And now that he’d noticed the absence of sound, it was all he could hear.
Silence. And not just normal silence.
This was a void.
And Sawyer would be lying if he said that didn’t freak him out just a little bit.
Growing up, he was always taught to trust animals. They had instincts humans had long forgotten. They knew when something wasn’t right.
They knew when to leave.
Like before natural disasters, or when larger predators were present.
A cold shiver ran down his spine that had nothing to do with the temperature.
He began walking back to his cruiser, the urge to run just under the surface. But he didn’t.
He refused to give in.
He wouldn’t be intimidated or threatened. If someone, or something, was watching him, he didn’t want them to think he was the running-away kind of cop.
But he knew when to leave, and that’s exactly what he did.
He almost expected to find his cruiser gone, but it was there. Right where he’d parked it. Then he expected it not to start—because he sure as shit didn’t have phone reception out here—but the engine rumbled to life first go.
With his heart beating faster than he’d have liked, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, he turned the cruiser around and got the hell out of there.
Driving back into Tenebrae Cove had been a relief he wasn’t expecting, but he was beyond glad to be back.
To be home.
He certainly didn’t feel weirded out in this town. He felt... at home.
And he hadn’t expected to feel that either.
He pulled up at the station, smiling to himself. He climbed out and listened. He could hear the water gently lapping at the jetty and pier but nothing else.
No birds.
But then Salem came walking over from the jetty or the rocks—Sawyer wasn’t sure which. Hadn’t he been inside when Sawyer had left? How the hell had he gotten out?
“Sorry. Did I keep you long?”
Of course Salem didn’t answer, but he fully expected Sawyer to open the station door, and as Sawyer was holding the door for the cat, he noticed the Open sign on the antiques store door. Figuring that since he and Ciaran already chatted once today, they now seemed to be on speaking terms, and given Sawyer still had the printed map, he walked over.
The door chimed above his head, though Ciaran wasn’t anywhere to be found. It gave Sawyer the opportunity to look around his store. There were glass-top counters with random items artfully displayed inside. A brass compass, a pouch of coins that looked incredibly old, a crockery plate, a stein. Behindthe counter were shelves, most notably containing rows of books. Old books, leatherbound?—
“Look, Fray, I told you before, I’m not fu—” Ciaran stopped when he saw it was Sawyer.
He couldn’t help but grin at him. “I’m sorry, what was that? You’re not... not fu... fu...? Wanna finish that fu-word?”
Ciaran didn’t smile. “No. Sorry. I thought you were Fray.”
“Obviously.” Sawyer didn’t want to sour this conversation. Ciaran was clearly not in a good mood. A far cry from the guy he’d spoken to this morning.
Had something happened?
“Is there something I can help you with?” Ciaran asked, jaw tight.
