2. Dr. Arabella Russo Sails to Bloodhaven Cove
Chapter two
Dr. Arabella Russo Sails to Bloodhaven Cove
The little ferry smells like diesel and salt that clings to the back of my throat no matter how deep I breathe.
“Bloodhaven Cove?” the man at the ticket counter said when I booked the ticket, like it was something odd.
Like it was a place people don’t usually go.
He didn’t mention that the ferry only runs once a week.
He didn’t mention that the island is very small and mysterious and people go to other islands for the weekend or for holidays.
He definitely didn’t mention the frequent fog.
I lean against the railing and watch the Massachusetts mainland disappear behind us, swallowed slowly by a pale gray curtain that seems to rise up from the water itself. The sky above is clear enough—thin blue, washed out—but everything at sea level is muted. Quiet.
Charlie presses against my leg, warm and solid and very much not muted, his thick black coat gleaming even in this dull light. He noses my hand.
You think too much, Bella, Charlie says, sprawled beside me like a furry king surveying his kingdom. Try optimism. Maybe this island has squirrels.
I glance down at him. “If this entire life change ends with you chasing wildlife into the ocean, I’m returning you.”
Unlikely, he replies calmly. I hate swimming.
Now, before you decide stress finally broke my brain, let me clarify something: my dog talks to me and I talk back.
Or maybe it’s more accurate to say we understand each other.
Charlie has been speaking to me since he was a tiny black Groenendaal puppy I rescued years ago. He doesn’t communicate loudly. No one else hears him. As far as the rest of the world knows, he’s simply an unusually intelligent dog with strong opinions and excellent posture.
But I hear him perfectly.
Always have.
I’ve learned not to mention this to people. The world is surprisingly judgmental about medically licensed professionals who casually converse with their dogs.
And since I’d like to remain respected as a serious physician—
I keep the magic to myself.
Charlie yawns beside me. Coward, he says.
“I heard that.”
You were meant to.
“I know,” I murmur, scratching behind his ears. “Adventure. A new job. A new place. Fresh air. A yard for you, boy. Maybe they do have squirrels. Do islands have squirrels?”
He huffs softly, unconvinced. Hope so. But I’ll believe it when I see it.
I adjust the strap of my bag and glance down at the folder in my hand for what has to be the tenth time. Bloodhaven Cove: Island Doctor Position Filled. Arabella Russo, MD. Housing provided. Immediate start.
Immediate is right.
Three weeks ago, I was still slugging it out at the big hospital. A real one. Odd hours for my shifts, constant noise, constant motion. One of many, blending in.
Then the hospital cut staff. “Restructuring,” they called it. Economic realities due to government policies, insurance changes, budgets, yada yada... My name was on the restructuring list before I even finished my morning coffee.
Since then, it’s been applications, interviews, polite rejections, and a growing sense that maybe my very expensive degree in medicine—and the history minor I once thought made me seem more interesting—had somehow conspired to land me right back at square one.
Medical school was expensive and I’m still paying off the loans.
The truth is, I chose medicine to help people.
To practice actual medicine and make people’s lives better.
I remember how amazing my small-town doctor was when I was growing up.
How he and the nurses did everything for my mom when she was sick.
How they really made a difference in my life and in my little town.
As I searched for jobs, the one on the island popped up. I hadn’t thought of a small practice, but suddenly, it seemed right. Exciting. Be my own boss. Daunting, of course, but the kind of challenge I would like.
My lease was ending soon. Savings were dwindling, school loan payments due. Charlie needed a nice yard to play in. And I looked to my roots, wanting to help people in a small way.
Yes, it seems right. Romantic, even.
A small historic fishing island off the coast. It was big in the whaling days of history. A town desperate for a doctor. A large Victorian house with a clinic attached on the ground floor was mine, not to mention a big yard for my pup.
“A chance to really practice medicine,” the mayor said on the phone, his voice warm and a little too eager. He apologized for not having zoom.
“Well, it does sound interesting,” I remember saying.
“You’ll be needed here, Dr. Russo,” he’d told me. “Not just another face in a big system. People will know your name. You’ll get to know them. You’ll be a valuable member of our community. You’ll make a difference.”
That part … got me.
I look down at Charlie again. “We’re going to be important,” I tell him. “Or at least moderately useful. It’s a step up.”
You are important, Charlie replies. I’m the useful one. He leans harder into me like he always does, giving me support. Charlie is the best dog ever.
The ferry horn sounds—low, long, and almost mournful.
I look up.
At first, I don’t see anything. Just fog, thick and rolling, layered over the water like a living thing. Then, slowly, something darker begins to take shape within it.
Land.
Bloodhaven Cove doesn’t rise dramatically from the ocean.
It emerges. Low at first—rock, scrub, a suggestion of shoreline and a little harbor.
Then it becomes more defined. A cluster of buildings near the harbor, weathered and gray-brown, huddled together like they’ve been standing against the wind for a long time. Little fishing boats.
And above them…
Cliffs.
They cut into the sky in a long, uneven line, dark against the pale backdrop. I can’t see details from here—just the sense of height, of distance, of something set apart.
For a second, I think I see lights up there. Small, faint, too steady to be reflections.
Then the fog shifts and they’re gone.
“Welcome to Bloodhaven Cove,” a voice says beside me.
I turn.
The man standing there is older, late sixties maybe, with a face carved deep by weather and time. His eyes are sharp, though, watching me in a way that feels … assessing.
“First time here?” he asks.
“That obvious?” I try for a smile.
He doesn’t return it.
“You’ve got that look,” he says. “Like you still think you can leave whenever you want.”
I blink. “Well. The ferry does go back, right?”
He glances out toward the water, then back at me. “Next one’s in a week.”
“Oh,” I say quickly. “I just meant—eventually.”
“Eventually,” he repeats, like he’s testing the word.
Charlie watches the fog rolling over the water and listens. This man’s odd, Charlie says with a little sound. Not exactly a growl. I reach down automatically, resting a hand on his head.
“He’s friendly,” I say, because that’s what you say when your dog decides to make sounds.
“Sure he is,” the man replies.
We stand there in silence for a moment, the ferry cutting steadily toward the dock. I can see more of the town now—narrow streets, a few cars, a small cluster of shops near the water, little boats here and there.
It looks normal. Maybe a little worn. A little quieter than I expected. But normal.
“Silas got attacked last night,” the man says suddenly.
I frown. “I’m sorry?”
“Fisherman,” he adds. “Been here longer than most. Knows better than to wander at night.”
A small, cold thread slips through my chest. “Wander where?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just nods toward the dark line of trees further inland, barely visible through the fog.
“The Wilds,” he says finally, the words landing heavier than they should. “You’ll hear about it.”
I follow his gaze. The trees look dense. Old. The kind of forest that swallows light.
“What happened to him?” I ask.
The man shrugs, but it’s too deliberate to be casual. “Not sure.”
“That’s … not very reassuring.”
He almost smiles then.
“Island life isn’t about reassurance,” he says. “It’s about knowing what not to do.”
Humans love saying mysterious things instead of useful things, Charlie says. Is that supposed to be advice or a warning?
“I don’t know,” I answer.
“Excuse me?” the man says.
“Oh nothing,” I murmur.
The ferry slows as it approaches the dock, engines shifting to a lower, grinding hum. I can see people gathering now—waiting, watching. A few wave. Most don’t.
“You’ll be the new doctor, then?” the man asks.
I nod. “Arabella Russo.”
“Mayor’ll be happy,” he replies. “Town’s been needing one.”
There’s something in the way he says it that makes my stomach tighten.
“Good,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say. “That’s kind of why I’m here.”
“Mmm.” He looks at Charlie. “Dog’s going to like it. Plenty of room to run. Nice yard behind your new house.”
“I see. That’s good.”
“Just keep him out of The Wilds. That part of land outside of town before you go up to The Cliffs. Avoid the forest, doc.”
Charlie lifts his head slowly. That man smells nervous. It’s all over him.
I force a light laugh. “He’s a city dog. He barely trusts pigeons. I think the forest is safe.”
The man’s gaze lifts to mine again, steady and unreadable.
“It isn’t,” he says quietly.
Before I can respond, the ferry jolts gently against the dock. Lines are thrown and secured. The ramp begins to lower with a metallic clang that echoes across the water.
Movement picks up around us. The few people on board gather their bags, call to each other, start to exit.
I tighten my grip on Charlie’s leash and take a step forward. I look back towards the mainland, which is now far away, but I thought I would be able to see it. No, it’s swallowed completely by fog.
For a moment, I think it’s odd. Daytime fog like this.
Then I square my shoulders, adjust my bag, and step toward the ramp with Charlie.
Fresh start.
New job. New town. A place where I can actually make a difference.
“Come on, Charlie,” I murmur.
As we step off the ferry at Hunt’s Harbor, the main town of Bloodhaven Cove, I feel it—not a sound, not a movement, just a change in the air. Like something has noticed we’ve arrived.
Charlie’s ears twitch toward the town. This place has lots of secrets, he says.