Firefly Beach (22 page)

In the beginning, he asked himself why. Why did she leave? And then, why did she not return? What had he done that was so offensive that she would choose to purge him from her life forever? It was no coincidence the drifter left only a few days before Katherine disappeared. Obviously, she had run away with him. What was his name? Rod didn’t like to think of it. It stirred a rage he did not wish to confront. Damn that worthless punk for taking his daughter away.

He had only tried to protect her. When his wife, Lucille, had died of pneumonia at the age of twenty-seven, he vowed that he would never let anything happen to Katherine. He had not taken care of Lucille. He hadn’t seen the symptoms; thus he hadn’t brought her to the doctor in time. She had always been so strong; he didn’t realize how sick she was. He never forgave himself for not being more attentive. He could not bring Lucille back, but in her honor he would protect Katherine no matter what the cost.

No matter what the cost.

The cost was too much to bear. If he had been a little more lenient, would she have stayed? Would she have at least come back when the flash of anger and hormones faded? Was she so afraid of him that she dared not return? He wished that he could tell her not to be afraid, that he would understand. But it was too late.

Rod pulled his car up the drive. He entered his home and locked the door. He did not wish to be disturbed, especially by that intrusive Beth LaMonte. He had no room for people in his life. People had let him down. He preferred to be alone.

He had long since learned to ignore the voices that attempted to remind him of his vow to never become as broken as his father. It wasn’t the same. Samuel Thompson abandoned his family, abruptly and without recourse. Rod Thompson, on the other hand, remained, in body even if not in spirit. Should she ever need him, he would be there for Katherine.

He closed the curtains and turned on the television. He allowed the noise to silence his thoughts.

Chapter 22

Look Out For Loons

Beth paced the hotel room waiting for the light of day. She was showered and her bags were packed. As soon as the sun was barely visible, she checked out and jumped into her car. She headed out of town, taking Interstate 95 South.

Beth scanned the roadside obsessively. “It’s too populated here,” she mumbled, getting off the freeway. She headed back toward Bangor, going north, but she cut off at Interstate 395. She continued southeast until she reached Highway 1A. There, she drove off and on the highway, taking side streets and county roads. At one point, she pulled off and put her head on the steering wheel. “This isn’t working,” she growled in frustration. “There is no reason Katherine would have taken this route.”

Nevertheless, Beth pulled back onto the road, slowing down and craning her neck at every possible side street. She became progressively discouraged with each mile. She was about to drive through East Holden, when something made her turn around. A road led southwest out of town. Her neck tingled slightly.

“This is it,” she whispered. Something about the area was familiar. It felt like her nightmare. Her heart pounded as she drove slowly, examining the woods carefully. She passed Dedham and another junction, but she continued south, scanning the forest. Past a lake and a quarry, she drove south, searching. Then, she saw it. She slammed on the brakes and stopped in the middle of the road. There it was, clear as day – a trio of trees in a curious pattern and a sign that might appear like a duck to someone unacquainted with the species.

Look Out For Loons,
it read.

Beth stepped out of her car and walked toward the sign. She looked along the side of the slope that dropped off behind the three trees. About fifty feet downhill, new trees, broken branches, and the density of the forest blocked her view. It was identical to the hillside in her dream. Beth felt the blood drain out of her face. She backed up, slowly, toward the car. She fumbled with her hands behind her back. When she found the car door, she got in as quickly as possible and sped away.

The fear associated with the nightmare flooded her brain. Waves of anxiety and flashes of images impaired her driving. She saw a small tackle shop about five miles down the road from the loons sign. She pulled off and parked in front of the store. After she took a few minutes to compose herself, she got out of the car and entered the shop. Beth felt a desperate need for human company to alleviate her fear. No imaginary creatures or nightmares, just a friendly smile.

She was rewarded when she stepped into the store. A young woman in her mid-thirties sat behind the counter reading a book. She looked up when Beth walked in and grinned.

“Good morning,” she said. “Are you doing a little fishing today?”

“Oh, no, not today.” Beth saw a coffee machine and some pre-packaged pastries near the counter. “I just need a cup of coffee.”

“Coming right up,” the young woman said cheerfully.

Beth rubbed the back of her neck and turned her head from side to side, stretching the muscles. As she rolled her head in a circle, her eyes passed over the ceiling of the shop. She gasped. “Oh my God.”

The store clerk’s face creased in alarm. “Are you all right?”

Along the ceiling several configurations of rubber ducks hung from hooks. Each group included a large duck followed by three smaller ducks, strung together with fishing line or some kind of thick thread. Beth just pointed at them.

“You like my ducks?” the young woman said, her face shifting from concern to puzzled amusement.

“Sorry,” Beth replied, blushing. “It’s just that they reminded me of…” Her voice trailed away.

“My father made them. I had a set when I was a child. They actually floated upright in a line,” she explained. “When my father passed away, I tried to make more. But the rubber ducks coming out of China these days don’t float upright.” She laughed. “So they all flip over on their backs. They were ridiculous. I can’t bring myself to sell these few that are left, so they are just for decoration.”

Beth shook her head. Rubber ducks out in the middle of nowhere.
Nothing should surprise me now.

The young woman smiled. “I’m Cindy,” she said, extending her hand.

“Beth. Nice to meet you.”

She handed Beth a Styrofoam cup of coffee. One table with a red-checkered tablecloth and two chairs sat near a window in the front right corner of the store. Beth sat, drank her coffee, and tried to sort through the thoughts and images that flooded her brain.

Let’s take inventory,
Beth thought, gazing absentmindedly at the highway.
Glowing supernatural creature, reoccurring nightmares of an actual place I’ve never seen before, and a young mother vanishing into thin air thirty-five years ago.
Ideas she would have scoffed at only a month ago tumbled around in her head, each competing for her attention. She knew she needed to go down the side of that hill. But it was dense and intimidating. Besides, she was afraid.
What if I don’t like what I find down there?

I need help. But who can I trust? Mary will have the whole town buzzing, questioning my sanity.
She considered how, exactly, she would tell someone why she needed to go, and which details she should include or leave out.
Who in their right mind would agree to climb down there?

Suddenly, she jumped up, practically knocking down the chair. She steadied it, threw Cindy an apologetic glance, and headed for the door. “I’ve got to run.”

“Bye,” Cindy replied, trying to hide a bemused smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Beth hollered as she exited the store.

* * * *

Kenny McLeary was studying a diamond under a jeweler’s loupe at a little after 9:00 a.m. when Beth LaMonte burst through the door.

“I need your help,” she cried, her voice filled with anxiety and urgency.

Kenny crossed to the gate, which separated the back of the store from the customer waiting area, and he met Beth near the couch. His shirt wrinkled and his hair a bit disheveled, he stared at Beth with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Listen. I need your help. I have to search through a dense incline on Highway 46 a little over two hours’ drive north. I really want someone to accompany me.” Beth tried to slow her breathing. “You like to hike, right?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Kenny, I don’t know who else I can trust.”

Kenny gazed at her with a frightening intensity. He seemed somehow moved by her declaration. Beth waited several minutes, fidgeting and wondering if she should just depart. Finally, Kenny motioned for her to sit down on the couch. “Tell me what this is all about,” he said quietly.

Beth took a deep breath and sat down. She had hoped he would be receptive. But, in truth, she wasn’t entirely certain if he would offer help or simply give her one of his standard, unresponsive shrugs. She was pleased and relieved that he was open to her request.

“This is going to sound weird,” she began.

“I won’t belittle you.”

“And you can’t tell anyone. Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Do I strike you as the kind of guy who runs around spreading gossip?”

Beth smiled. “That is why I came to you.”

“Go on.”

Beth paused briefly. She considered leaving out several of the outrageous details. Who would believe them? If she focused on the dream and the road, Kenny would probably help her, no questions asked. But there was a part of her that wanted to share the entire story. No, a part of her
needed
to share that story, to release all of the secrets that had kept her a prisoner for two weeks. Those bizarre, disquieting secrets could no longer be contained.

Beth sighed. “When I first moved into the cottage, I saw a firefly.” Over the course of nearly an hour, she relayed in detail her experiences and discoveries – the secret beach, the diary, the nightmares, her interactions with Rod Thompson, the Internet sleuthing, and her visit to Bangor. She left out most of the personal stuff – her father’s accident, the rubber ducks, the painting, and the depth of her fear.

“Are you ready to write me off as a nut case yet?” Beth asked.

“I’m not entirely sure what to think,” Kenny responded with a hint of a smile. “But I’m comfortable that you’re being honest with me, that you believe you saw and experienced the things you’re telling me.”

Beth looked at him with a peculiar expression.

“What?”

“There is a lot more to you than the man who sulks silently behind that wall,” she said, gesturing to the counter. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Thank you.” He looked amused. “I take to heart any psychological advice I can get from women who talk with floating balls of light.”

Beth put her head in her hands and laughed uncomfortably. “Touché.”

“I’m rather impressed with your resourceful detective skills. You’ve got my attention,” he noted. “So what is special about that road?”

“Early this morning, I had another one of those nightmares where I am flying along a road and a car collides with me.”

“Okay…”

“This time the details of the road seemed…crisper. I could really see the outline of the trees and the foliage on the slope. And just before the collision I saw a sign with a duck on it and there were three trees shaped like this.” She held up three fingers, trying to recreate the positions of the trees. She looked at Kenny and realized that her account probably seemed like one of those
let me tell you about my dream
narratives. Before, she had only briefly mentioned the car collision dreams. Now she was going into tedious detail. It was the kind of story that normally caused people’s eyes to roll, but Kenny did not roll his eyes. Either he was extremely polite or he was truly interested.

“The thing is, Kenny, driving home, I found that very place on highway 46. It was
exactly
like in my dream.”

Kenny raised his eyebrows.

“Only the duck was really a loon,” Beth explained.

He smirked.

“I mean…not
crazy
but a
loon,
the bird, you know? Oh, never mind, this whole thing is ridiculous.”

Kenny tapped his fingers together. He seemed deep in thought.

“Is it possible?” Beth asked him hopefully. “Is it possible I’m not crazy and that something is really going on here? That maybe Katherine had an accident on that road? I would never have believed any of this a month ago, this nonsense about psychic dreams, but I don’t know what to think anymore. And I
have
to go down there. I have to know. Do you understand? Does any of my rambling make sense to you?”

Kenny smiled. It reminded her of that day when she caught him laughing with Abigail on the porch of
The Virginia Point Cove.
She felt honored that he finally trusted her enough to smile in her presence.

“Believe or not,” he said, “It makes enough sense to stir my curiosity. Let’s go see what’s there.” He stood up. “Do you want me to drive?”

Beth was relieved. She nodded her head enthusiastically. “Actually, that would be wonderful.”

A little over two hours later, they were standing by the
Look Out For Loons
sign, staring down the incline and into the forest. Beth looked up at Kenny, her eyes noticeably apprehensive.

“Damn. We should have brought a flashlight,” she said.

“Never fear. I’m always prepared.” He retrieved a large Coleman camping flashlight from the trunk of his car. “Follow my lead,” Kenny instructed. And step-by-step they traversed the woodland.

Beth was glad she wore full-length jeans. After half an hour of negotiating the slippery moss-covered rocks and low hanging tree limbs, her arms were badly scratched. When she reached the area where the incline flattened out, she gazed at her surroundings. If anything were there, it would take a search crew to find it. Vegetation, dead leaves, and broken limbs covered everything.

Beth sat down on a log in defeat.

“We can still take a look,” Kenny said, reading her thoughts. “If this theoretical crash happened thirty-five years ago, there is going to be very little left of it,” he reminded her. “You knew that, didn’t you?”