Page 93 of Tempest at Annabel's Lighthouse
Annabel was a whisper.
This was real.
At last Shea reached the walkway, and the form on the other side of the lantern became very real.
It was a woman, her long dress reminiscent of the olden days. Her hair hung in long strands of silvery feather-like wisps. Shea could not see the details of her face, but for a moment Annabel did not seem young at all. She looked ... old. Shea strained to catch a better glimpse of the woman’s face. Her eyes were dark orbs in the shadows. Her figure was unfamiliar.
Shea took a step toward Annabel, the lantern’s prisms between them dark and unlit. The wind and the waves were growing in strength; Shea could see the waves from the top of the lighthouse. The glass in the windows rattled, and the gallery outside seemed to shudder.
“Annabel...” Shea began, then bit her tongue.
This was not Annabel. This was not a ghost. The woman before her in the darkness was real, solid, and the humming had begun again.
“...soul my soul...” She hummed in a high-pitched vibrato that sent eerie shivers through Shea.
One step closer. Just one step closer and she might be able to identify who—
Shea’s scream was cut off as the woman flew toward her, arms outstretched, fingers wrapping around Shea’s throat.
37
REBECCA
...my darling...
Annabel Lee
SILVERTOWN
UPPER PENINSULA OF MICHIGAN
SPRING, 1874
SHE WANTED TO LIVE!The realization coursed through her as Rebecca prepared to die, though, knowing that life had led her here to this moment.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered under her breath to Abel.
I’m sorry, she spoke from her heart to her unborn babe’s.I’m sorry you didn’t get to live. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you enough to bring you into this broken world. I’m sorry you will not know your father.
But I’m not sorry that I love you.
A grunt shocked Rebecca back to the present. Mercer’s knife flung from his hands, and his body careened off hers as anotherman barreled through the shack’s door and into him. A booted foot caught Rebecca in her hip, and she cried out, rolling away even as her bindings prohibited quick movement.
Bear shouted.
A resounding gunshot filled the room, deafening Rebecca’s ears to only a high-pitched whistle. She winced, her vision blurred from the abuse her face had already taken by the hand of Mercer. Seeing his knife a few feet away, Rebecca tried to wriggle toward it.
A man shouted, and then the sound of a fist cracking against skin and bone urged Rebecca to try harder to reach the knife. From her peripheral vision she saw the still form of Bear lying on the shack’s floor. A pool of blood was spreading from beneath him.
Chaos by her feet ensued as two men rolled on the floor, grunting and shoving, along with the brutal noises of fists and feet waging battle. Rebecca reached the knife and worked her bound wrists around it, holding the handle as stable as she could with her forearm while working her bindings against the blade. It was awkward, and the knife nicked her wrists and hands, but the bindings gave way, freeing Rebecca to scoot into a sitting position and sweep the knife along the ropes at her ankles.
“You son of—” The words were muffled as the new man rolled atop Mercer and leveled a fist into the man’s face.
Rebecca’s mouth fell open, and she screamed, “Edgar!” Never had she expected the man coming to her aid with such ferocity to be the old and arthritic lightkeeper. Mercer struggled beneath him, his face bloodied but fixed in a grin that said he was gaining the upper hand. He shoved Edgar off of him, and the old man careened into the wall. A rifle lay off to the side where it had fallen, obviously the weapon Edgar had used to silence Bear, though it was of no use to him now.
Rebecca scrambled toward the rifle, but Mercer dove in front of her and grabbed it. She heard the resounding click ofthe rifle’s lever action, and both she and Edgar stilled. Mercer struggled to his feet, his nose dripping blood, his eye swelling.
“You should have stayed away, old man!” he growled at Edgar, who matched him for injuries but seemed far worse for the fight. Edgar hunched against the wall, gripping his midsection and gasping for breath. But his eyes were narrowed, his expression hard.
