His chest heaved. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have done that—what I did—” the words stumbled away from him, and I laid a hand over his arm to stop him.
“What you did was the most human thing you’ve done since I met you.”
Stone’s eyes met mine, and they held a nightly rainstorm that was magnetic.
He didn’t say anything. He only stared at me.
I felt like I was drugged and coming down from a high. Time moved faster. Everything around me was no longer blurry but rough, dull. Concrete. “What time is it?”
Stone cast his gaze out the window, and mine followed.
The sky was nothing more than a sheet of dark gray. Any hint of light had moved to the west behind Norse Woods’ trees.
“I have to go,” I said in haste, shoving fresh bandages into the bag. In my peripheral view, Stone adjusted himself against the wall, exhaling a jagged breath. “This should take care of that infection. There’re toiletries in the bag. Toothbrush and such. Water bottles, vanilla cola, coffee, lunch meat, snacks and fruit to hold you over, too. Please don’t be stubborn and just eat. You’ll need the strength to fight off the infection.”
A dreadful blue hue scalloped under his heavily hooded eyes when I looked back at him. Like the ocean was slowly stealing him back.
“When will I see you again?” he asked me.
I stood and clutched my necklace against my chest, unable to look at him. My gaze touched every surface except him. The brick wall on the other side, the giant pillar climbing up the middle of the room, antique furniture, cobwebs, and coastal oil paintings. Everywhere except him.
“I don’t know,” was all I managed to say. My heart and mind were at war. After that kiss and what he’d revealed about his mother, the last thing I wanted was to leave him alone with an infected wound, but I didn’t have a choice. I had to believe that he would be all right.
Stone cleared his throat, capturing my attention. “It would be wise to stay until the snow stops.”
“It would be wise not to underestimate what I’m capable of.” I tried to mask the worry in my voice, but it was no use.
I didn’t allow him another word. The old wood flooring let out a protesting creak under my panicked footsteps as I rushed to the door.
I flew down the lighthouse steps and sprinted through snow and wind back to the jon boat, still feeling his eyes on me.
When I glanced back, Stone was standing on the other side of a foggy window, watching me go. He was hurt, his wound was infected, and he still got up to watch me go.
I didn’t know what this meant exactly, but it had to mean something.
The boat bobbed on the frothy shore, and I swung one leg into it, then the other.
After pulling up the anchor, I started the engine, and the boat whipped on its stern, the bow pointing to pewter gray skies. The sea was ferocious, with waves crashing into the tiny boat and water pooling at my feet. The icy winds sliced into me, but I didn’t care. My eyes fell into the distance, arresting to Weeping Hollow’s border, where a lonesome cliff, both somber and savage, lay ahead. It was a deceivingly beautiful view attached to my beloved black sea. At what point did the town I’d do anything for become so heavy?
I looked back over my shoulder.
Stone was still standing at the window, arms at his sides.
His expression was frozen like a picture, and I watched him until the speck of him faded away.
* * *
The Daily Hollow
Remember The Fallen
Article by Geneva King
Six days left until the Beaver Moon. If the Shadows are not stopped, death will follow us into the chilling month of December. After four weeks, The Order is at a loss for words as to why this is happening to our home of Weeping Hollow. Word has spread, some believing it could be because the Heathens broke their curse. The two events happening close together cannot be a coincidence. We have lost more of our neighbors, the latest, Jacob Taylor from the eastside, who was only twenty-two years of age and on the brink of initiation into Sacred Sea. These were not only neighbors but friends, family, and loved ones. There is no pattern. It is only during the horrific night, which lasts for eighteen hours that these killings occur. We still don’t know the motives behind the Shadows. So far, each victim seems to be chosen at random. Our victims include those of different classes, sex, and races. The Shadows are serial killers without a particular appetite, and they are serial killers without remorse. In my opinion, this is the worst kind of killer imaginable. And I say this because anyone could be next. In the meantime, we will hold a memorial in Town Square, where you can pay your respects.
Rest in peace Weeping Hollow.
CHAPTER 15
