The Drifter (7 page)

For a long time she stood by the door and even wished Andy was with her again—talking, laughing, smiling that mischievous smile—anything to break the awful stillness of the house.

“
I will not listen to Nora's stories ever, ever again.…
”

But Andy hadn't been in the attic last night—hadn't seen the dripping walls … hadn't seen that horrible thing floating there in the fog …

“Stop,” Carolyn whispered. “It was just a dream.”

She shuddered and turned around. Nora was standing right behind her, and as Carolyn stifled a scream, the woman turned and disappeared into the darkness of the hall.

“Andy!”

Flinging open the door, Carolyn ran out onto the porch, frantically searching the drive and the narrow dirt road that led back to the village.

Not a soul in sight.

Nothing to break the desolation that stretched endlessly around her.

Carolyn gritted her teeth against the wind. Then she ducked her head and hurried away from the house.

The fog was beginning to lift. Somewhere beyond the gray scudding clouds, a faint glow of sun was burning off the last few hours of morning, and Carolyn scanned the horizon with hopeful eyes. Mist clung to her cheeks and lashes, wetting her hair to her face. The sound of the sea echoed like thunder all around her, and she could taste salt in the air.

“
She keeps watch for him … and he searches for her
…”

“
It's a house for the dead … not the living
…”

Carolyn stumbled, catching herself before she fell. Just ahead she could see a break in the fog, and she hurried toward it.

And then without warning, the voice came.

“
Maaaatthewwwww
…”

Carolyn froze, her heart lurching into her throat.

A voice?

Or only the wind?

It came once, but did not come again. It floated from nowhere, from fog and from shadows—a deep voice, choked thick with water, a voice that held both rage and unmistakable terror.

It was the most horrible, most unearthly sound she had ever heard.

“Who's there!” she screamed.

The wind whipped her words away, almost before they were spoken.
I will not listen to Nora's stories
—
I will not listen
—

She pushed her way through the fog, when suddenly her foot began to slide. Scrambling for balance, Carolyn teetered forward and saw the edge of the cliff beneath her shoes.

The earth shifted and crumbled.

In desperation Carolyn flung herself backward onto solid ground and lay there, gasping for breath.

One more step
…

One more step and she would have walked off into nothingness.

Shaking violently, Carolyn craned her neck forward to get a better view. Far below, jagged rocks gleamed black and wet with foam, rising up from crashing waves and shadowy pockets of sand. Gulls shrieked and circled overhead, and like silent sentinels, more outcroppings of deadly rocks camouflaged themselves beneath the tumbling rush of the sea.

It took several minutes to calm herself down … several more before she remembered the voice.

“
They call out their own names when they want the help of the living
…”

Carolyn got to her feet and gazed at the scenery around her. She could see the hazy sky and the endless cliffs and the ocean going on and on forever.…

“I imagined it,” she said fiercely. “It was just the wind … just the birds.”

The gulls screamed in reply, mimicking her, going round and round in slow, maddening circles.

Carolyn stood there, gazing down, down on the wide, curving beach. Her heart had slowed to its normal rhythm again, and she slowly unclenched her hands.

There was a way down—she could see it now, just barely—a crude sort of path carved into the adjacent cliff wall. She followed it with her eyes all the way to the bottom, where it finally gave out onto a little cove.

I can't keep being afraid of this place if I'm going to have to live here
.

Everything could be easily explained, if she just took time to think it all through. She still had Nora's ghost stories on the brain. She hadn't been watching where she was going, even though Nora had warned her about the cliffs.

Again Carolyn forced herself to look down at the cove.
Is that where Nora found Hazel? Is that where Captain Glanton and his whole crew drowned?

“
It was a knife he took … and chopped off the captain's hand.…
”

Carolyn closed her eyes, and for one moment she actually thought she could see it—just how it had happened that horrible night. The handsome young captain half drowned, clinging desperately to the slippery rocks, one arm wounded, and the other arm—his stronger arm—stretched out to the one person he believed would help him. Of course he couldn't have known. Of course he couldn't have suspected that the one man who could save him wanted him dead. And so Matthew Glanton had reached out to a stranger—and there had been one dull blow—and at first he probably hadn't even realized what was happening as he lost his hold on the rocks … as he slipped back into the churning waves for the last time.…

Carolyn opened her eyes. There were tears on her cheeks, and she wiped them away.
What's the matter with you
—
you are so pathetic!

She began walking farther along the cliffs, trying to peer into the shadows and hidden places far below. Andy had said that nobody ever came out to this end of the island, and now she could certainly understand why.

“No self-respecting ghost would be caught dead in a gloomy place like this,” Carolyn whispered to herself, and laughed softly at her own joke.

Then suddenly she saw him.

And at first she tried to tell herself it was just a trick of the light—some feeble ray of sunshine reflecting off the dull sheen of the sea, wavering ghostlike among the misshapen rocks and chunks of driftwood scattered across the sand.…

Carolyn blinked her eyes and squinted, trying to focus in on the silent, distant figure in the shadows.

She'd seen it once before.

Outside the window, and only last evening …

Her breath caught in her throat. A slow, icy chill crept through her, and her heart hammered out of control.

You're imagining things again! There's no one there!

Yet every nerve screamed inside her, every instinct told her to turn, to run, as hidden eyes—
human eyes
—watched her from below.

“No,” Carolyn whispered to herself, and then louder, “
No!
” and she
did
turn then, and she ran, away from the cliffs where the invisible eyes couldn't follow. She ran faster, and she kept looking back over her shoulder, but there was nobody there—
nothing!
—only the desolate cliffs and the hazy sky and the mournful call of the sea.

She pounded up the front steps and into the house, slamming the door behind her. And then she leaned against it and shut her eyes, her whole body shaking with deep, ragged breaths.

She didn't notice the movement in the corner.

Didn't realize anything was even wrong until the tall shadow pulled itself from the gloom and moved noiselessly toward her across the floor.

Carolyn saw his stare—the gleam of his eyes—but she couldn't scream, couldn't even move, as his hand lifted slowly to her arm.

His touch was as cold as ice.

As cold as death itself.

“I need a room,” the stranger said softly. “I'll be staying awhile.”

8

C
AROLYN KNEW HER MOUTH WAS OPEN
—
COULD FEEL THE
scream lodged there at the back of her throat—but she couldn't seem to do anything—move, breathe—or even answer. Instead every sense was focused in sharply on the tall, dark-haired stranger standing before her.

His shoulders were broad, his body lean but well-built. He wore a sleeveless vest with no shirt underneath, and there was a skull tattooed over one tanned bicep. A tiny gold hoop hung from his left ear. His jeans were tight, his hair long and wavy, and dark brows drew low over the blackest, most piercing eyes Carolyn had ever seen.

In some remote part of her brain she felt the front door pushing against her. The next second, it shoved her forward and Mrs. Baxter stumbled into the room, catching her balance as she glanced from Carolyn to the young man and back again.

“Hello,” she said pleasantly. “Carolyn, why on earth didn't you help with the door—didn't you hear me yelling?”

Carolyn simply stared.

“Mom—” she said hoarsely, but Mrs. Baxter was already shrugging out of her jacket, unwinding the scarf from her head. She walked over and took the stranger's hand, pumping it warmly.

“Hi there, I'm Merriam Baxter—we just moved in. My goodness, you're freezing! Come over here by the fire and get warm—Carolyn, honey, you'll never guess. There's some kind of festival going on in the village this weekend! Isn't that great?”

“Mom,” Carolyn tried again, but her mother didn't hear.

“Are you from the village?” she chattered on, while the young man continued to stand and watch them. “What kind of a festival is it, anyway, do you know?”

“I need a room,” he said quietly, and this time Mrs. Baxter stopped talking and leaned closer, not certain she'd heard him.

“A room?” She sounded bewildered. “Here?
Now?
”

“I don't have any money,” he went on. “But I think we can help each other.”

And they were both staring at him—both Carolyn and her mother—and Mrs. Baxter's mouth dropped open an inch.

“Each other—
how?
” Then she shook her head and laughed. “You'll have to forgive me, I'm a little confused. I thought you said—”

“I heard you needed help around the place.” He made a vague gesture. His fingers were long; his movements graceful. “To get ready for tourists. I can do anything you want. I'll help you get the house in shape if you let me use one of your rooms.”

Mrs. Baxter was looking more bewildered by the second. Beside her, Carolyn shifted and grabbed her mother's arm.

“Uh, Mom—can I talk to you a minute? In
private—
”

“I don't think I got your name.…” Mrs. Baxter began politely, and the young man stepped forward to take her hand.

“Joss,” he answered, and his eyes shifted smoothly to Carolyn … back again to her mother. “Joss Whitcomb.”

“Mr. Whitcomb—”

“Joss.”

“Yes.” Mom nodded and flushed slightly at his handshake. “Well …”

“Mom,” Carolyn said again, but her mother moved toward the fireplace. She stared into the flames, and then she smiled at Joss.

“Are you from the village?”

“Just passing through.”

“How long were you planning to stay?”

“As long as it takes.”

“Mom …” Carolyn said through clenched teeth, but Mrs. Baxter didn't seem to hear.

“You see it, too, don't you?” Mom was positively beaming. “The potential of this old house? What it could be with some loving care? I just
know
it was magnificent in its day. And it can be again, I think.”

Joss smiled and said nothing.

“Well, you look strong enough,” Mrs. Baxter added, “though you could use a little more meat on your bones. When was the last time you ate?”

“Mom—”

“Carolyn, go in and start lunch, why don't you? It must be this awful wind out here—I'm starving, and I know our guest must be, too!”

Carolyn stared helplessly while her mother sat down and motioned Joss to do the same.

“Is this a hobby of yours?” Mrs. Baxter asked him. “Rebuilding old monstrosities?”

A faint smile touched his lips. They were full and perfectly shaped. He wore no beard or mustache, yet a shadow traced along his upper lip and darkened the sharp contours of his chin.

“Let's just say … I admire beautiful things.” Again his eyes shifted to Carolyn, and she quickly looked away.

Mrs. Baxter clapped her hands together. “Oh, how rude of me, I'm so sorry! Joss, this is my daughter, Carolyn.”

Carolyn mumbled a welcome as his steady gaze traveled slowly from her head to her feet. Carolyn found it unsettlingly hypnotic.

“She's going to be a senior this year.” Mom went on before Carolyn could stop her. “We just moved from Ohio—the woman who used to own this house was my great-aunt.”

Joss inclined his head politely.

“I lost my husband not long ago, you see,” Mrs. Baxter said. “So now it's just Carolyn and I.”

“Only the two of you?” Joss repeated slowly.

Oh, Mom, why'd you tell him that
—
why'd you tell him how terribly alone we are
—

“Well … and Nora, of course,” Mrs. Baxter added. “She's our housekeeper. We sort of inherited her from Aunt Hazel.”