Page 49 of The Otherworld

“Damn, that is a nightmare. It’s a miracle you lived through it.”

“Thank God for Orca,” I add. “I don’t know what would have happened if she hadn’t been here to help me.”

“Where did she find you?” Jack asks.

“I actually found her. I found the lighthouse, that is. Last night when the storm was really bad, I stumbled upon the place just in time. I figured there would be some rugged old lightkeeper living here—but no, just the opposite.”

Jack laughs. I’ve missed the sound of his laughter.

“I banged on the door, but I was so exhausted I just… collapsed. And when I woke up, I was on the floor of her living room, with, uh… no clothes on.”

“What?” he sputters.

“She undressed me, man.”

“You serious?”

“I was soaking wet. Freezing. I probably would have died if I’d stayed out in that storm.” My gaze drifts to the empty chair where Orca had been sitting. “I owe her my life.”

“Pfft, don’t be all noble about it. I’m sure she enjoyed stripping your ass.”

I roll my eyes, grinning.

“She’s something, isn’t she?” Jack says. “Her father’s some kind of crazy recluse who keeps her prisoner there. Did she tell you that?”

“Yeah, but… I don’t think he’s crazy. He just wants to live a solitary life. What’s wrong with that?”

“Um, everything? The girl has never even seen a movie. They don’t have TV or video games or… anything.”

“There’s more to life than video games, Jack.”

“I know. But it’s weird. You have to admit.”

I shrug because I can’t necessarily admit that. I haven’t seen much of Orca’s world yet, but what I have seen could be considered far more “real” than my world.

“So you’re staying there till the storm passes?” I can’t help but notice a hint of worry in Jack’s voice.

“Yeah. And don’t get started on my broken ribs—I’m fine.”

“I wasn’t going to. I’m not Mom. I’m just… I can’t wait to have you back.”

“And I can’t wait to be back.”

We talk for a while until thunder starts rumbling outside, and my connection goes from bad to worse. Jack’s voice breaks up between bursts of static until I finally lose him. I sigh, dragging a hand over my face and draining the rest of my coffee.

Where did Orca go?

I carefully stand up, wincing at the sharp pain in my ribs. I limp through the doorway and back into the living room, which is silent and empty. The dog is gone, too.

“Orca?”

The house really does look like something from another century—no frills, no modern conveniences. Everything serves a purpose. I cross the living room, still limping, and glance through an open door into a small bedroom. It’s extremely minimal—a bed with gray linen sheets and a quilt. A dresser against one wall. A window, shuttered. Driftwood carvings are scattered across the dresser.

The next room is Orca’s. I can tell by the papers covering the walls—illustrations of whales and other marine life, charts of the Pacific, and old maps of the world. Strings of seashells hang like garlands from the ceiling, some trailing down in long strands, clinking softly in the draft. She has wood carvings, too—a whole pod of orca whales lined up on her dresser.

That’s when I notice my journal sitting on her nightstand. She must have found it in my backpack. The sight of it lying there startles me. Was she reading it? No. Why would she? There’s nothing interesting in there, anyway. Just philosophical rants and scribbles of very bad Latin.

I hope she didn’t read it.

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