Page 6 of Chance

They got to the little island, and Chance hopped out of the boat. He’d worn swim shoes with rubber soles. He assumed he’d be getting wet on this excursion. In fact, he’d be surprised if he wasn’t soaked by the end of the day.

The guide led him toward the cave but stopped at the threshold. “I don’t much like going into the cave.” He shifted nervously. “There is lore about pirates always booby-trapping their treasure, and I’ve been around long enough to know that weird stuff happens. Proceed with caution. I will wait for you. You have a flashlight on your phone—I’d use it.”

With his phone light turned on, Chance headed into the cave and began searching. There were the normal hieroglyphs of stick men and women. There was also the usual graffiti that defaced even historical sites like this. He searched through the symbols for upwards of an hour. His phone wasn’t keeping much of a charge; the battery was at a little less than half.

He heard the guide shouting at him. “Let’s get going! I said an hour.”

Frustrated, Chance ignored him.

As he continued to look, he found something that didn’t exactly match the hieroglyphs. The treasure chest engraving was near the lower edge, where it wouldn’t catch people’s eyes. It looked more modern than the other markings, but what really got his attention was the symbol on it—the same broken arrow that was on the ranch’s missile silos.

He snapped some pictures of it and then finally began heading back toward the guide waiting at the end of the cave. Maybe he’d come back here, but that might have to wait until after he’d investigated an address from his father’s journal.

He’d googled the address last night and discovered it was the site of a church in Wilmington. How would a church fit into all of this?

Chapter 4

Kelly sat at a coffee shop in Wilmington later that afternoon, after her little adventure out to the cave. She’d wanted to tour local places that could inspire her and she had a plethora of ideas from the cave, which was perfect because she wanted her art to have significance to this area. It was an idea she’d been flirting with ever since she’d decided to stay in this area.

The art she wanted to create needed mystique and meaning that reflected history, not like regular beach art. She was surprised there wasn’t much ‘historical’ type of art around already. She’d spent the rest of the morning after, her jaunt to the cave, looking in galleries around Wilmington. She hadn’t seen any of the symbols represented in the art being sold. In all of her wanderings through different galleries in Wilmington and South Port and adjacent beach areas the past couple of days, she’d discovered that most of the art was commercial, with beachscapes, landscapes, and a few depictions of the Revolutionary War. Admittedly, the ports had been significant in those times. But none of the art focused on the symbols of the time—symbols that were sketched by natives early on.

Kelly sketched a couple of the symbols she’d found in the caves. She was very interested in some of the ones with turtles and different fish. She’d read a lot about the hunt for the conquistador gold. There were also different skulls, and she’d read up on the conquistador gold that had a skull on it and different palm tree shapes. She’d also read up on any articles about the gold in Cross Creek. One particular hieroglyph had caught her eye at the cave—a treasure chest with a broken arrow on it. The same broken arrow that had been burnt into the Cross farm, according to the internet article she’d read.

Strange. How could South Port and Cross Creek be so tied together?

Kelly spent around an hour sketching. Finally, because she couldn’t get rid of her unrest, she thought about the possibility of life growing inside her. Without thinking, she placed her hand over her belly and wondered what it would be like to explore this area with a child.

Her child?

Familiar panic washed through her. Could she really do this? Raise a child by herself? And what if Brian found her? Would he have rights? Could he take the child away? He lived in Oxford, England. Did that matter? She’d been afraid to find out. Of course, she hadn’t told him. She didn’t understand how she hadn’t seen signs of his sociopathic disorder sooner. Kelly let out a sardonic laugh. Because he was a sociopath, that was why. She’d done more research on it since discovering she’d been deceived on so many levels.

The fear grew bigger inside her chest, and she pulled out her laptop and typed in “Planned Parenthood.” Maybe she should just end things.

Guilt filled her. Could she do that?

No. Immediately, she rejected the idea.

Worry filled her. The least she should do was find out her options, right? She couldn’t even be sure she was pregnant in the first place. She’d only missed one period, and the nausea she’d experienced lately could be from anything.

She hadn’t been raised to think abortion was a possibility.

It wasn’t, she told herself. She wanted to keep any child she’d helped create.

But she also didn’t want Brian to constantly be in her life. Would having a sociopathic father be good for the child?

What if the child was a sociopath? She hadn’t even thought of that until now.

Adrenaline spiked through her, and she stared at the Planned Parenthood page. The nearest building was closer than she’d thought, just down the next street. Maybe she could walk in and talk to someone. Find out options. Of course, she could give the child up for adoption. It would be better than the other way.

Tears slipped down her cheeks. She hadn’t even realized they’d been waiting to fall. How could she kill her child or let them go? If only Grandma and Grandpa were still alive. They would talk her through this. She could have gone to the ranch and been safe, but now there was no safety for her.

Why was she having a breakdown right now in a coffee shop?

Kelly slammed her laptop shut and put it in her bag, along with the cord and her sketchbook. She took another sip of the coffee she’d barely touched. Maybe it was ridiculous, but ever since she’d started thinking she might be pregnant, she’d been drinking a lot less coffee. She didn’t want to hurt the baby.

Except she was thinking about abortion … wasn’t that even worse?

Kelly slung her backpack over her shoulders, put her sunglasses in place, and headed for the door. She walked out into the sunshine, the sounds of the city soothing her. Which was funny, because after living in Oxford for so long, she’d told herself she hated the city and wanted out. Still, Wilmington wasn’t as oppressive as Oxford. The buildings weren’t as high, and it wasn’t overcast today like it usually was in England.

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