Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Daphne
Istood on the rain-soaked deck of the ferry, the Washington State coastline now far behind me.
The fog bank ahead was like a solid wall of concrete rising from the gray water.
It did not say ‘tropical vacation’ to me.
Not a good sign when all you brought were sundresses, sandals, and a borrowed tankini.
Holding back my hair so it wouldn’t whip into my face, I sighed heavily and shivered. What kind of person believed they won an actual vacation on the internet?
I’ll tell you what kind. A gullible, desperate one.
Although my friend Bettina wouldn’t have cared that I had planned to hide out in her apartment back in Atlanta, it hadn’t stopped me from feeling a little guilty about it when I got there a few days ago.
She’d asked me to water her plants while she and her boyfriend backpacked around Europe, not crash on her couch indefinitely.
But as soon as George and I arrived, her elderly neighbor had knocked on the door and handed me a parchment paper envelope with really pretty calligraphy. Mrs. Baker had found it on the doorstep addressed to me, and she didn’t want to leave it lying around.
At first, I thought it was a special delivery from Pharma-Douche. You know, like a thin bomb or some anthrax. But the woman had assured me it arrived just after my last plant-watering visit—long before my life was in danger.
I’d skimmed the cover letter and groaned, then Mrs. Baker demanded to know what it said.
“It’s one of those scammy sweepstakes,” I’d told her. “Says I’ve won a singles trip to paradise. What a crock of baloney.”
“To where?”
“Darkaway Island, where the monsters come to play,” I’d said, reading the promotional material then shoving it back inside. “It sure doesn’t sound tropical to me. Sounds like Halloween Town for cosplayers.”
To my surprise, Mrs. Baker had snatched the envelope from me, put on her readers, and rifled through the papers herself. “Darkaway Island,” she’d said rather dreamily.
I was surprised she’d heard of it and asked if it was a real place.
“Of course, it is,” she’d replied. “My second husband and I spent our honeymoon there. The beaches are quite lovely. And at the higher elevations, there’s snow. You can sunbathe and snow ski on the same day.”
I still didn’t buy it. I wasn’t a senior citizen who easily fell for that kind of bullshit.
Mrs. Baker had lifted an eyebrow, as if she knew what I was thinking. “It says you entered an online contest and answered a bunch of questions.”
“I didn’t enter any contest.” But the moment I’d said it, something niggled at the back of my mind.
“You don’t remember filling out a questionnaire asking about monsters?”
And then it hit me like a pallet of bricks.
Unfortunately, I happened to have an unhealthy addiction to online personality quizzes.
You know the kind I’m talking about. Who’s Your Celebrity Twin?
(Emmy Rossum). How Badass Are You? (7 on a scale from 1 to 10).
What’s The Likelihood You’d Survive A Zombie Apocalypse?
(83% because I wasn’t willing to double-tap my mom.) They were like sugar.
Impossible to resist and fun while you were doing them, but once the high was over, it was over.
On my last plant-watering visit to Bettina’s apartment, I’d stumbled upon the quiz in question.
Her wi-fi was much faster than mine, so I liked using her computer to check my email and social media.
It was literally impossible not to click on Who Is Your Monster Dream Date.
I mean, who wouldn’t want to find out they’re compatible with Beast and get their own library? It was every reader girl’s dream.
When I’d finished the lengthy quiz, and submitted the results, a flashy pop-up filled the screen saying I’d won a four-week, all-expenses-paid singles trip to paradise for me and my cat. Yeah, right. Then I promptly forgot about it.
But Mrs. Baker had called the hotel, and they supposedly confirmed everything.
Now, as I stared out from the ferry deck at the cold, gray water studded with white caps, I didn’t care what Mrs. Baker said about the island. She was a sweet old lady but probably a little Alzheimerish.
Three teenage girls with matching cat-eye contacts were taking selfies near the rail.
Arms around each other, they struck various poses—smiling, goofy, model-serious—while the tall girl on the end held a selfie stick.
Not far from them was an adorable elderly man and woman who reminded me of Rose and Jack in their later years, if Jack had lived.
(I used to write non-canon Titanic fanfic where Jack had climbed onto the door with Rose and lived.
It was plenty big enough.) An androgynous goth couple in black stood arm in arm near the bow, gazing toward our destination, their coats billowing around their ankles.
Now that would make the perfect promotional meme, I thought. Dreaming of Darkaway.
Just then, the door to the ferry’s passenger area opened with a bang, and I turned to see a small child running onto the deck.
Coat unzipped and flapping, he beelined straight for the bow.
Except that he wasn’t actually wearing a coat, I realized, but a wizard robe.
Wait. It didn’t have sleeves. A superhero cape?
A vampire? Underneath, he wore red shorts, a matching t-shirt and a pair of Velcro sandals. It made me cold just looking at him.
Not seeing an adult with him, I caught the boy right before he reached the rail. “Whoa, there, little dude. Where are you going?”
“I wanna see. I wanna see!” he cried, trying to squirm out of my grasp.
“It’s too foggy,” I said. “There’s nothing to see.”
I was about to ask him where his mom or dad was when a harried-looking young woman carrying an infant like a football dashed through the mist towards us.
“Thank you so much,” she said breathlessly. “I was inside, changing the baby’s diaper, and when I looked up, Austin was gone.”
“No problem.” I’d once nannied for a family with a boy who bolted the moment you turned your back, so I could relate.
The woman shifted the baby to her other hip and took the boy’s hand. “Austin, don’t ever run away from Mama like that. I didn’t know where you were.”
He stuck out his lower lip. “But I wanna see the mom-sters.”
“I know you do, honey, but they’re not out yet.” She winked at me over the boy’s head.
Austin squatted in front of George’s carrier and started to stick his fingers inside, but I caught him just in time. “Careful, sweetie. He might bite.”
“Is this your son?” the boy asked.
His mother laughed. “He’s just a regular cat, honey.
” Then to me she said in a low voice, “He thinks every animal coming to Darkaway is a—” The sudden sound of the ferry’s horn made me jump and drowned out her words.
“Thanks again for catching my little monster,” she said, not skipping a beat as she smiled gratefully and turned to go.
“Hey, why don’t you stop by Midnight Garage and Nails on Nightshade Avenue for a mani/pedi. My treat.”
“Midnight Garage and Nails?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly. In fact, nothing this woman said was making much sense to me.
She nodded. “My husband works on cars, and I do nails.”
Well, that was a combination I hadn’t heard before. I shoved my hands into my pockets, not wanting her to see that I was a nail-biter. “Um, thanks.”
She hesitated and looked at me a little more closely, but not in a harsh, judgmental way. “Is this your first time on Darkaway?” she asked with a friendly inquisitiveness.
“Well, I entered this contest and—”
“Oh my gosh, you’re one of the contestants!” Excitement sparkled in her caramel-colored eyes. “I read about it in the Daily Epitaph. The whole town’s talking about it.”
I hurried to correct her. “No, no. I won a contest, but I wouldn’t call myself a contestant.”
“You have to stop by the Garage,” she gushed. “I know it doesn’t look like it now, but I’m really good with hair and makeup. I’m Portia, by the way.”
But before I could ask her what in the world she was talking about, her little guy took off again.
“Ack!” Tucking football baby back under her arm, she chased after Austin. “I’m serious,” she called to me over her shoulder. “I’d love to help.” Then she disappeared into the fog.
Help? With what?
I touched my hair self-consciously. Normally I wore my dark hair pulled back in a tidy bun for work, so I hadn’t bothered to have it cut in a while. Did I look that pathetic? Was I in desperate need of a beauty intervention?
That made me think about Deanne’s YouTube channel, where she uploaded a new beauty video each week.
Another wave of sadness threatened to engulf me, but I shoved it away before it could take hold.
I couldn’t think about what had happened to my boss.
Or what would happen if Pharma-Douche found me.
I was here to have fun and relax, and let Scully and Mulder do their jobs.
Portia said the whole town was talking about a promotional gimmick by the resort. What had I gotten myself into?
Just then the ferry sounded its horn again, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Three long, mournful blasts that said we were a big-ass ship and would run over anything that didn’t get out of our way.
Visibility was so poor now that I could barely see George’s carrier at my feet. Mist swirled in front of my face, and when I inhaled, I tasted a little cinnamon on the back of my tongue. We were sailing through that heavy fog bank now.
I glanced around. Where were all the others who’d been out on the deck with me a few minutes ago? Were they still out here somewhere, but the thick fog was making it impossible to see them? They probably had more sense than me and had gone back inside already.
I grabbed George’s carrier and my suitcase, then stumbled blindly toward the doors. Almost immediately, I bashed my shin against something metallic and said a filthy curse under my breath. It really hurt.