CHAPTER 20
STONE
Two days had passedsince Circe left the lighthouse. Without her, the lighthouse felt numb and cold, robbed of its soul.
Perhaps she wished to regret me and had already decided not to return. And here I was, the fool abandoned on the other side of the ocean, worried about her after all the stories she’d told me about the town and its monsters.
Nevertheless, as time passed, my every thought belonged to her.
I was unable to rid myself of her sickly-sweet taste, her low sing-song hum, the rattle of her chest, and how her entire body embraced me. She’d taken full possession of me on a cold, snowy night, and I believe she’d never let me go.
Alas, the infection was gone. The journal was destroyed.
As soon as I’d tossed Mother’s journal into the fire, she and the madness evaporated at once. It had all the answers to navigate this new world I’d been thrust into, but it wasn’t worth keeping when all it brought was insanity.
Outside, the sky was silver and gray, with cold winds ripping past my face. I stood on the rocks, peering across the Atlantic to the border of Weeping Hollow, wondering what she could be doing at this moment. But the silence was deafening—nothing for miles.
Waves heaved under the waning moon, and daylight would soon slide away. Careful of the healing wound, I dragged more wood to shore, collecting shipwreck from around the rocks. It wouldn’t be long before the fading cries would echo in the distance.
Plenty of wood was strewn across the rocks, and I’d spent the day rebuilding a boat. I yanked another plank from between two rocks. And just as I tossed it into the pile, a dark, chilling shadow slithered across my skin, causing me to glance up.
At the top of the lighthouse, on the gallery deck, a tall, lean man stood on the ledge with curly bourbon hair, a linen shirt, and trousers. This was as much as I could make of him. So, I squinted, seeing what I thought to be his two bare feet teetering on the edge where the railing had broken.
And that was all he did. He just stood there, staring down at the rocks below with a solemn, wet face. I couldn’t tell if his face was wet from the ocean’s mist or if he’d been crying. He seemed sad, and I sensed something in him that I had in me. A silent despair.
But the island was supposed to be abandoned.
I’d been here a week and hadn’t encountered a single living soul.
I waved, but he didn’t wave back. He didn’t do anything. He just stared with two hands reaching behind him and clutching the broken railing as if he were about to free fall into the sharp rocks below, the only option to escape the agony etched across his funereal expression.
This is it, I thought, his words passing through us concurrently.
But I couldn’t let him do it.
I sprinted for the lighthouse, sand ripping apart at my soles.
The door slammed against the wall, and I raced up the spiral staircase.
My breath was a continuous crashing of waves in my ears, and my heart pounded with every step.
Halfway up, pain ripped across my stomach, and I clutched my side.
My shirt wasn’t bleeding. I could stop here but ignoring what I’d seen wasn’t in my nature. He was here. I was here. We were both here on this island for a reason. If I stopped him in time, he could have answers. He could know something about Mother or me.
Sweat slid down my brow, and a heartbeat later, I regained my strength and continued the long climb.
I was out of breath when I reached the gallery deck.
I pushed through the door, and a frosty breeze made of shattered glass ambushed me, pulling at my hair and grabbing at my clothes.
I forced my eyes open despite the burn, seeing him with his back to me.
“Don’t,” I shouted, the pain in my side stealing the edge in my plea. “Please, whatever you’re thinking, don’t do it.”
He didn’t look back at me. It was as though he hadn’t heard me at all.
The man let go, and I launched forward, catching nothing in my hands. My abdomen slammed into the slick railing, and I watched him fade into nothing before his body could hit the rock.
