TEMPEST
Harper
How’s it going?
I OPEN MY LAST TEXT to Nolan, my thumb hovering over the screen. I start typing a new message. Are you okay? But just as I’m about to press send, I notice what’s missing. The little gray Delivered notification below my last question.
A thread of unease knits through my veins.
I send my other message, though I already know the result won’t be different. The second message isn’t delivered either. I call Nolan’s phone. It
goes straight to voicemail.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
I drag a hand through my hair and stare down at Arthur, his mouth agape, his breathing deep and even. Part of me wants to stay in case he becomes restless in the night. But something gnaws at me. Though I try to tell myself that Nolan might have his phone off to minimize disruptions or to avoid detection, my instincts are telling me otherwise. Something feels wrong.
With a final frown at my sleeping friend, I send Arthur a text in case he wakes and checks his phone, and then I leave, taking the Jaguar to venture into the fog. From Lancaster Manor, I first head toward the inn where I’ll be able to turn left and progress straight west to Spruce Road, the cemetery only three blocks away.
I slow as I reach the Capeside Inn. The mist is a little clearer here with the breeze that rolls across the waves to climb the cliffs. I stop the vehicle at the entrance to the parking lot, where I can see all the spaces. It’s nearly full, but Nolan’s rental is nowhere in sight.
The unease that creeps through me starts to churn, rolling through my guts like a twisting serpent.
I turn and head west toward Spruce Road and the Cape Carnage Cemetery. The streets are empty. The mist is thick, a silver shroud that blankets my headlights. As I drive through the quiet streets, I couldn’t be more grateful for its oppressive haze. Especially when I arrive at the graveyard to find one of the gates still open, the chain dangling from the wrought iron vines.
I swallow and take my foot off the brake, letting the car creep forward until I nudge the gate open farther and roll onto the unlit drive.
The road winds through elms and oaks and sculpted hedges, past statues of angels and crosses, some tilting at angles. It snakes to the top of the hill, where a low fence of black metal spearheads encloses the private gravesite.
I roll to a stop and turn off the car, opening the door to the scent of the sea air heavy in the mist. I listen, but nothing comes. No rustle. No whisper.
Not even my own exhalations, my breath trapped in my chest.
It feels like I’m walking in slow motion. I already know what I’ll find when I push the low gate open and step into the Lancaster family plot.
A man’s body, lying on the ground. Right where we left it.
Air rushes from my lungs and I gulp it back down like I’m drowning all over again. I scan the darkness around me, but there’s no sign of Nolan.
There’s nothing to indicate he was ever here.
He wasn’t at the inn.
He never returned to the cemetery.
And he has his book. All the evidence I held against him. I told him I trusted him and gave it all back.
I thread my fingers into my hair and lower to a squat, as though I could curl myself into another dimension. Tears sting my eyes. How could he just leave? I don’t want to believe he could simply disappear, not after everything he said. His words had burrowed right into me when he made
me a promise. You’re mine, he’d said. I’ll never let anyone take you from me.
It felt so … real. I was sure it was the truth. How could I be so wrong …?
It takes a long moment before I raise my eyes from the earth. My gaze lands on the familiar headstone a few feet away, its unusual half-circle shape easily distinguishable from the other monuments. I can’t see the swirls of green in the jade marble, but the bracelets glint in the dim light where they hang from tiny hooks beneath the curve of the carved crescent moon.
I force myself to stand, my vision wavering behind tears as I stop in front of the headstone that was a gift from Arthur, one he gave me in the first few months of our friendship. I didn’t have a body to lay here. Only memories. Just a name. Adam Cunningham.
I let my finger coast across the trinkets that dangle from the hooks. One of them is missing—the engraved silver bracelet. I realize that this is the first time I’ve thought of Adam without feeling the sting of loss or the crush of guilt. Instead, my first thought is about how lovely it is that Morpheus brought it back to me. A wild creature, ferrying memories across the town.
Maybe he’s put that bracelet where it will return to the strata of time. And that thought doesn’t bring me sadness. Somehow, it brings me relief.
I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when that loss finally started to transform, even just a little. But I know the reason why. Ever since Nolan came to Cape Carnage, I’ve wanted more than to just survive in the shadows. I want to bloom in them. Even if Nolan is gone. Even if his promise was just a brittle illusion, maybe that’s all I really needed. A little bit of its glow, like a lantern in the night.
With a swipe of my knuckles beneath my damp lashes, I rise. Nolan’s promise might have been a fragile vow. But mine isn’t. I will not let Arthur down.
I head toward the corpse that’s cooling on the ground. It’s already been nearly two hours since Arthur killed him, so I probably won’t have too much longer before his limbs start to stiffen. My frown deepens as I look to
the car. I don’t have the equipment to make this easier. I hang my head and let out a deep sigh, then remove the man’s shoes.
“I realize this is very undignified,” I say, checking the pockets of his pants, all of which are empty. Next I unfasten his belt and undo his button and zipper. “But I don’t have many options here. And you probably did hit Arthur, after all, so let’s just say you deserve it.”
I start tugging his trousers over his hips and down his legs, yanking them off. Once they’re free, I twist the pant legs to create a makeshift rope that I knot around his ankles. Grabbing the free end, I start dragging him toward the waiting car. “This is not really how either of us intended to spend our night,” I whisper between grunts and tugs. “I thought I’d maybe have a glass of wine and some super-hot sex with my serial killer almost- boyfriend. Not getting ghosted and cleaning up bodies. You tourists really do have to ruin everything.”
I keep tugging, a mist of sweat coating my skin, breaths sawing from my lungs with the exertion of dragging a limp-bodied man across uneven ground. Once I’ve got him through the gate, I give him a shove to roll him down the little slope. He lurches to a halt in the shallow ditch, and then I’m dragging him once more until I’m at the rear driver’s-side door of the sedan.
When I’ve got his feet and lower legs positioned in the footwell, I get into the car and start tugging him inside.
“You could make things a little easier on me,” I tell him, grabbing his floppy arms to pull his torso upright. “Stiffen up a bit already.”
With a little rearranging and more than one attempt, I manage to embrace his torso and heave him across the footwells of the rear seats. I take a minute to let my heart rate settle, and then I stride to the trunk to grab a pair of Arthur’s beloved Burberry wool blankets to spread over the body.
As soon as I’m done, we head back to the Capeside Inn.
I know I should be focused on more important things, like perhaps ensuring Arthur doesn’t go on more murdery escapades. Or maybe getting rid of this unknown tourist’s body should be a priority. But I can’t help it.
Part of me knows the logical explanation is that Nolan left now that he has what he wants from me. But another part of me just can’t believe it. The words he said the other night didn’t feel like counterfeit promises made in
the heat of the moment. I refuse to believe that rational voice in my head.
Not until I see it with my own eyes.
I roll to a stop close to the entrance of the Capeside Inn parking lot, but I don’t go in. I park on the street instead, in the shadows of the unlit section of the road. With a final check to ensure the body is covered behind me, I get out of the car and walk toward the hotel.
Nolan’s car is still missing from its spot. Most of the other spaces are full. When I enter the lobby, there’s no one there, not even Irene. I pause only long enough to confirm she’s not snoring in her darkened room, and then I keep going, headed for the corridor that leads to Nolan’s room.
I listen at the door. Nothing comes from the other side. I give it three light knocks on the wood. No one comes to answer. Then I slide my key into the lock and step inside.
My rational mind told me this is what I would find. But my heart hurts just the same.
There’s no bottle of pills on the nightstand. No luggage on the rack. No food in the fridge. When I head to the wardrobe, no clothes are hanging inside. I don’t check anything after that. I just sit on the edge of the bed, feeling like something has been torn from the center of my chest. Maybe it shouldn’t hurt so much. After all, how well do I really know Nolan Rhodes?
He came here to destroy me. He just found another way to drive a knife home, that’s all.
But it does hurt. It aches. I feel raw, like all my bloody wounds are exposed. Aside from Arthur, he was the only person I showed my true self to. He saw the very worst in me. And I thought he accepted me the way I am, but at the first opportunity, he left.
Society never accepts every facet of a woman’s true nature— especially their grief and trauma and darkness—though it feasts on those things until it consumes them, leaving only a polished facade behind. The world wants a perfect victim. Not the creature a woman like me might choose to become to survive. The best we can hope for is to find another soul who can stand in our path with open arms to embrace us.
I thought I’d found that in Nolan. He didn’t even need my tragic backstory. He didn’t turn away like I know everyone else would. He
accepted the woman I chose to be the day I walked away from the ashes of
my former life.
Or so I thought.
I run my finger beneath my lashes, catching tears that only reappear the moment they’re wiped away. It takes a long moment to subdue the loneliness that threatens to choke up my throat. But in time, I do. And I will.
I’ve survived worse, and I’ll survive this too.
I rise. Head to the door. With a check through the peephole, I exit the room and head down the corridor.
When I arrive at the lobby, I hesitate. Something compels me to approach the registration desk. Ducking under the hinged countertop, I make my way to Irene’s guest ledger. I flip the pages until I find Nolan’s entry, running a finger across the line of his details. His dates of planned stay. His arrival time. According to the ledger, he hasn’t checked out.
I frown at the book, trying to work out the information, comparing Nolan’s details to the entries for other guests who have come and gone.
Nothing in the book indicates that he’s left, even though his room is as neat as a pin. It looked ready for the next guest, like he’d never stayed in it at all.
Another ghost of Cape Carnage that’s blown away in a gale that’s swept across the wrecks hiding beneath the waves.
Questions are rolling through my mind when a voice approaches from upstairs. Footsteps pound down the staircase. Someone is in a rush. I duck behind the counter, making myself small in the shadows.
“… you sure about this?” an unfamiliar voice asks. There’s a delay, as though he’s speaking on the phone. “What if Rhodes doesn’t talk?”
My blood freezes. I peek around the space beneath the hinged countertop, where it’s unlikely I’ll be spotted. I see a man traveling quickly down the last few steps. There’s a hint of fear in his eyes. But there’s determination too. He has a bag in one hand, a logo of two P’s in a circle embroidered on one side.
My quiet gasp is lost beneath his heavy footfalls as I take my wallet from my pocket and pull out the business card I slid inside. The same logo is embossed next to Sam Porter’s name. Porter Productions, the card says.
The alarm that chilled my blood only moments ago transforms. I’m suddenly burning. I’m an incendiary, ready to destroy everyone in my path.
Starting with this man, who must be Sam’s drone operator.
“This sounds risky. You sure it’s worth it?” He travels past the front desk, toward the door. “What about the location? The distillery is echoey as shit.”
He heads out the door, his focus taken up by his destination and conversation. He doesn’t look back to see me take the ancient three-hole punch from Irene’s desk and dart beneath the counter to follow.
When I exit the inn, he’s halfway across the parking lot, the phone pressed between his ear and shoulder. He digs his keys from his pocket and unlocks a Honda CR-V parked a few spaces from Nolan’s favorite spot.
“I do trust you, man.” He slows as he nears the vehicle. As soon as the trunk is open, he loads his bag inside, then hurries toward the driver’s door.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he says, and then disconnects the call.
No, you fucking won’t, I think as I rush forward.
He doesn’t hear me coming. Doesn’t even turn around. I hit him with every ounce of strength I have, crashing the hole punch into the side of his
head with a satisfying whack.
He falls unconscious to the asphalt.
I quickly scan my surroundings. It’s eerily still, only the sound of the ocean rising to meet us. Just a brief breath of calm, and then I’m a frenzied storm of motion. First, I take his phone, running to the nearby cliff edge to toss it and the hole punch into the sea. Next, I take his wallet and keys.
Opening the trunk of his vehicle, I grab the bag, along with any other equipment I can find. I have no intention of wasting time I don’t have dragging another limp man here, there, and everywhere. But I can at least make it look like a robbery and take all his expensive gear.
When I’m done, I give the man a quick check. He’s breathing. Blood trickles from his nose. He must have smacked his face hard on the way down. I’m not sure what kind of damage I just caused, and I’m not about to wait around to find out. It could be a while before he awakens, if he ever does. It could be only moments.
I leave him where he is and run to Arthur’s car, pulling away from the Capeside Inn and heading out of town as quickly as I dare with a body in my back seat. The fog grows thicker the farther I go from the sea. It consumes the headlights as I turn down the road that leads to the Lancaster Distillery.
Nolan Rhodes said he would walk through hell to drag me out if I ever
tried to run.
But I don’t hide in hell.
I bring it to life.
