trees and along the shoreline.
So many of them. At the end of the staircase stood a sign that urged me not to feed the birds, and to avoid the south end of the cove during late winter, as that was where they might be most aggressive.
I stepped off onto the rocky shore, and two birds scattered toward the sky.
Before me stood the vastness of the ocean.
Beautiful, yet utterly frightening. Docile waves reached for my feet, but I backed away, not allowing the water to touch me.
Maybe someday I’d be bold enough to dip my toes in, but certainly not today.
Not when it could’ve easily pulled me out and no one would’ve even cared, or have thought to look for me.
With the cliffs surrounding me, trees at my back, the stretch of beach held a peaceful tranquility. I followed the curve of the cove toward a mass of rock, and there, a hard thunk ing sound echoed above me. For a brief moment, I thought back to the Wanted poster I’d seen in town.
What if it was the child abuser? What if he was hiding out in the wood there?
The city girl inside of me begged me to walk away, while chiding me for not having grabbed my knife.
A flicker of movement overhead drew my eyes to the rock’s flat peak, where a muscled figure in a black Tee swiped up a bottled water and looked out over the sea.
Curious, I climbed up the stretch of jagged boulders, careful of my footing. The moment I breached the top of it, the view sharpened, and I caught sight of Professor Bramwell about twenty five yards off.
Slapping a hand to my mouth, I ducked alongside the rock on a gasp.
Not that I was shocked to see someone at a public beach.
It was the someone I’d seen. At the sound of retreating footsteps, I peeked over the rock to find him locked in a stance, holding something in his hand. Sunlight glinted off its steel surface.
A blade.
He drew it back and hurled it toward one of the trees.
From the ground, he swiped up another blade and chucked that one, as well. I followed the path of his throw to see the first had landed smack in the middle of the tree trunk. The second, directly beside it. I watched him toss a third, which landed beside the first two.
It wasn’t the blades that held me captivated, though.
Beneath those unassuming dress shirts he wore to class, the man apparently sported a carved physique that stretched the fabric of his T-shirt.
Paired with the careless mess of his usually perfect hair and the casual jeans hanging low on his hips, he held me enthralled.
Staring at my professor.
Stop, Lilia.
I felt like a predator watching him.
The way he easily manipulated the weapon left me convinced he practiced frequently. A hobby? Probably fitting for a man who cut bodies up for a living.
A chill wound down my spine as that thought rooted itself in my head.
In a normal human being, it might’ve triggered an urge to get the heck out of there, because what the hell kind of person would’ve been caught on a rocky cliff, in the woods, with a man who carved corpses at night?
One who seemed exceptionally proficient with his weapons.
Me, apparently, as I kept on staring, watching him throw a few more tosses, lunging and pivoting, without a single blade bouncing off that trunk. For reasons I couldn’t explain, I was mesmerized by his skill.
Confused, but fascinated.
Chest heaving, a shine of sweat coating his neck and arms, he tossed off his blade and turned toward the edge of the cliff, opposite me, where the ledge of rock stuck out over the sea. The moment his fingers hooked the hem of his shirt, like he was about to strip, I ducked.
Oh, God.
My brain urged me to leave and give the man some peace, but when I pushed off the rock to make sure he wouldn’t see me exit, he wasn’t standing there. Only his discarded clothes lay in a heap.
I jolted forward, down the jagged slope, until I just caught the tail end of his body splashing into the waves. Eyes darting back toward the top of the cliff, I estimated about a fifty, or more, foot drop.
“Oh, shit!” I scrambled down the rock, back onto the stony shoreline to search for him. Seconds ticked away, and the horrific realization that I may have just watched the man leap to his death pummeled my conscience.
C’mon. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead.
Off a little way, his head breached the water. The distance from the shore sent a chill down my spine, when I imagined the depth there and what creatures might’ve lurked below him.
I screwed my eyes shut on a shuddered breath, and when he began his swim back toward the rock, I decided I’d had enough excitement.
Once again, I’d found myself more perplexed, the more I observed.
Who was this man?
As I made my way back up the staircase toward my bike, I decided the questions would never be answered by watching him from afar. I needed to get closer.
Which meant I needed to make a dreaded office hours appointment.