Page 24 of Tempest at Annabel's Lighthouse
No. No, and she dared not wake him. He would be certainthe injuries she’d sustained had addled her mind—and maybe they had.
A large rock outcropping.
Black basalt.
Water crashing on it and splashing her legs.
“...chilling reminder...”
Rebecca eased away from Abel’s room and tiptoed to the door at the end of the short hall. She pulled it open, revealing the spiral metal staircase. Stepping out onto it, Rebecca winced as the tread squeaked beneath her weight. Light from the lamp up in the galley spilled onto the steps. She craned her neck to look upward. If old man Edgar was up there, she mustn’t alert him to her presence. She knew that he would never allow her to leave the lighthouse at night again, especially not alone—and yet it was as though she was being beckoned there.
“You’re a chilling reminder...”
Not spotting Edgar, Rebecca worked her way around and down until she came to the door of most concern. The door into the living area was directly off the lightkeeper’s room. If Edgar was asleep, she would need to sneak past his bed to get to the living area on the second floor and finally make her way downstairs to the entrance.
Rebecca pushed the door open, catching her breath as the hinges protested. She peered into the tiny closet-like room just off the lightkeeper’s domain. There was no obvious form of Edgar on the bed, which did nothing to relieve Rebecca of worry. If he wasn’t in the gallery and he wasn’t asleep, then at any moment Rebecca could come face-to-face with the gruff old man. She wasn’t afraid he would harm her, but his stern and beady gaze was intimidation enough.
She slipped through the rooms as quietly as she could and made her way to the first level and the kitchen. Having not run into Edgar, Rebecca made fast work of slipping from the house and into the night.
Immediately her body was assaulted by the cool spring wind that danced its way off the lake. The blast of cold awakened Rebecca’s senses, sharpening her mind and shocking her from the stupor that had captivated her. The lighthouse behind her swathed the water with a shaft of light. The waves appeared relatively calm, considering the lake’s aptitude to be temperamental.
“You’re a chilling reminder...”
It was a memory now.
But itwasa memory!
She crossed the yard on her way to the embankment. Unlike the night before, no ship was sinking, no waves were threatening the lives of would-be rescuers, no men from Silvertown were racing up the shoreline.
All was still aside from the waves’ repetitive caress of the shore.
Rebecca scampered down the rocky path along the embankment, her feet slipping into the sand as she reached the shore. But it was no gentle shoreline. Instead, it was littered with driftwood and rocks, making a stroll along the sand out of the question. The obstacles were enough to make Rebecca wish to turn around to find refuge in the lighthouse once more, but the image of the basalt outcropping and the words replaying in her mind—her only clear recollection—urged her forward.
She maneuvered her way along the shore until she reached a stretch where the sand dominated the rocks and invited her to ease her breath and her body. Rebecca walked to the water’s edge, the waves lapping at the sand hungrily. The sound of their rushing and rolling didn’t cease or pause, not even for the weary of heart and mind. She stared out into the darkness, the giant expanse of water like a deep grave.
“You’re a chilling reminder...”Each time she recalled the words from her dream, they became shorter, until now only the wordchillingremained. It adequately captured the lake. Itenveloped Rebecca with a deep ache and a void that left her questioning why. Why did she remember those words? Who had spoken them? She knew—oh, this she recalled!—thatshewas the chilling reminder. The words had been spoken to her, about her. Who had said them? What man had looked upon her and seethed the words of disdain? It was that person Rebecca could not remember. But she could recall the feeling of revelation as she was told thatshewas someone’s curse. Someone’s chilling reminder of...
Rebecca turned toward the east, squinting into the night to see if she could make out the familiar landmark, even the shadow of it. She froze as a form emerged from the woods some two hundred yards down the shoreline. It was vaporous in nature, with long and loose hair so white it almost glowed in the moonlight, blowing around the figure’s face. A white gown not unlike the one Rebecca wore made it evident that this was a woman.
Rebecca fixated on the wispy figure as it crossed the beach, seeming to float across the sand. Rebecca caught a glimpse of a bare leg and foot as the woman, without hesitation, walked into the water. Concern quickly overwhelmed Rebecca. The woman was walking to her death! The water was still frigid from winter’s ice melt. No one could survive long in the lake.
The woman was up to her knees now, and it was then Rebecca found her voice and her ability to move. She ran across the sand, dodging rocks and scampering over driftwood. “Stop!” she shouted, but the wind and the roar of the waves carried away her voice.
The figure turned toward her, faceless in the moonlight, her white-blond hair covering her face like a veil. She stared at Rebecca, and then, just as Rebecca drew close enough to believe her shout of caution might be heard, the woman crouched into the water, letting it cover her shoulders, her neck, and finally her head.
Rebecca sprinted as much as she was able, her feet twisting and sinking into sand that acted like a trap. She fell forward, her knees scraping against the damp shore.
A voice, whether in her mind or in the wind, drifted over the waters where the woman had vanished and made its way into Rebecca’s soul.
“You’re a chilling reminder to me.”
11
EDGAR PUSHED THEDOOR OPENin frustration as Rebecca approached the entrance to the house. She was bathed in the light shed from the lamp above, and Edgar’s face was illuminated as well. His bushy eyebrows were drawn together in a V, his hair askew, his clothes rumpled. She didn’t know where he had come from, but she had been exposed in her secret dalliance with the lake and the lake’s ghostly memories.
“You’re like to get yourself killed.” Edgar’s grumble was more of a growl as he stepped aside to allow Rebecca entrance.
She caught him poking his head back into the night, looking to the left and the right as if he himself had been the one sneaking out and hoping no one had seen. He shut the door firmly, then waddled into the kitchen behind Rebecca. His legs were arthritic and bowed, his hips twisted, lending toward imbalance, but the elderly man was still intimidating as he locked eyes with her sheepish expression.
