Page 23 of Tempest at Annabel's Lighthouse
Startled by the change in appearance, Rebecca shot a glance at the end of the bed. The woman with the corn-silk hair had disappeared. There was no one there. Only this friendly face, someone she knew, someone so close to her that Rebecca could almost taste her name on her lips.
The young woman smiled and reached out, but she didn’t touch Rebecca. Only the blanket, adjusting it once more as if she hadn’t already done so. “He’ll keep you safe,” she whispered, her smile warm.
Rebecca could hear it—the dark-haired woman’s name. She could see it reflected in the lake-water eyes. She could hear it echoing in the hall of the lighthouse and up the spiral metal staircase.
“Kjersti.” She said the name as she blinked.
Her eyes opened.
The vision was gone.
Rebecca shot up in her bed, sweat trickling down her face, her gown sticking to her back. The thud of her heart against her chest almost hurt, and the apprehension closed her throat in a stranglehold.
Rebecca swung her legs over the side of the bed to stand. As her nightgown slipped over her hips, damp from the turmoil of nightmarish sleep, it brushed over her abdomen, a small mound she’d not taken note of prior to this.
Kjersti.
But no. There had been another.
It was as though they had both been in the room and one had merged into another and—
Rebecca was momentarily distracted as a wave of dizziness overcame her. She leaned against the metal frame of the bed.
Niina’s words came back to her like the rush of unwelcome waters.
A baby?
Her hand swept up to rest over her womb. She strained to remember—anything. How had she—where had this pregnancy come from?
Rebecca knees weakened at the unexpected observation from Niina. And how did Niina know? Did she only assume because Rebecca was nauseated and exhausted, that it meant she was with child? She stumbled to the door and opened it. The short hall was stuffy with unmoving air. There were no windows, just the ceiling that melded with the roof. Just the room next door where Abel would sleep.
“You’re a chilling reminder...”
The words came back to Rebecca as she stood in the doorway. Darkness permeated the room and the hall. She was alone—or so she thought. But now a memory was returning. Stronger and more present than Kjersti had been, or the woman at the end of her bed had been.
Rebecca’s breaths came in short, frightened gasps. She was seeing things now. Or the dead were visiting her. She hadknownKjersti. She didn’t know how, but sheknewthe dead Kjersti who had just visited her. Which meant the other woman was likely dead too. This lighthouse was filled with spirits that—
“You’re a chilling reminder...”
Rebecca spun back to the bedroom, facing the bed. It was a man’s voice. Gruff and frightening.
“Go away.” Her voice trembled as she attempted to ward off the wandering dead that were roaming the lighthouse. The sudden picture of the gravestone she had fallen on while running, the place where Edgar had found her—Annabel’s grave—fluttered through Rebecca’s memory.
Who was Annabel? Was she the woman at the end of the bed? Rebecca was shaking now, her body quivering with the unknown and the dead, who at this moment seemed very much alive.
“You’re a chilling reminder...”
That voice was so familiar, and in a way that Rebecca knew her mind didn’t want to remember.
The image of a piece of shoreline swept over her. A large rock outcropping, black basalt, with water crashing on it and splashing her legs.
“...chilling reminder...”
It was enough of a memory to engage Rebecca’s urgency. She slid her feet into leather slippers Niina had pulled from Kjersti’s trunk. They were tight on her toes, but she ignored that and instead reached for a green wool lap blanket hanging from a peg on the wall. Rebecca wrapped it around her shoulders and then opened her door, slipping from Kjersti’s bedroom into the hallway. It was dark. Abel’s door was mostly closed. Curious, Rebecca peered through the crack.
Abel lay sprawled on his stomach, shirtless, his back to the ceiling and illuminated by the moonlight that washed over his body from the window. He wore his trousers, suspenders hanging down over his hips. It was as if he’d been awake long enough to begin to undress and then ceased caring and simply collapsed onto the bed. He must be exhausted after last night’s shipwreck. Which meant perhaps Edgar was awake still? Surely both lightkeepers didn’t sleep at night. Or maybe they took shifts?
Rebecca stared at the sleeping man, and a momentary impulse to race in and curl up beside him came over her. Strength. He exuded a strength while he slept that mystified her. Was it Abel’s voice she’d heard?
