8. Bella - Sunset
Chapter eight
Bella - Sunset
It happens around six thirty as the day is waning.
One minute the harbor is doing its usual thing—fishing boats coming in, shops closing, people walking home, a couple of kids racing down the street, Finn arguing with someone on the phone about the definition of “urgent”—and the next minute, it’s like someone turns a dial I can’t see.
Voices lower. Doors close. Streets empty. Quiet settles in with a kind of urgency. Footsteps pick up, then stop.
By the time I step out onto the porch with Charlie at my side, the street is nearly empty.
“Okay,” I say, folding my arms against the chill. “This isn’t subtle.”
He sniffs the air once. This island becomes dramatically suspicious at sunset, Bella.
The porch light casts a soft yellow glow over the yard, cutting a small, warm circle out of the gathering dark. Beyond that, the fog presses in, thick and quiet, swallowing the edges of the world.
I unclip Charlie’s leash as he’s been inside all afternoon with the visitors and patients.
He’s gone in a flash of black fur, tearing across the grass like he’s been released into some long-awaited freedom. He loops once around the yard, twice, then skids to a stop near the fence, nose down, investigating something with intense focus.
I step out onto the porch, mug of tea warming my hands, and lean against the railing to watch him play. After a number of runs around the large yard, he comes back to the porch.
Charlie leans against my leg, watching the end of the street with the kind of focus that makes me wish I could borrow his senses for a minute.
“Everyone just … goes inside?” I ask him.
Humans pretend routines are traditions when they’re really survival, he notes.
A gust of wind rolls up from the harbor, carrying the smell of salt and sea. The fog is even thicker now, clinging to the edges of the houses, softening the light from the windows.
“Hey,” I call, stepping down off the porch as I see a man rushing by.
He looks up, surprised, then forces a quick smile. “Doctor,” he says. “You’re settling in okay?”
“Trying to,” I reply, with Charlie at my side. “Everyone seems to be going home, closing up. Is something going on? Is everything okay?”
“Sure. But sunset is coming.”
“No one walks about after? Seems kind of early to retire…” my voice fades out.
He glances toward the bell tower, then back at me. “We keep different hours here on the island,” he says. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I see.”
He huffs a small laugh, but it doesn’t quite land. “You’ll learn the rhythms. Sunset’s a big one.”
“Yeah, the mayor told me about the bell.”
“Then you know,” he says, now moving on.
“I know it rings,” I call after him as he rushes home. “I don’t know why everyone acts like it’s a curfew.”
“You’ve got a patient, don’t you?” he calls back to me.
“Two.”
“Then I’d focus on that. Inside.” And with that, he’s gone.
I look from him to the square, to the empty benches, the empty fishing boats beyond, the darkening shop windows.
“Hmm.” I stand there for a moment, the quiet settling around me.
Charlie’s ears flick. The cavalry, Bella.
From somewhere up the street, a voice calls out, “Doc!”
I turn.
Finn jogs toward me, jacket half-zipped, expression caught between amused and mildly exasperated. “There you are,” he says. “I leave you alone for five minutes and you start interrogating the locals.”
“I asked about the bell.”
“Slippery slope.”
“Because of the bell?”
“Because of the bell,” he agrees.
“And no one’s going to tell me why.”
He considers that. “We like our traditions.”
“I like explanations.”
“Ah,” he says. “There’s your first mistake.”
I cross my arms. “Finn.”
He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, it’s not—” He stops, glancing toward the bell tower. “It’s not a rule, exactly.”
“It feels like one.”
“It’s more like … a suggestion everyone takes seriously. Since times long, long ago. We just learn to always pay attention.”
“That’s not great.”
“Didn’t say it was.”
I study him for a second. “What happens if you don’t obey?”
Finn’s mouth twitches. “You planning to test it on day one?”
“Not intentionally.”
“Then you’re fine,” he says quickly. “Just be inside. Lock the doors. Keep Charlie in.” Charlie perks at hearing his name, as if his job description just got upgraded.
Finally. Someone here understands my importance. The nervous human continues making excellent points, Charlie says.
“I always keep him close,” I say, looking at Charlie.
Good plan, he says quietly. We stay together.
“Good,” says Finn. “Now I have a room on the ground floor ready so I can be there for the patients tonight. You need to settle in, Bella. Relax on your first night here in your new home. Can’t work you so hard you leave, right?”
I smile as he opens the front door. The air shifts in the street. It’s subtle, but I feel it—the way the temperature dips just enough to register, the way the fog seems to press closer.
Finn straightens slightly, eyes flicking to the bell tower.
“Here we go,” he mutters.
The first toll sounds. Low. Deep. It rolls through the square, through the buildings, through me.
Once.
I don’t know why it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
Twice.
Charlie lets out a low sound, almost a whine this time. That’s a warning, Bella. Let’s go in.
Three times.
The sound lingers in the air even after it stops, like an echo that doesn’t quite fade. I feel it in my chest.
“Inside,” Finn says, more firmly. “Now!”
“I’m not a child.”
“No,” he agrees. “But you are new.”
I glance at my windows glowing faintly in the gathering dark.
“Come on,” I say to Charlie. “Let’s go in, boy.”
Already ahead of you, he says as he bounds inside.
At the edge of the porch, I pause, looking back one more time. For a second, I think I see movement at the far end of the street. Something slipping between the buildings, too fast to track.
I blink. Nothing.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I’m officially imagining things.”
I lock the door behind us, then check it again, just to be sure.
“Happy?” I ask Finn.
“Dramatically so,” he laughs as he trots into the exam rooms. “You go on up and have a nice night settling in, doc.”
“I’d prefer to do a last check on the patients first.”
“Overachiever,” Finn mutters.
Silas is awake, propped up slightly, his gaze drifting toward the window like he’s listening for something I can’t hear.
“How’s the patient?” I ask, stepping into the room.
“Still stubborn,” he answers. “I was born stubborn. But the soup was acceptable.”
“I heard that,” Finn calls out.
“Good. Means you’re paying attention.”
I move to the bedside, checking his vitals again. “How do you feel?” I ask.
“Just tired,” he says. “And cold.”
“Your body’s under stress and healing,” I reply. “That’s normal.”
“Don’t feel normal.”
“I’d be worried if you did.”
He huffs a weak laugh, then winces.
I hand him an additional blanket from the cabinet, and adjust it, tucking it more securely around him. “Try to sleep,” I say. “We’ll keep monitoring you. Finn is staying over tonight and will check in. He’ll be near and I’m upstairs if anything drastic happens.”
He nods, eyes already drifting closed again.
I step back, glancing at the tray where I left the blood sample. For a second, I just look at it. Then I pick it up.
Under the lamplight, the same faint sheen catches my eye. I tilt it slightly, watching. There. Just for a heartbeat. A subtle shift in the density, like something within it is moving at a different pace.
“Finn,” I say quietly.
“Yeah?”
“Come look at this.”
He joins me, leaning in. “What am I looking for?”
“Tell me what you see.”
He squints. “Blood.”
“Very astute.”
“I have a gift. It’s my specialty.”
I tilt the vial again.
He frowns. “Huh.”
“Huh?” I echo.
“Huh,” he repeats. “That’s … odd.”
“You see it too.”
“Yeah,” he says softly.
We stand there for a moment, the two of us looking at something neither of us can explain.
From somewhere upstairs in the house, a floorboard creaks. Charlie lifts his head sharply, ears forward, body going rigid.
“What was that?” I ask.
Finn glances toward the hallway. “Old house,” he says.
“That didn’t sound like the house settling.”
“It’s always the house settling,” he replies, just a little too quickly. “All of the houses on the island are like that.”
Charlie takes a step toward the door, then stops, looking back at me. Probably doesn’t want to scare me with his usual comments.
The creak doesn’t come again. Silence settles back in. I set the vial down carefully, my mind already turning over possibilities I don’t like.
“Okay,” I say finally. “We’re not calling it anything yet. We’re not panicking. We’re just… observing.”
“Observing,” Finn repeats. “Medically speaking.”
“That’s the plan. I’ll do tests on it in the morning.”
“Solid plan.”
I glance toward the window. The fog has swallowed most of the street now. The lights from the square are muted, distant.
For a second, I think I see movement again. A shape. Still and watching.
I blink and it’s gone.