Swim Deep - Page 25

Horror and revulsion swallows me up at this point, squeezing out every last sense of identity, of self.

My eyelids fly open (even though they’d been stretched open in horror, wider than they’d ever been in my life, just a microsecond ago). I inhale in a wheeze, as if choking hands had abruptly been removed from my throat.

The room is exactly the way it had just been, in the dream. But the door is shut fast. Evan sleeps silently next to me.

We’re the only two people in the room.

Mentally, I scramble to believe it.

The warm sunlight and the gentle sound of the surf on the rocks far below me diminished the power of the remembered nightmare.

I drifted off to sleep, certain I wouldn’t dream up here, in my special spot.

I awakened to the feeling of warm, dry fingers caressing my cheek.

“Evan?” I mumbled. The touch didn’t feel like Evan’s familiar one. But who else would be touching me so intimately?

When I opened my eyes, I stared for a moment, confused and groggy. Then reality hit. I gave a startled scream and scrambled like a crab on all fours backward on the blanket.

The old woman remained kneeling, her hand still outstretched. Long, lank gray hair fluttered around her narrow shoulders. Her blue eyes appeared filmed over. I had the crazy thought that she saw me, but was also as blind as a bat in this bright sunlight.

“Who are you? What do you want?” I demanded.

“You’re burning,” she said. When I just stared at her uncomprehendingly, she pointed to her nose. “The sun is burning you. Where’s your hat?”

“My hat?”

To my amazement, she gave an exasperated shake of her head. She’d mistaken my bewilderment for backtalk. The tension in my muscles drained out of me. Her irritation had humanized her. This was no apparition, no daytime repeat of my nightmare. She stood up from the blanket. Her clothes—a food-stained pair of light blue pants and a flowered Hawaiian shirt—hung loosely on her frail frame. The buttons on the shirt had been fastened unevenly, so that several inches on one side drooped lower than the other. I realized her shirt wasn’t the only thing about her that was off. A distinct air of madness hung about her. Another suspicion struck me.

No one is taking care of her. And she needs taking care of.

“No one does what I ask,” she muttered bitterly.

“I… wait,” I called when she turned and started to walk away, clearly miffed. Hurt? She stumbled on a stone and veered crookedly for a few steps, straining to keep her feet under her. I got up hastily, compassion and concern spiking through me. She seemed so fragile, so crazy. I reached for her upper arm to steady her. But she’d already found her balance. She looked up at me with those blind-seeming eyes, and again I saw that expression of exhausted annoyance.

“You never wear your hat.”

She shook off my hold and walked away.

I asked Evan about the strange woman when I returned to the house. I found him in his study, as usual, staring at his computer screen with a particularly fierce expression on his face that faded when I called his name.

He listened to my story with polite attention, although I imagined I could almost feel the magnetic draw of his work pulling him back to it.

“Who do you think she was?” I asked him, leaning against his desk.

His gaze roved over me. He gave a small smile. “She was right. You are sunburned, honey.”

“Don’t you scold me as well.”

He put up his hands in a surrender gesture. “There’s a woman who lives down the coast a ways. I imagine it was her.”

“That’s strange. I’ve never seen another house while I was hiking.” His gaze sharpened on me, and I imagined he was about to question me about my solitary walks again. I hurried to deflect him. “You’re not concerned about her coming onto the property?”

“She’s harmless enough. Even when I lived here, she was batty. She has some kind of dementia, I think. Rambled on about the craziest stuff every time I’ve run into her. I’m surprised she’s still alive.”

“Someone should be looking out for her,” I said, irritated on the frail woman’s behalf.

“I don’t think she wanders over here often. I wouldn’t worry about it,” he said, standing and stretching. My focus latched onto his movements, his powerful chest and outstretched arms. I felt his inevitable pull.

Tags: Beth Kery Romance
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