Beckoning Spirit (A Romantic Paranormal Short Story) (2 page)

She nodded in response. “Thank you, Mr. Sullivan. I mean, Kipp.”

He began to guide the boat carefully away from the dock. “You haven’t told me your name yet,” he said, not looking at her.

“I’m sorry. I’m Devin Fuller.”

“Do you live in Boothbay?”

“Yes. I rent an apartment across the street from the harbor. And I work at the Ebb Tide.”

“Mmmm. Maybe that’s where I’ve seen you.”

She didn’t think so. She would have remembered such a fine looking fisherman.

Conversation halted as he concentrated on maneuvering past other fishing boats and into the open sea. Out in the open, the small boat chugged out its rhythm as it bounced on the choppy water.

Sinking into the oversized rain jacket like a turtle delving into its shell, Devin pondered the feeling of déjà vu she’d experienced when they touched. He said he felt something, too. Any fool knew it wasn’t static electricity, as she’d suggested. She could tell he didn’t buy her flimsy explanation, but he’d not had an answer himself as to the current that had jumped between them.

The outside temperature dropped quickly in the open air. The next time Devin spoke, blustery wind lifted her voice and carried it like a feather. Kipp either couldn’t hear her or was too preoccupied to respond.

Thirty minutes into the ride, the
Serafina
rose and fell with the foamy waves. Icy water spewed and splashed up over the sides and into the boat. With chattering teeth, Devin drew her knees up to her chest and hooked her arms around them.

Kipp finally glanced her way. Holding the wheel securely with one hand, he reached into the storage bin next to him with the other and yanked out a pair of rubber boots.

“Put these on over your sandals or your feet will freeze.”

She stuttered, “Th…th…thanks.”

“You’re not dressed for this kind of weather,” he yelled.

She hauled the boots over her calves and closed the buttons at the top. Even though the boots were way too large, she was grateful for the leg protection. Her nearly bare feet were drenched and as cold and hard as a frozen mackerel.

“You were right. I should have known better. I left my apartment in a hurry and didn’t dress for foul weather.”

Huddled in the swivel chair, she stared out at the dark blue sea and glimpsed a pair of porpoises springing up from the depths. They weren’t bothered by the nasty weather. Spying them at the same time, Kipp pointed and smiled. Then he turned back to his wheel.

Despite the mind-numbing cold, Devin gazed at the horizon, and her memory drifted to the last time she was on the island.
What connection is there between Grandma’s passing
one year ago and the journey I’m on today?
She wondered.

The past year had been the worst of her life. After her grandmother’s death, her parents split up. Then the man she’d been dating for six months accepted a job offer in California and didn’t invite her. Writer’s block plagued her with a vengeance, and she found it difficult to complete any story. The straw that broke the camel’s back was when her cat ran off. Not coincidentally, the dreams began soon after that last humiliating incident.

Emotionally, Devin had somehow managed all that was thrown her way, but the dreams became a welcome distraction.

She’d never believed in ESP or ghosts before, even though she’d been raised on her grandma’s stories about the spirits who roamed the outer islands. As the dreams intensified, so did the certainty that she was receiving a message from beyond. From whom, she wasn’t sure. What the message was, she had no idea. She hoped to discover answers to both those questions once she reached Monhegan.

Fortunately, during every dream, her grandmother’s strong, comforting presence had wrapped her in a warm cocoon. This reassured Devin it was safe to follow her heart back to the island, despite a continual nagging feeling. What was the true nature and motives of the woman in white? Devin could not fathom who she was or what she wanted. She only knew the woman was bound to both she and her grandma as sure as a package was tied with string.

“How are ya feeling?” Kipp hollered through the wind and drizzle. “Are ya motion sick?”

She shook her head and hollered back, “No motion sickness. I’ve been taking the ferry ever since I was a little girl, and never once been seasick.”

He smiled. “Only the tourists sailing over on day trips tend to get sick.”

“Do you charter a lot of day trips?”

“Some. They help pay the bills.” Before he could elaborate, a rogue wave slammed into the boat. A scream caught silently in Devin’s throat. Kipp twisted the wheel and easily regained control while keeping a steady eye on her.

Wishing time would speed up, she locked her gaze on the bulging sea and prayed they’d get to Monhegan Island before the old boat cracked apart.

The island lay ten miles offshore from the coast of Boothbay Harbor. A picturesque summer haven for artists and vacationers alike—a place that time forgot—the island beckoned nature lovers, photographers, writers, poets, painters, and every other kind of traveler in search of a truly unspoiled hideaway.

On the eastern edge were cliffs that offered awe-inspiring views of the crashing surf below. A hike to the top took one to the lighthouse and the keeper’s house, as well as the neatly manicured cemetery.

In the cemetery rested many strong New Englanders who had considered the island their home. The number of those year-round locals seldom exceeded sixty-five because of its isolation, particularly during the harsh, cold winters, but a handful of old timers had been there fifty years or more. One such old timer had been Devin’s grandmother, who called the island home for fifty-seven years. She had arrived there as a young bride, tending the light with her husband for thirty-five of those years.

Spending every summer with her grandparents, and then with Grandma after Grandpa died, was the highlight of Devin’s growing-up years. She knew the island like the back of her hand. She’d hiked miles of trails through towering evergreens, climbed the steep and rocky ledges of the ocean cliffs, and enjoyed picnics along the shore. She also spent many hours sitting and watching her grandma paint.

Devin smiled at the memory. Amelia Fuller had been a talented painter. Most mornings would find her setting up her easel along the shoreline, painting beautiful landscapes of the flora and fauna. She painted the crashing waves and rocky cliffs, and even the fishing boats and lobster fishermen who sailed in from the mainland. She’d been an inspiration to Devin, who had her own creative ambitions of becoming a writer.

A dull pain pulsed in her heart as she remembered the night her grandmother succumbed to pneumonia. She had remained at Grandma’s bedside for two days and nights. With the end near, Grandma had fallen unconscious, and her pulse barely throbbed. The country doctor had declared her gone when suddenly her eyes flew open and she grasped Devin’s hand. Clear as a bell, Amelia whispered, “Follow your dreams, child. They will lead you to love.”

It was strange how she’d completely forgotten those final prophetic words until now.
Follow your dreams. They will lead you to love
. What had her grandma meant? Had she foresaw the future on her deathbed?

Devin glanced at the handsome fisherman at the wheel. Did Kipp Sullivan play a role in those dreams, or with the love Grandma spoke of? He seemed so familiar. Yet she was sure they’d never met before. Illogical, yes, but it felt like they were connected in some way.

“Who’s sick?” he asked, raising his voice above wind that howled like wolves.

His voice dissolved her memories. She snapped back to the here and now where rolling waves pitched the
Serafina
from side to side. Devin gripped her chair with white knuckles.

Her response was shaky. “Sick? You asked me a while ago if I was seasick.”

“Not that. Back at the harbor ya told the man in the ticket booth that ya had to get to the island today because of a medical emergency.”

The recollection of her fib sent heat creeping into her cheeks. “Ah, yes. My sick relative.” She hated to admit she’d lied, but there didn’t appear to be any way around it. “I made that up. I was desperate to get on the ferry and thought the man in the booth could speak to the captain who might take pity on me. Obviously it didn’t work.”

Kipp’s open smile reassured her. “That proves you’re a woman who will try anything to get what she wants. I guess you’re just not a good enough liar.”

“Guess not.”

“So, why are ya paying me seventy-five dollars to ferry you over in this God-awful weather? What’s so important it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

Before she could answer, another wave rose out of the ocean like a phoenix. Kipp cranked the wheel but was unable to avoid smashing into it. The impact was similar to hitting a brick wall. Devin slipped off the seat. Landing on her knees, she seized the chair and held on for dear life. In their hurry to board, she’d forgotten to ask for a life jacket. Her cold hands slipped from around the chair and she felt herself start to slide.

With one firm grip on the wheel, Kipp stretched out his other arm. “Take my hand!” His eyes flashed with authority.

She grabbed for his hand and then managed to scramble to her feet and lunge toward him. After flinging herself into his protective arms, she buried her face in his shoulder and clung tightly when another column of water crashed into the boat, spraying them both with frigid sea and salt.

“Awesome!” Kipp squeezed her and laughed like a jackal.

She could have flown over the side of the boat if not for his quick reflexes. A tiny moan escaped her throat.

“Are ya okay?” he asked.

She nodded, unable to find her voice for a moment.

“Are ya sure? You look a bit peaked.”

She blew ten pounds of pressure from her lungs. “I just saw my life flash before my eyes is all.”

He chuckled again. “You’re safe with me, and we’re almost to our destination.”

Kipp’s confidence was attractive. When she assured him she was okay, he removed his arm and returned his focus to steering the fishing boat through the rough water. Standing beside him for the remainder of the trip, no more words were uttered, but he grinned at her every once in a while.

What was the connection to this man? Why did it seem to be destiny that they meet today, of all days? How could she explain her quivering heart and raging hormones when he stared at her? Things like this only happened in the romance stories she wrote. Didn’t they?

When the
Serafina
finally docked on the island’s shore one and a half hours after leaving Boothbay, the storm had been left behind on the sea. The sky above Monhegan was thick with clouds, but the rain had not arrived yet.

Devin was more than anxious to get her land legs back. She slipped off the big rubber boots and disembarked.

After plodding up a dirt road, she waited under the shelter of a tin-roofed shack and watched Kipp secure his boat to the dock. When he joined her a few moments later, she handed him seventy-five dollars.

“Thank you for bringing me over. What time should we meet back down here?”

“Have ya lost your mind, girl? Ya don’t think we’re going back tonight, do ya?”

Her eyes enlarged. “Well, yes, I do. I didn’t expect to be staying. I didn’t bring a bag or a change of clothes. The rain hasn’t even come. Maybe the storm will bypass the island.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to do with what ya have on,” Kipp stated. “That storm
is
coming and it’s moving fast. It’ll hit Monhegan within the hour. Have ya got a place to stay? A relative or a friend to bunk with?”

She peered into the sky. The sun was trying to peek out from behind a gray cloud. “I still think there’s a chance it’s going to pass over us,” she said with hope.

“Nope. I know what I’m talking about. We’re not going back onto the boat.” He stared at her with steely determination, and she realized there would be no more discussion about it.

“In that case, I’ll get a room at the Island Inn,” she said.

“You’ll be lucky if there’s availability this time of year.”

“Hopefully, there will be something. If not, I guess I’ll sleep on a sofa in the lobby.”

His mouth tipped in a crooked smile. “I might be sharing that sofa with you if they don’t have two extra rooms. Would you mind?”

She felt a blush creep up her neck. Behind his plum-colored eyes smoldered a man who had awakened a hunger inside Devin.

 “Maybe we should register before doing anything else,” he suggested.

She cleared her throat. “I’ll register later. If you’ll excuse me, I really need to be on my way. I want to visit the cemetery before the rain starts. Maybe I’ll see you later.”

“I hope so.”

After tossing him a wave goodbye, she started the trudge up the steep dirt hill that led to the cemetery and long-abandoned lighthouse. Feeling his stare between her shoulder blades, she turned and indeed found Kipp still standing at the bottom of the hill. He grinned like a Cheshire cat.

“What’s funny?” she asked.

“You.” He pointed at her feet. “Don’t tell me you’re going to walk to the top in those water-logged sandals.”

Devin peered down. True, they did slosh with each step and were probably ruined. But she had no option except to walk in bare feet, and the terrain was rocky. She ignored Kipp’s deep, masculine laugh and playfully blew him a kiss.

Having no idea how long he continued to watch her, she quelled the urge to look over her shoulder. Maybe he’d turn out to be just another dream that might disappear. That was a thought she couldn’t bear.

When she made it to the top, a hand fluttered to her chest. It took a moment for her to catch her breath. Standing on the crest of the hill overlooking the village below, she inhaled and exhaled slowly.

Small cottages with backyard gardens of flowers and vegetables dotted the hilly landscape. In the harbor, she spotted the
Serafina
, as well as another, sleeker fishing boat that must have pulled in after them. Devin could even see a painter along the rocky shore, standing at his easel with brush and paint board in hand, seemingly oblivious to the storm brewing.