Page 1 of Not This Place

PROLOGUE

Lost at sea.

Well, not exactly lost. Cheryl could see the Texan shore from where she stumbled on the slick, metal platform. But the winking lights along the shore, and from the lighthouses, were fading things, hidden by the weather’s rising temper.

But she was lost.

The storm howled around Cheryl, plastering her reddish hair, as she planted her feet on the slick metal grating of the oil derrick. Saltwater spray whipped across her face, stinging her eyes. She blinked rapidly, scanning the labyrinthine tangle of pipes and gears that loomed like skeletons in the dim light. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag, the canvas sodden from the deluge.

"Jake!" she shouted into the wind, her voice barely cutting through the roar of thunder. No answer came back but the mournful cry of the storm.

She’d come on the small boat to the platform as a surprise visit to her boyfriend.

The two of them had spent the evening together. He was supposed to check some gauges, and then he was meant to return.

But he hadn’t.

She’d gone wandering, and now this…

She hadn’t realized just how large the old, rusted oil derrick was. She hadn’t known anything this apparently old was still even in use.

She moved forward, her rubber-soled shoes slipping on the treacherous surface. Each step was a gamble against the elements. The rain battered her, relentless, soaking through her lightweight jacket, plastering her hair to her scalp. She tasted the sea on her lips, bitter and cold.

"Jake?" Her call was weaker now, uncertain. His name vanished, swallowed by the storm.

Cheryl squinted, trying to recall the layout he'd described during those late-night calls. The bathroom should be near the living quarters - a small comfort station amidst the stark industrial landscape. Her need pressed at her, urgent against the chill that clung to her bones.

He was supposed to be on the southern side of the rig… no… north. Stern? No, that was just boats.

Shit. She should’ve insisted they meet on shore at that nice little sushi joint she’d found.

She stumbled, her hand shooting out to grip a cold, wet railing. Her breath came short, catching in her throat with the suddenness of the movement. Fear knotted in her stomach, uninvited, unwelcome.

"Damn it," she muttered, righting herself. The structure groaned under the assault of the gale, a cacophony that resonated with her rising panic. Where was he?

"Jake! Please!" This time, her plea was met with silence—a void that filled the space where his laughter should have been.

Cheryl pressed on, each step driven by the need to find him, to see his face, to confirm he was safe. The unforgiving environment mocked her, a world away from the serenity of her yoga studio. Here, there was no balance, no harmony—just the chaos of nature and machine locked in an eternal struggle.

Her hands found a door, the metal cold and unyielding beneath her touch. She pushed against it, shoulders straining, muscles protesting. It gave way with a reluctant creak, revealing the dim interior. The sharp scent of antiseptic hit her nostrils—a stark contrast to the omnipresent odor of oil and seawater outside.

"Hello?" Her voice echoed off the tiled walls, a hollow sound in the cramped space. She fumbled for a light switch, the small victory of electric light flickering to life a brief respite from the dark.

"Jake, are you here?" she called again, heart sinking as the empty room offered no response. Alone, she faced the mirror above the sink, the reflection of a stranger staring back—hazel eyes wide, skin pale framed by rust-hued hair, a woman out of place.

With a deep breath, she turned away from her own gaze, stepping back into the storm's wrath. She found she no longer needed to go.

Rain battered the platform as Cheryl stepped out into the tempest. She moved cautiously, her hands brushing against cold metal containers slick with moisture. The roar of the wind and the wrathful sea melded into a relentless assault on her senses. Lightning split the sky, casting brief, stark shadows across the derrick's expanse.

"Jake?" Her voice was snatched away by the gale, lost in the cacophony of the storm.

A flash of movement caught her eye—a figure darting between two shipping containers. Dark, indistinct. Her heart lurched. "Who's there?"

No reply. Just the clatter of chains and the groan of strained metal. She took a step forward, her sneakers slipping on the wet surface.

The figure reappeared, closer now. A hand shot up, a flashlight beam lancing through the darkness. White light flooded Cheryl's vision, blinding her. She raised an arm to shield her eyes.

"Stop!" Her command was firm, but her voice trembled.

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