Chapter 3 #2
Someone in the fog chuckled. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full,” a very masculine voice said. “Let me help you, darlin’.”
My cheeks burned with embarrassment. It wasn’t my habit to use such vile language out loud like that. Just in my head. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Watch out for the—” A strong hand gripped my elbow, jerking me to the right, and I gave a little yelp.
George hissed inside his carrier, ticked at being jostled.
The man practically frog-marched me through the fog—a little presumptuous, but I went with it anyway, letting him guide me this way and that.
Better than bashing my other shin, I supposed.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t make out what he looked like. I could tell that he was tall and muscular, though, with broad shoulders. And he smelled good. Fresh and cedar-ish with earthy top notes.
“Is the fog always this thick?” I asked.
“It’s part of the island’s charm,” he said from behind.
I wouldn’t exactly call it charming, but maybe that was what locals told themselves so it didn’t seem quite so oppressive.
“Here we are.” His shoulder brushed mine as he reached out and grabbed a door handle I was just now seeing. I got another faint whiff of his cologne. “After you.”
A wall of warmth hit me as the door opened, and I sighed with relief. I should’ve come inside earlier.
Stepping into the passenger area, I tugged hard on my rolling suitcase to get it over the threshold, remembering how it had gotten stuck on the way out.
Before I could turn to thank my tall, mysterious, incredible-smelling escort, the three girls with the cat-eye contacts shrieked in unison and jostled past me, converging like hungry vultures on fresh roadkill.
And they weren’t the only ones. Others quickly joined the stampede.
Although I held tight to George’s carrier, I lost the grip on my suitcase handle, and it toppled over.
As I bent to retrieve it, I came very close to getting impaled when a woman’s high heel brushed my hand.
Straightening back up, I saw that the man was now surrounded by what appeared to be adoring fans. Was he someone famous? He had to be. No wonder he struck me as slightly pushy. He was used to being fawned over and barking orders to his people.
I wish I had “people.” I’d tell them to take my things and fetch me something to eat.
As I backed away from the crowd, I tried to get a better look to see if I recognized him, but all I caught were glimpses of dark hair and the flash of a movie-star smile.
I wandered around for a few minutes, looking for a window seat, and finally found one at the other end of the ferry.
Although, honestly, what was the point? There was nothing to see through the windows except that impossibly thick, gray fog.
I sure hoped the ferry captain was experienced and knew what he was doing.
A boat could get lost out here. Was there such a thing as a Bermuda Triangle in the Pacific Ocean?
Two nuns were seated in the next booth over and appeared to be having a fairly heated argument. Although I’d never heard nuns arguing before, and I was dying to know why, I thought it would be rude to eavesdrop.
I put on my headphones and ate the yogurt I’d bought from a vending machine, saving the last bite for George. As he licked the plastic spoon, I told him what a good kitty he was. I was glad to see he hadn’t lost his appetite.
When he was done, I propped my feet on the top of his carrier, zoned out to some classic rock, and worked on the crossword puzzle I’d started on the plane. Besides online quizzes, which I was no longer doing—thank you very much—I loved crosswords. But not the New York Times one. Ugh. Way too hard.
As I worked on the puzzle, I decided I was going to make the most of my time on the island, despite being snookered into thinking it was going to be a tropical vacation.
By the time it was over and I went back home, hopefully Scully and Mulder will have wrapped up the case against Pharma-Douche, and I could go back to my regular life.
But would I even have a job if the company’s CEO was in jail? Whatever. I’d worry about that later.
I’d be perfectly fine here, as long as it wasn’t one of those freaky, hedonistic resorts where people ran around naked looking to hook up. Based on the few interactions I’d had with other passengers, I didn’t see any evidence of that.
I glanced at the nuns, who were no longer arguing. One was holding open a tin of mints as the other plucked out several. A peace offering, perhaps.
I was deep in thought, listening to an old Van Halen song and trying to come up with a nine-letter word for lycanthrope weakness, when I was suddenly blinded by brilliant sunlight streaming through the windows.
“Whoa!” My hands shot up to shield my eyes, and I was pretty sure I just drew on my face with my pen.
I ripped off my headphones and heard cheering and clapping erupting around me.
Out of every window, all I could see were brilliant blue skies and ocean.
What had happened to the fog? The weather looked downright balmy.
“Here you go.” A harried-looking ferry worker handed me a pair of free sunglasses that said Darkaway Island on the temples.
“Uh, thanks.” I turned to ask the Sisters in the adjacent booth what the deal was with the weather, but they were gone.
“Welcome to Darkaway Island,” said a voice over the loudspeaker. “Where monsters come to play.” A few more cheers and wolf-whistles erupted around me.
All this hullabaloo over the island’s theme reminded me of a small town we’d driven through when I was a kid and my parents were still married.
My dad had this thing about wanting to visit all the contiguous states by car.
We’d visited three before my parents divorced, but I don’t think the car trips were related.
The town had been decked out like a Bavarian village, which seemed quaint at the time, but I learned later it was just a marketing decision by city planners to attract tourists.
“We’ll be docking in a few minutes,” the voice continued. “On behalf of the entire crew, we truly hope you enjoy your time on Darkaway.”
As soon as he signed off, a Bob Marley song began playing over the speakers. It was an island-ish song about not worrying, which was perfect. I planned to do a lot of non-worrying these next few weeks. I didn’t know all the words, but I found myself humming along anyway.
I caught a glimpse of the view from the front-facing windows and gasped.
A lush green island rose like a jewel in the middle of the ocean, with palm trees waving in the ocean breeze and tall cliffs soaring behind white sandy beaches.
A halo of fluffy clouds hovered over the tip of a craggy mountain.
And above everything stretched that brilliant azure sky.
Maybe Mrs. Baker wasn’t Alzheimerish after all.
We sailed toward the ferry dock under a huge black arch that said Welcome to Darkaway.
The ride had taken only a few hours, which seemed impossible from a geography perspective, but who was I to argue with what I could see with my own two eyes?
Maybe there were rain shadows and pockets of tropicality that I didn’t know about.
I was, however, pretty thrilled to be here, far from the danger back home.
I hurriedly lugged George’s carrier and my rolling suitcase up the stairs with a thunk, thunk, thunk.
The ferry engines reversed momentarily, followed by a gentle jolt as we docked.
Once outside, fragrant island air warmed my sun-starved skin, and I took a deep breath. So many strange and wonderful scents.
Guess this vacation wasn’t going to be a bust after all.
I got in line with the rest of the passengers leaving on foot, trying not to bump George’s carrier against anyone or anything.
We shuffled over a narrow gangplank with safety rails that connected the ferry to the dock, then down a ramp and finally stepped onto the island.
With all the cars streaming off the ferry just a few feet away and people jostling me left and right, I needed to watch my step.
Several dark shadows passed overhead. I glanced up to see what kind of birds would cast such large shadows and was instantly blinded once again by the bright sun.
Blinking a few times to get rid of the black spots dancing in my vision, I realized I should’ve put on the sunglasses the attendant gave me when I had a chance.
Music was coming from the opposite corner of the intersection.
If I had a free hand, I’d have shaded my eyes to get a better look.
But from what I could see, two street musicians in monster costumes were playing a fiddle and a ukulele in front of a candy store.
It took me a moment to recognize The Monster Mash, and I chuckled.
Nice detail, Darkaway Island. Very nice.
Beyond them and to the right was a Ferris wheel and a boardwalk with lots of interesting-looking shops. To the left was a grand hotel on the beach with dozens of the most beautiful kites I’d ever seen.
My breath caught in my throat. Could that be where I was staying?
I couldn’t wait to check in, change into my tankini, and go down to the beach.
I would order a cocktail with an umbrella in it and catch some serious rays.
Or maybe I’d visit the shops first. I hoped the candy store sold saltwater taffy; a bag or two was definitely in my future.
But there was no need to do it all today.
I was here for a month—four glorious weeks—and I’d have plenty of time to explore.
Hearing a commotion behind me, I glanced over my shoulder and instantly froze. The good island vibes I’d been feeling were replaced by sheer terror.
The crowd parted, and three dogs the size of Jon Snow’s dire wolf were charging down the sidewalk. Growling. Teeth bared. Heading straight for George and me.
I scrambled wildly to get out of their way, then screamed as I tripped on the curb and fell into traffic. The screeching sound of car brakes filled the air, and for the second time in less than a week, I wondered if I would die.