WhiteSpace: Season One (Episodes 1-6 of the sci-fi horror serial) (11 page)

Cassidy leaned against the tree, burying her head into the nook of her arm, and started counting loudly. “One ... Two ... You all better run!”

She heard the others take off in every direction.

Cassidy finished counting, then scanned the darkness. The purple sky that wasn’t purple had given way to black, and if it weren’t for the light from the full moon above, she wouldn’t be able to see anything.

“Ready or not, here I come!” she shouted, hoping she’d see Tommy somewhere and end the game quickly. She wasn’t really in a rush to get home. It wasn’t as if their mom would even notice if they were late. She was probably good and drunk by now, asleep in front of the TV. But she didn’t want to hear Sarah whine anymore, either. So it was best to get the game over as fast as possible.

Footsteps slapped the ground behind her, and Cassidy spun around, shocked to see fat Tommy touch the tree and shout “Safe!” wearing a giant grin.

He must’ve been hiding like right behind me or something!
 

She growled at him, then scanned the trees for any sign of the others. Now that Tommy was safe, her next best bet was Eric, or maybe Sarah.
 

She saw a shadow rush past her about 10 yards north. It was Jonny making a break for home base.

Crap, crap!

She had an angle on him, and might be able to catch him if she could move fast enough. It would be pretty awesome to end the night catching the fastest player. She ran, pushing her legs as fast as she could, fire burning through her thighs and calves as she drew closer, three yards away.

Jonny’s eyes widened as he looked back, his tongue sticking out playfully. He sped up, about 10 yards from home base and quickly closing in, laughing.

Now I have to catch him!

Cassidy forced herself to run faster, grunting as she pumped her legs faster, quickly catching up with Jonny, now just three feet away.
 

He was almost at home base.

Cassidy gave herself one extra push, launched forward, hands reaching out, and grabbed Jonny by the shoulders, yanking him down. She was moving too fast to slow down, and rolled over, on top of him, the two of them tumbling through the leaves in a tangled knot.

They rolled to a stop just inches from home base, Cassidy straddling Jonny, who was lying there with his eyes closed. After a few seconds passed, she was certain she’d hurt him. Then his eyes opened and met hers. He opened his mouth with a giant laugh.

“Good God, girl! You playing football?!” he said.
 

Cassidy breathed a sigh of relief and then stood and offered her hands to help him up. He took her hands, and she pulled him up with a big grunt.

“You’re it!” she shouted, beaming proudly, secretly relieved she hadn’t hurt him. She also felt herself blushing a bit, because she was pretty sure that as their eyes met, he saw that she had a crush on him. Of course, he was 11 and she was 10, and he was Jonny Conway and she was just a middle class girl with an alcoholic mother, so there was no way he was gonna actually
like
her.

Jonny dusted himself off and reached toward Cassidy, pulling a twig and leaf from her hair.

“You okay?” he asked, smiling tenderly.

“Yeah,” she said, suddenly shy.

As Eric emerged from the woods, Tommy shouted, “Man, you missed it! Cassidy tackled Jonny big-time!”

“No way!” Eric said. “You got tackled by a girl?!”

“Shut up,” Jonny said, “I bet she’ll knock you down even faster.”

“Yeah, right,” Eric said, looking Cassidy up and down, as if insulted, though she was pretty sure she saw a bit of fear in his eyes.

“We should probably get home,” Eric said.

“Oh, you don’t wanna get tackled by ‘a girl?’” Jonny winked at Cassidy.
 

She laughed.

“No,” Eric said defensively. “It’s just getting dark is all, and I don’t want the girls to get in trouble.”

“Yeah, I need to get home, too,” Tommy said, coughing as he reached into his pants to pull out a pack of Marlboros. Cassidy thought he tried a bit too hard to prove himself cool because he was the youngest kid, but she wasn’t about to put him on the spot if nobody else was.

Cassidy waited to hear what Jonny would say. If he wanted to stay out another hour, she would, too. Even if Sarah didn’t want to.

“Yeah, we should probably head back,” Jonny said. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Cassidy said, agreeing more eagerly than she’d intended. She covered by turning to Eric, “So I can show you up, boy.”

Jonny laughed.

“Hey, where’s Sarah?” Tommy said, taking a puff off his cigarette and coughing again.

Cassidy looked around, surprised. She’d been so caught up in talking with the guys, she’d not realized that Sarah hadn’t come forward, even after it was safe.

“Sarah? It’s safe to come out. I got Jonny!” she yelled.

Nothing but silence.

She better not have gone home without me!

“Sarah?!” Cassidy called out into the darkness.

Her voice was met with a crash of thunder, louder than any thunder Cassidy had ever heard. The sound was so loud that she jumped and bumped into Jonny, and held onto him. As she clung to him, the forest was suddenly alight with an explosion of lightning, bright and repeating like strobe lights, so bright that she had to throw her hands over her eyes.

Then all was dark and silent again. She felt awkward clinging to Jonny, but didn’t let go.

“What was that?” she asked.

Sarah’s sudden scream shattered the silence.

“Sarah?!” Cassidy called, pulling away from Jonny, racing toward the scream.

Jonny joined her, right by her side, then in front of her, calling, “Sarah!”

Behind them, Eric and Tommy followed, and all of them yelled, “Sarah!”

Still no answer.

Cassidy raced as fast as she could to keep up with Jonny, hoping someone wasn’t hurting her sister. She lost sight of Jonny for a moment, then nearly ran into him when he’d stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the ground.

Cassidy’s heart froze as dread flooded her guts. She swallowed hard, then moved closer to see what Jonny was looking at.

Sarah’s clothes were in a heap on the ground, but her sister was nowhere to be found.

* * * *

CHAPTER 1 — Jon Conway Part 1

Hamilton Island, Washington

Thursday
 

September 7

7:07 a.m.

Jon splashed cold water on his face, in attempt to shake off his exhaustion and cool off a raging erection left over from the dream he’d woken from. The last thing Jon needed was to start having sex dreams about Cassidy.
 

Sex dreams about Sarah were normal, regular even. Less frequent than they used to be, but even after a decade removed, she still haunted his dream world. And it was the mornings after those dreams that he woke up most missing her. He still dreamed of everything from slow kisses along Sarah’s long neck, to the rhythm of their personal pushes and grunts. Mostly, he dreamed of their conversations; whispers and laughter, yelling and promises, every regretted word and syllable left unsaid.
 

Despite the twins looking identical to most, there were always subtle differences that you picked up on when you got to know them. Those differences became more pronounced as Cassidy and Sarah’s lives had taken divergent paths and time had exacted its toll. The pink lines on Cassidy’s wrists. The look of defeat in her eyes. The sarcastic curl in her lips.
 

So when Cassidy played host to Jon’s sexual desires in last night’s dream, he was shocked to see her. It didn’t seem right to think such thoughts about Sarah’s sister, as if it would offend the memory of Sarah. Nor did it seem right to Cassidy, to project his unresolved feelings for Sarah, onto her.

Jon woke up hard, guilty, and unwilling to relieve himself.
 

He turned off the faucet and stared in the mirror, more exhausted than he should be, and wondered what it was about the island that made it feel like both home and prison. Perhaps, he considered, there were too many bad memories here. Every familiar sight, sound, and person served as constant reminders, giving the memories so much more weight on native soil.
 

He left the bathroom and turned on the TV, shuddering at the thought of what he might see, with half his attention aimed at the screen and the other half cast on the room service menu, trying to decide what he wanted for breakfast.

Fortunately, there was nothing on the news linking him to Sarah, at least not yet. Just more about the school shooting and the memorial from the day before.
 

Jon tossed the menu on the table, ran his hand through his hair and sighed, feeling like an asshole for thinking everything on the menu sounded like tired beach town crap. He didn’t want cereal or oatmeal or yogurt or smoothies, nor did he want an omelet or pancakes or waffles. He wanted almond crusted French toast with brioche or challah bread, and strawberries. Sure, they’d probably make it for him, but he’d rather just order from the menu than feel like a jerk for the rest of the day for being too demanding.

Just order what you want, man. Don’t always worry what everyone thinks.

Jon picked up the phone and asked if room service made French toast even though it wasn’t on the menu. The man on the other line said, yes, of course. Jon was glad the man didn’t add, “Anything for you, Mr. Conway.” Jon also asked if he could have some strawberries and a small cup of almonds. The man said of course.
 

Good enough.

Jon thanked the man, hung up the phone and waited for his breakfast, trying hard to remember the dreams he’d had before the sex ones. Whatever the dreams had been, they must’ve been awful. He vaguely recalled waking up screaming and seeing his covers clear across the room.
 

Growing up on the island, Jon often had nightmares, though he rarely remembered them. The nightmares were usually coupled with exhaustion and headaches. Just like he was feeling now.

He slept like a baby everywhere else, except, it seemed, on Hamilton Island.

Jon laughed out loud.
Sleeping like a baby
fit the description of his island sleep more than the sleep he usually got. Babies didn’t sleep through the night. They woke up every few hours, often screaming. Jon laughed again, but mid-chuckle thought of the baby who was now nine, and probably his.

The dull ache inside him felt like a scream against the silence of the hotel; his fault for wanting a private floor. That was how it had to be. Jon didn’t want people tiptoeing around him. That was even worse than public fawning.
 

This was the life he chose, and he wasn’t bitching, not even to himself. Jon couldn’t count the number of times he’d been out, wanting nothing more than a moment alone, when a fan started freaking out and screaming, drawing eyes like bees to a hive. Sometimes people played it cool, coming up to him and starting regular conversation about everyday stuff, but nearly every exchange was either about his work, or Hollywood gossip, and Jon didn’t care to talk much about either.

Even that was better than the eyes on the island, where he wasn’t just Jon Conway of
Darkness Everlasting,
but he was also Jon Conway of
The Conways
.
 

There was a light knock on the door, and then a polite exchange with the attendant as he made a small show of setting the food in the middle of Jon’s room. Jon tipped him $20, feeling the usual discomfort, amplified by the island. Jon had never been able to find the
just right
in his tip. Too little felt wrong and too much felt arrogant.

The French toast looked great. Jon took a look, salivated, and got ready to sit. As he did, the hotel phone rang.
 

“Hello?”

A slight pause, then, “Good morning, Mr. Conway. This is Lydia, from downstairs at the front desk. I have a Cassidy Hughes on the line. I tried telling her you weren’t here, but she said she knew you were. She sounds rather upset, and insists that you must speak to her. She said it’s either on the phone now or a few minutes from now in person.”

Jon sighed. “Of course, Lydia,” he said. “And thank you.”
 

Jon used the pregnant silence to shove a piece of French toast in his mouth, quickly chew, then swallow, just as Cassidy tore onto the line.
 

“What the fuck, asshole?”

“Good morning to you, too, Cass.” Jon sank into the chair and stared off the balcony and out at the sea. He was already exhausted, four accusatory words into the conversation.
 

“Don’t bullshit me, dickface, what the fuck did you do with Emma?”

Jon sat straight up in his chair, then launched to his feet. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Maybe 30 seconds of silence, then, “Emma’s missing.”