“Mister?” I heard a soft voice call. “Hey, mister, are you all right?”
“Is he dead?” another, more distant voice, asked.
“Shut up, Scott. He’s sick or something. Mister?” Someone shook my shoulder.
I opened my eyes a crack. In a haze, I saw three young boys looking down at me. I couldn’t answer. I felt like I was drunk, my head swimming, the image of the boys lost in a blur before me.
“Mister, are you okay?” the boy asked again. He was kneeling on the ground beside me.
I tried to open my mouth, but the words wouldn’t come out.
“Matt, you got your phone?” the boy at my side called.
“Yeah, my mom made me bring it.”
“Call nine-one-one,” the boy told him. “Hold on, mister,” the boy said softly to me. “Help is on the way.”
Chapter 8: Kate
I checked my reflection in the mirror for what seemed like the hundredth time. I’d put on just enough makeup that I didn’t look over-done, but enough to highlight my blue eyes and pink lips. It had been a long time since I had fancied myself up for a night out, even if it was just a night out in Chancellor. I’d tried not to spend the entire day thinking about my date that night. I went to work, ran the store, and closed up without much consequence save Alice’s harping on me to look hot. And I hadn’t even seen Cooper on the beach that dawn or dusk. I tried to keep my nerves at bay, but that grew increasingly impossible as the day wore on. My stomach was swarming with butterflies as eight o’clock approached. But eight o’clock came and went. I shifted in my dress and checked my cell again. Maybe he thought we were going to meet at the store? But he would have found the store closed. He could have walked back to my house by then. Very stupidly, I hadn’t even bothered to ask for his phone number. It was a small town. I figured I knew where to find him if I needed to, but Cooper never struck me as the kind of guy I would need to track down. Maybe I was wrong about that.
I pulled off my heels and flopped down onto my couch, propping my feet on the table.
Stood up, I texted Alice, but I deleted the text before I hit send. It was too humiliating.
Served me right. Looks were deceiving. Surely I knew that better than anyone. Just because he seemed nice, didn’t mean he was nice.
I closed my eyes and tipped my head back. To my surprise, the image of Kadan fluttered through my mind. I remembered his blue-green eyes and how his hair would take on honey-colored highlights in the summertime. He always laughed too loud, making my father frown at him. But I loved him and his barrel chest and his big, protective hands. I loved being crushed by his loving embrace. Kadan, the merman whose body I’d burned because the black sickness had taken him, had been the love of my life. Tears threatened. Careful, Kate. I was kidding myself. There was no love for me on land. There never had been, and I’d been a fool to let myself daydream. I took a deep breath. If I let myself cry, maybe I could join Kadan and my family. I exhaled deeply. Not yet. I grabbed my cell. It was eight forty-five. I rose and slipped on my sneakers. I might have been a fool for having hope, for letting my heart feel something it shouldn’t have for Cooper, but that didn’t mean I was going to let him get away with this.
I grabbed my keys, locked my house, and headed toward the beach. Juniper Lane wasn’t far.
The rocky shoreline crunched under my feet. There was enough moonlight to see where I was going, and I knew the path well. I’d even skipped my evening walk to get ready for the date. It had stormed bad the night before and rained all morning. There was, no doubt, troves of beach glass treasures to be had. The lake always gave up her most precious baubles after a storm, but I’d missed it because I’d been fawning over a man.
I headed down the beach until it met with the path through the woods that emptied out on Juniper Lane. It was a lot darker in the woods than I expected. I pulled out my cell phone. Still no call, no text, no anything. I flipped on the flashlight and headed into the woods. The water in Frog Creek was roaring. The rain last night had been hard and steady, thunder and lightning rolling off the lake. The path was muddy. I flashed my light on the ground. The path was littered with mud puddles. I dodged amongst the trees to miss a puddle but had completely overlooked the root jutting out from the ground. I tripped, barely catching myself against a tree, dropping my cellphone in the process.
“Dammit,” I cursed.
My legs were muddy, my dress rumpled, my make-up fading in the humid air. I was angrier than ever. When I got to Cooper’s house, I was going to give him a piece of my mind.
I bent to pick up the cell phone but noticed the root I’d tripped on wasn’t a root after all. It was a backpack, Cooper’s backpack. I scanned the light all around.
“Cooper?” I called.
The creek roared, but I was alone in the little stretch of woods.
I picked up the waterlogged backpack. It must have sat out all night. Maybe I was wrong. The local kids always came here to fish. Maybe the backpack was theirs. Cooper wouldn’t just forget his painting satchel in the woods. It seemed unlike him, though I was beginning to doubt I knew him very well anyway. Holding my light with one hand and balancing the pack on my knee with the other, I opened the pack and looked inside. Therein was paint, brushes, a cloth, a small jar, and a watercolor tablet sealed in a Ziploc bag. It was Cooper’s pack. I pulled the tablet from the pack, gasping when I saw the image. It was a painting…of me. He had painted me walking along the shore. He’d captured my likeness perfectly.
Okay, now I was really confused.
I stuffed the painting back inside the wet backpack and headed down the lane. I had to dodge through the high grass when I reached the road. The end of Juniper Lane was torn up with large tire ruts. I saw heavy boot prints in the soft, muddy grass leading to and from the woods. Had there been a fishing event? Why had there been so much traffic at the end of Juniper Lane?
I headed around the mud and up the street to the small house that sat on the corner. I remembered seeing Alberta Pearl sitting on the front stoop, her grandmother brushing out her long, dark hair. Alberta’s grandmother, Erica, had lived in Chancellor long enough to notice me and how young I always looked. She always eyed me like she knew there was something different about me. There were a lot of women like her in Chancellor, women who had a keen eye for the otherworld. It was no wonder folktales about witches and faerie people abounded in Chancellor.
The lights were off in the old Pearl residence. I walked up the steps, feeling like I was disrupting the ghosts who lingered there, and knocked on the door.
“Cooper?” I called. My anger had simmered down now that it had married with worry. Even if he did decide to stand me up, he wouldn’t just leave his paint supplies lying in the woods. Something was wrong.