The Siren and the Specter Page 15

  The tears were flowing down his cheeks, hot and bitter. He kept moving.

  “…you’ll always know how much I loved you,” she called. “How much more we would have shared….”

  He could barely see, his eyes were so blurry, but he made it all the way to the Buick, where Chris sat on the hood. He’d evidently been watching the whole exchange.

  “Start the car,” David said.

  The beer bottle dangling between his knees, Chris said, “So that’s it, huh?”

  “Start the goddamned car!” David shouted, climbing into the back seat. Let Anna sit in the front, he thought. She and Chris could sit there and hate him together.

  “I’m getting Anna,” was all Chris said, and after a time, David didn’t know how long, the car doors opened and closed and the engine started and the Buick began to jostle and sway. David didn’t open his eyes, merely reclined his head on the seatback and waited for it to be over. He tried to doze off but couldn’t. The drive stretched on forever. When they finally did stop and a door opened, David squinted and saw Anna climbing out. Neither she nor Chris said a word. She began the short walk to her apartment building, where she lived by herself. She worked a full-time job at a pizza place to pay for rent and school and food, and she snuck David and Chris free pizza when her boss wasn’t paying attention. She often scrawled David little notes and left them on his car window, telling him she had to go home to take care of her dad, who had stage three cancer, or that she missed David and hoped she could see him later.

  Anna, who had no money sense and routinely gave ten-dollar bills to the homeless people they encountered in Richmond, was almost to the door of her apartment building. Anna, who always drove to her little brother’s baseball games and her kid sister’s softball games, was reaching for the door handle. Anna opened the door, and he thought he’d see her big brown eyes, the eyes that looked at him in a way none had.

  But Anna went through the door and disappeared. He couldn’t imagine her taking her own life, but that’s what she did. And the worst part, the part he could never get over, aside from the loss of that rare, amazing person….

  The part he couldn’t get over was that when Chris called to tell him she was dead, David wasn’t surprised.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  David’s head was in his hands, the bench at which he sat hard and unforgiving.

  Anna had seen through him. It was difficult to swallow, but there it was. That night on the shore she’d disassembled his finely constructed emotional apparatus in just a few sentences, and though she’d revealed him for the selfish bastard he was, she somehow loved him anyway.

  Yet despite that goodness, that capacity for forgiveness, he’d still abandoned her and gone about leading the life she’d exposed as fraudulent.

  What did it matter that his last book had flickered at the bottom of The New York Times Non-Fiction Bestseller List? What did it matter that his colleagues respected him? In the end, what did he have? What had he done? Taught a few undergrads about the symbolism in Moby Dick? Crushed the hopes of those who wanted to believe in the afterlife?

  A splashing sound, something hitting the water maybe a hundred feet from where David sat. He tensed, on some level grateful to be dragged from his reverie. David rose, left the shelter, and padded through the deep powdery sand. He waded into the shoal and surveyed the riverbank. When the water reached the tops of his shins, he discovered a figure free-styling away from a dock.

  The woman who’d called the cops on him, of course; it was her dog sitting on the dock gazing at her. Feeling vaguely creepy, he watched her swim a gradual loop. As she returned to the dock, her dog – Sebastian, he remembered – stood up, tongue pumping, and did a little dance. She smiled, reached up, and scratched the old dog behind the ears.

  She turned in the water and looked at David. “How long have you been spying on me?”

  He nodded toward the shelter. “I was over there writing. When I heard a splash, I came to check it out.”

  “And stayed.”

  He shrugged. “Well…not that long.”

  She resumed scratching Sebastian’s head and David felt more than ever like a voyeur.

  He asked, “Why did you call Harkless on me?”

  “A woman lives alone, she has to be vigilant.”

  “I seem dangerous to you?”

  “Hard to tell,” she answered. “Some of the worst fiends in history have been outwardly charming.”

  Sebastian was on his side, panting in ecstasy, as the woman scratched his belly.

  “You think I’m charming?”

  She gave him a flat look. “Want me to call the sheriff again?”

  “Whatever happened to trusting people?”

  “Life teaches you how foolhardy that is.”

  He shook his head, stared out at the island. He thought briefly of the vision he’d glimpsed that first night, the woman in the mist.

  “Did I hurt your feelings?” she asked.

  He shook himself back to attention. “I haven’t been sleeping much.”

  She watched him.

  “I’ve hardly been sleeping at all,” he admitted.

  “Stalking must be hard work.”

  “Hey.”

  “I’m joking,” she said and went back to scratching her dog. She was smiling a little, and though he could only see her in profile, the smile lit up her face, dimples showing at her cheeks and her features coming alive. He wanted to tell her how nice her smile was, what a difference it made, but figured that sounded both stalkery and insulting.

  What he did say was, “I’m sorry for startling you.”

  “Today or the other night?”

  “Well….”

  “You didn’t startle me.”

  “Oh.”

  “Jessica,” she said.

  He opened his mouth to tell her his name, but she said, “I know who you are.”

  “Did Harkless tell you?”

  Rather than answering, she murmured something to Sebastian, gave the dog a final emphatic scratch, and backstroked into the bay.

  “Can I talk to you?” he called, cringing at the loudness of his voice.

  She stopped, frowned. “Huh?”

  “I was wondering if we could talk some more.” He gestured toward shore. “It can be at the park, if that makes you feel safer.”

  She treaded water for a few moments, maybe thinking it over, maybe considering calling the cops. Finally, she said, “You know how to swim?”

  * * *

  It only took him a couple minutes to return to the shelter, gather his things, and stow them in his car. He shed his shirt and emptied his pockets.

  He returned and waded in to his hips, and though the river was frigid on his genitals, the water felt exhilarating. It occurred to him with a sense of mild wonder that he hadn’t swum since arriving.

  He didn’t dive in, instead pushed forward and leaned into the deeper water. He let his head go under, and after the quick snap of surprise wore off, the familiar thrill of sliding through the water gripped him. God, he’d needed this. Despite the drag of his cargo shorts – they probably weighed twenty pounds when wet – he scythed through the water, pausing now and then to stand upright and satisfy his curiosity about the river’s depth.

  It was fifty yards from the shore to the island, and at the halfway mark, he found he could no longer touch bottom. He bobbed, took a deep breath, sank for maybe eighteen inches before his toes scraped sand. He surfaced, resumed his stroke until he was forty feet from the island. At that point, he merely stood up, the water just above his navel, and strode into shallower water.

  Jessica was already reclining on the shore. Fast swimmer, he thought. The last woman he’d seen so at home in the water was Anna, who Chris had often joked was part mermaid.

  In fact….

  The way
Jessica leaned on her elbows, her butt and legs in the inch-deep water, reminded him forcibly of Anna.

  He hadn’t noticed it during that first encounter, but now that the sun shone fully on Jessica’s face, he saw how much she resembled Anna. Yes, there were differences – Jessica’s lips were fuller, her muscles slightly more toned. And of course Jessica was older now than Anna had been. The last time he’d seen Anna she’d been twenty-one. He put Jessica in her late thirties, despite her nearly flawless looks.

  Here beside her the water was only shin-deep. There were miniscule fish darting about, worrying the hairs of his ankles and tickling his feet.

  “Do you have to stand over me?” she asked. “I feel like I’m being reprimanded.”

  “Sorry.” He took a few steps away, studied the island’s tree line. It was as pathless and dense as he remembered it.

  “You’ve been here before?” she asked.

  “What, the island?”

  “You really do need more sleep.”

  He snorted laughter, knew how dorky he sounded, but the time he might have made a favorable impression had long passed.

  “Sit if you want,” she said.

  He glanced at the minnows darting to and fro. “Don’t those things bother you?”

  “Worried they’re gonna nibble your balls?”

  He chuckled, eased down alongside her, and eyed the minnows warily. “You’ve really changed your tune,” he said. “One minute you’re calling the cops on me, the next you’re inviting me to lounge with you in Minnowland.”

  She smiled and looked away. “You’re too dull-witted to be a serial killer.”

  He winced. “Man.”

  “Any reason you’re not sleeping?”

  “I’m an insomniac,” he said. “Melatonin usually works, but lately, not so much.”

  “I don’t sleep well at all,” she said.

  “Have a hard time shutting off your mind?”

  Rather than answering, she swiveled her head in his direction, but stopped short of looking at him, instead fixing on something beyond him.

  He turned and saw the Alexander House in the distance.

  He shivered. Hoped she didn’t notice.

  “What do you think of Georgia?” she asked.

  “She enjoyed messing with me.”

  “Maybe you’re just insecure.”

  He laced his hands over his knees. “Did you really feel threatened by me?”

  “You’re not a small guy,” she said. “I’m all alone.”

  “You seem comfortable now.”

  She nodded to her left. “There are other houses on the bay. Probably eight roads like mine. I’d wager someone is watching us now.”

  He followed her gaze, spotted other docks. Above the docks, there were houses, mostly set back from the water and built into the hillside. “They’d have to use binoculars.”

  “It’s safe during the day. At night, not so much. Besides,” she said, peering at him, “if you touch me, I’ll make you regret it.”

  He glanced at her fingernails, which appeared healthy and sharp.

  A bark carried to them from across the water. They looked at Sebastian. “He gets impatient when I’m over here,” Jessica said.

  “Don’t dogs swim?”

  “Not one as old as mine.” With barely a pause, she said, “You’re in danger.”

  He glanced at her.

  “I mean it,” she said. “Your skepticism is going to get you killed.”

  Oh boy, he thought. One of those.

  He couldn’t suppress a grin. “You a psychic?”

  “Artist,” she said. “And graphic designer.”

  “But you’re in touch with spirits….”

  “I better get back to Sebastian.”

  “Hold on,” he said, putting out a hand, but stopping when he realized how inappropriate it would be to touch her, even on the forearm. “Sorry. But in my line of work, I run into this all the time. People warning me off places, telling me the undead are going to claim my soul.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “I know. But—”

  “You said you weren’t sleeping.”

  “That hardly proves the existence of ghosts.”

  “David?”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t say anything about ghosts.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, then realized she was right.

  Chastened, he asked, “Then what are you warning me about?”

  “You’re as sarcastic in person as you are in your books,” she said.

  He searched her face, but her expression betrayed nothing.

  “Which ones did you read?”

  “Read or skim?”

  He whistled softly. “Ouch.”

  “You’re talented.”

  “Thanks,” he said and meant it. He paused. “But you still skim—”

  “I can tell when you’re being honest and when you’re doing something for effect.”

  He frowned, splashed the water near his crotch to scare off the minnows. “That’s not flattering.”

  “You need flattery?”

  “Uh….”

  “Or are you just used to it?”

  He laughed, directed a glance at the cloudless sky. The sunlight felt good on his face.

  “What’s your new book about?” she asked.

  “The Alexander House,” he answered. He watched her toes twiddle in the water, the minnows darting away. “You know something about that?”

  “I might,” she said. “Want to make me a co-researcher?”

  “Another perspective never hurts.”

  She stood up, and he got an eyeful of her sand-covered behind. It was a lovely behind.

  “Down, tiger,” she said.

  David cringed. “You know, I’m really not that lecherous. You were right in front of me….”

  “I’ll help you with the book,” she said, “on one condition.”

  “Only one?”

  “I mean it,” she said, looking down at him. “If you don’t agree, I’m not wasting my time.”

  “I’m at your mercy,” he said, getting to his feet and dusting off the sand. “What’s the condition?”

  “Take the house seriously.”

  He saw how earnest her eyes were. Thought of the ladder crashing down, the figure clumping down the steps. The leering thing.

  “I’ll take it seriously,” he said.

  “Good,” she said. “Race you to the park.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Jessica beat him by twenty yards.

  When he discovered how effortlessly she’d smoked him, he eased his pace to catch his breath and restore a trace of his dignity. When she climbed out, he assumed she’d turn around and favor him with a wry grin. Instead, she wrung out her long black hair, flicked it a couple times, and made for the shelter. Somehow, this was worse than being teased.

  He caught up to her outside the shelter and asked, “What about Sebastian?”

  “Drive me home, and I’ll go down to get him.”

  He started the car, and rolled down the windows. On the way up the park lane, she asked, “You have any dry clothes?”

  “They’re back at the house.”

  “Tough luck,” she said. “You’re not borrowing any of mine.”

  He leaned toward the open window, let the breeze dry his hair. “I wouldn’t look good in your clothes anyway.”

  “You’re right,” she agreed. “You’d be a hideous woman.”

  David smiled.

  Soon, they pulled into her drive, and she said, “Take your things to the pergola out back. I’ll get Sebastian.”

  He did as she instructed, and though the pergola was set a goodly ways from the house, when he opened hi
s Mac, a Wi-Fi password prompt appeared. While he waited for Jessica, he gazed at the purple clematis flowers threading their way over the aged cedar rafters.

  Soon, Jessica appeared at the forest’s edge. She was carrying Sebastian, and though he wasn’t a tiny dog, she didn’t appear to be laboring at all.

  On the way past him, she said, “Gotta get the boy some water. Password’s Mordor.”

  He typed it into his phone, and within seconds saw he had three voicemails. One was an automated message from an online pharmaceutical company. The second message was from his editor, who hinted that this could be his biggest book yet and to take his time with it. Which meant his editor was in a hurry to see it. David listened to the rest of the message impatiently, went on to the third, which was from his agent, who informed him that three foreign rights deals for his latest book were pending: Spain, France, and Japan.

  Jessica emerged from the house with a glass of ice water in each hand. She’d changed into a black tank top and beige shorts. No shoes or makeup.

  She was gorgeous.

  “Tell me about the book,” she said.

  He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t usually talk about my work. It’s bad luck to talk about a book while you’re writing it.”

  “Luck? That doesn’t sound very scientific.”

  “I’ll talk,” he said too quickly. She caught it, and he blushed a little. “To tell you the truth, it’d be nice to share what’s been happening.”

  “You haven’t made any friends here?”

  “One,” he said. “A neighbor. But he’s too frightened of the house to be of use.”

  She placed her water on a wrought-iron stand. “You seem a little skittish yourself.”

  He gulped his ice water, fought off a fierce brain freeze. “I’m not sure where to start.”

  “You’re a writer, David. Start at the beginning.”

  He did, beginning with the phone call from Chris and ending this morning when he’d watched the video and listened to the recording. Jessica was a good listener and only asked a few questions. Unexpectedly, he found a burden lifting. He’d been oppressed by his experiences in the house. He detected no mockery in her but maybe she was simply a good actress. She might very well believe him a lunatic but was simply keeping it to herself.