Page 29 of No Surrender
Simon knew Vic would be cross if he pushed himself hard enough to pass out, and he had no desire to face his partner’s disapproval or the worse-than-a-hangover morning-after that went with overextending his gift.
Instead, he turned to the internet, searching every mention he could find for “caves” and “castle” in the vicinity of Myrtle Beach.
The only castle near the Grand Strand was the Atalaya, a 1930s mansion that had fallen into ruin. Locals often referred to it as Atalaya Castle, even though it was long past its glory days.
Simon paged through the online photos of Atalaya. Nothing about the site pinged his intuition or made it a likely dumping ground for a murderer. It was too far from the main stretch of hotels and restaurants where the missing women worked and not easy to get into or out of for someone with a struggling kidnap victim or a body to hide.
The other search results for caves or castles referred to elaborate mini-golf courses or random businesses built long after Carolyn and the others disappeared. If the other spirit hadn’t told him about the caves, Simon would have wondered whether he had heard correctly or if the ghost had gotten confused.
Which meant he needed to figure out what someone in 1982 might have meant by those words, even if time had changed the landscape.
Tomorrow morning, I’ll go back to The Strand and see if the woman Michelle mentioned will see me. Maybe she’ll remember something about the missing people or the “caves” that will put us on the right track.
Carolyn’s last comment stuck in Simon’s mind.What did she mean about “surrender”? Surrendering to her killer? To death?
The drain of calling to Dante and Carolyn hit, and Simon could barely keep his eyes open. After finishing his snack to replenish his energy and checking on Pete, Simon begged off for half an hour to nap.
He fell asleep almost immediately, and the dreams closed in.Simon found himself running through a dark forest, pursued by something he couldn’t see. His pounding footsteps and the rasp of his breath drowned out any other sounds. He knew that whatever chased him was on his heels, and he couldn’t keep up this pace forever.
Just as quickly, the forest vanished, and Simon was in bed, unable to move or cry out. He wanted to struggle and shout for help, but his body refused to obey, and no one heard his screams.
Shadows ringed the cold, dark room in his vision. Simon struggled to breathe as if the darkness pulled the air from his lungs and the warmth from his body. He shuddered in fear, knowing that something lurked unseen in the corners.
“Hey, boss. Simon. Wake up!” Pete’s voice cut through the terror, and Simon clung to it like a life rope, following it back to the light. He found himself unharmed on the couch in his office, panting for breath as if he’d nearly been smothered, shivering although the room was comfortably warm.
“What—?” Simon felt groggy, almost drugged.
“I heard you thrashing and crying out and figured I’d better come to the rescue,” Pete replied, and Simon eyed the pitcher of water in one hand, can of soda in the other. “If worst came to worst, I figured I’d douse you and see if it woke you up. Fortunately, it didn’t come to that.”
“Fortunately,” Simon agreed, still not quite himself.
“Vision? Nightmare?”
Simon shook his head, happy for the can of soda Pete pressed into his hand. He glugged it down, waiting for the sugar to hit his system. Gradually, Simon felt his energy return and his thoughts clear.
“I’m not sure—more of a memory, but not mine. I’m wondering if the spirit who came to me found another way to communicate. I think she was trying to tell me something that she couldn’t put into words. It felt like a psychic attack.”
Pete frowned. “I thought the shop was warded so that kind of thing couldn’t happen.”
“It can’t,” Simon replied. “That’s why I think it’s someone else’s memory. Carolyn showed me something she wasn’t able to tell me.”
“Carolyn? Who’s Carolyn? Anyway, how does that fit in with a serial killer who got away with murder?” Pete asked the question that Simon had been wondering.
“Carolyn was one of the missing women. As for the other part, I don’t know yet,” he admitted. “I don’t understand what about the Slitter’s case has upset the ghosts from the eighties killer or where the ‘fanboy’ sending the cursed objects comes in. I can’t shake the feeling that it all goes together, but I can’t see the whole picture yet.”
Despite the upsetting vision, Simon insisted on working in the shop for the rest of the day. He knew Vic would probably be late, and he didn’t want to be alone. If Pete suspected that Simon’s jitters kept him from leaving early, he didn’t mention it.
Fortunately, the late afternoon proved busy, keeping Simon’s mind off worrisome questions. His mood improved as he booked tour guests, helped customers choose merchandise, and answered questions about the books he’d written on local ghosts and hauntings.
He glanced at his phone when a message notice hit his inbox from one of the venues he had emailed for estimates on wedding receptions. Simon smiled, reading down through the friendly and informative note, then thumbed through the photos.
“You’re looking smitten. Get an email from Vic?” Pete teased.
Simon shook his head. “No—just some preliminary research on wedding venues and places for a reception.”
“Have you set a date?”
“Nah—you’d be among the first to know if we had. I’m coming at it a little backward, I guess. Once we find the place we want, their openings will determine our choice of dates.”
