by Harper Shaw
The black, shrouded figure was still. Then it pointed its spear gun at her.
Screaming, Rebecca ducked her head as she sprinted out of the bathroom. She broke out of the restaurant completely and left to the beach through a back door, pumping her arms as hard as she could in the hopes she could get away faster.
She could hear the gun launching into the sand all around her. Tears streamed down her face as she kept on and made her way to the boardwalk. Quickly she sheltered herself beneath the pylons. Sucking in her breath, she heard the same killer who got Chad slowly inching up, their boots tapping.
The sound came closer. Closer. And then it disappeared.
Rebecca didn’t dare get up to see, though. She knew she wasn’t going anywhere for the rest of the night and wrapped her arms tighter around herself as she shivered in the cold water until morning.
Chapter Fifteen
She was still shivering hours later, as she finally made her way home. Some of the shivering was from the wet, cold chill that clung to her from hunkering down beneath the boardwalk all night.
But a lot of it was from the withdrawal from the adrenaline that had flooded her system during her escape. Also, withdrawal from the booze.
She couldn’t believe she’d fallen off the wagon. Hell, fallen off and let the wagon make for the hills without her!
How much had she drunk? She racked her memory trying to count the rounds, and the shots between rounds. It was no use. The only total she could come up with was “a lot.”
The sun was peeking over the roofs of the houses as she pulled the car into her parents’ driveway. The brakes gave a metallic squeak. Rebecca winced. Partly because she didn’t want to wake her parents up and have them wondering why she was just getting home at dawn. Also, because the tiny squeak felt to her like a factory whistle going off in her brain.
A massive hangover was on its way, with an accompanying headache she could tell would be a doozie.
“Well done, Rebecca,” she muttered to herself.
What would her sponsor say?
Panic gripped her. Shit! My chip! She patted at her pocket where she last put it and felt nothing. Frantically, she slapped at every pocket on her jeans and then jammed her fingers everywhere, including that stupid little coin pouch. Had she lost it while fleeing for her life?
She found it in a back pocket and nearly cried in relief. She shook some more.
She stared at the sobriety chip. The writing on it had seemed so full of promise when she first received it. Now, the same words just mocked her. TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE.
What if this is my true self? she thought.
Putting the chip back in her pocket, she crawled out of the car and headed into the house. Hopefully, her parents would still be asleep, and she could sneak in and slip into bed without incident.
No such luck was in store, however.
The moment she opened the door, her bathrobe-clad mother was in her face.
“Where have you been! We’ve been worried sick!” Her mother’s shouted words were like a pile driver into Rebecca’s brain. She winced, but her mother didn’t notice. She was already shouting into the kitchen, “Rein, she’s home!”
From the kitchen, Rebecca could hear her father mutter, “Just a moment, she’s home.”
Rebecca’s dull, aching mind raced, trying to imagine who could be on the phone. She had a feeling it might be Faruq. Would he believe her if she told him about “The Shroud”, as she’d begun to think of whoever it was who was trying to kill her?
Of course not, Rebecca. Would you believe it if you were the detective on this case?
Her father appeared from the kitchen, still in his pajamas. His shirt was buttoned wrong, exposing one side of his pale belly. His thin hair was standing straight up. It was obvious her mother hadn’t let him sleep all night. “We’ve been worried sick,” he echoed, though with less conviction.
“I heard.”
“Where have you been?”
“You smell like fish,” her mother interjected.
“Yeah, I… well…” Rebecca was too braindead to come up with a good excuse.
Fortunately, her mother wasn’t one to let a silence linger. She plowed on, saying, “You didn’t come home! We called everyone! Dennis said you walked out on them! Bruce thought he saw you racing out the back of the bar!”
“Probably to be sick,” her father added. “How drunk did you get?”
Rebecca tried to focus. Dennis and Bruce had seen her go. That might mean…
“Wait,” she interrupted her parents, “what about the Shroud?”
“What shroud?” her mother asked, incredulous. “Are you high?”
Rebecca closed her eyes, willing herself—and her parents—to focus. “There was… someone! All in black. Like a shroud. They chased me out of the bar!” Her parents just stared at her blankly. This wasn’t going to get Rebecca anywhere. “Who’s on the phone?” she finally asked her father.
He looked confused for a second. Then he remembered. “Thomas!”
A small flicker of hope crossed Rebecca’s mind. Maybe she could explain things to Gardner. Maybe he’d have some idea of how to help.
She’d barely gotten a “hello” out before her ear was exploding again, this time with Gardner’s verbal bombs.
“Where the hell were you, Rebecca? You know your parents were worried sick?”
She held the phone away from her ear to spare her brain some of the pounding it was taking. “Oh, I think they’re exaggerating,” she said.
“Do you think this is a joke?”
“I know it’s not a joke. In fact, as far as I can tell, last night shit got incredibly serious. I was—”
“You’re telling me things got serious!” Gardner steamrolled right over her. “Chief Bradshaw’s got a BOLO out on you!”
Be on the Look Out. That wasn’t good. Neither Rebecca nor any cop or detective she ever knew put out a BOLO for someone they wanted to just wish a happy birthday.
But why was Faruq escalating things so quickly? Had Dennis or Bruce said something? Dammit, she wished she wasn’t hung over and sleep deprived. It was hard enough putting these pieces together with a clear head.
“Look, Rebecca,” Gardner went on, “as your lawyer, I advise you to turn yourself in.”
“No.”
“You go in of your own volition and it no longer looks like you were trying to escape justice.”
“I was trying to escape death,” she said sharply. “Someone tried to kill me last night.”
“What? Who?”
“I don’t know. The Shroud. Someone in a black shroud—with a spear gun!” There was silence from the other end of the line. Rebecca took it as a good sign. Maybe Gardner would believe her and would realize something more was happening here than a lawsuit.
“Did anyone else see this… ‘shroud’?”
“I don’t know.”
“If there were no other witnesses and you have no leads, I don’t know what to tell you.” Gardner’s voice softened, but he didn’t sound exactly convinced. “And if someone really did try to hurt you last night, well, my advice would be the same as it was a minute ago. Go and see Chief Bradshaw.”
“Fine.” Rebecca hung up before Gardner could respond.
She marched herself out of the kitchen toward the front door, but her parents intercepted her.
“Where are you going?” her mother demanded.
“I’m turning myself in. Isn’t that the great advice you all want me to take?”
Her father nodded as, Rebecca noted, he stifled a yawn.
“I’ll drive you!” her mother declared.
“I don’t need my mommy to drop me off at the police station.”
“You’re in no condition to drive.”
“I’m sober now.”
“Well, you still look terrible.”
Rebecca had to admit she felt terrible, too. Her head was pounding. Keeping her eyes open felt like a monumental struggle. Maybe this wa
s a fight worth conceding. She nodded. “Alright, Mom.”
“I’ll get dressed. And maybe you should think about changing, too.”
Rebecca looked down at herself. She was filthy. Her acid-washed jeans were covered in sand and mud. Her water-logged socks hung low on her ankles. One sleeve of her shirt was torn. She could only imagine what her hair was doing.
She lugged herself upstairs and to the bathroom, where she stripped out of her clothes and quickly hopped into the shower.
Bracing herself against the shower wall, she let the water spray across her body. It was a little too hot, but she didn’t care. It pushed the chill away. Not to mention, the stinging burn of it felt deserved, somehow.
Think. Describe your assailant like you’d ask any other witness to describe it. Height? Possible weight? Distinguishing features?
But there was nothing. Just the Shroud. Just the flick-flick of spears plunging into the sand around her. Just death.
Her eyes were sliding shut. Amid the steam and the sting of the shower, she felt like she was drifting away. Toward the Shroud. Toward its ocean-depths darkness. Then, something shined out of the darkness. Two things. Eyes. Green eyes. Monica…
“Let’s. Go!”
Her mother’s shout at the bathroom door jarred Rebecca back to reality. She wrenched the faucets off, as though doing so might also stop that blackness, and Monica’s eyes, from getting to her, too.
She dried herself off and dressed quickly. She found some aspirin in the medicine cabinet. It was expired, but what the hell. If it took her headache down a little, it’d be worth it.
Transferring her stuff from the pockets of her dirty jeans to her clean ones, she paused once more on the sobriety chip. TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE.
She considered this next meeting with Faruq and the potential pitfalls awaiting her among the Beach Heads. And the Shroud lurking who-knows-where. It was possible that, to survive whatever was happening, she did indeed need to be truer to herself than she had been in a long time.
The question was, what kind of trouble might that truth cause?
Chapter Sixteen
“Let me out over here,” Rebecca said to her mother, peeling her face from the glass of the passenger seat window.
“Okay, I’ll be waiting right out here, sweetie. Do you want me to park in the front or the back?”
“Do you have a preference?” Rebecca raised an eyebrow.
“No, I was just wondering. You know how people talk, and you’ve been in enough trouble since we got here.”
“Park in the back, then.”
“Great idea,” her mother hummed. Putting the car in park, she drummed the steering wheel a few times and turned to her daughter.
As she got out of the car, she pinched the bridge of her nose and squinted. The sun was burning her eyes right about now and only served to exacerbate her already pounding head. She wished she’d never seen that shrouded figure or Chad or anyone else in Hilton Head. Then she would just be stuck in this stupid town for a civil case and not a murder, too.
Attempting to calm herself before she entered, she took a deep breath and cracked her knuckles. What could Faruq want with her now? Even though she knew he couldn’t find anything incriminating—she hadn’t killed Chad, after all—she had this sick feeling that something bad was going to happen.
“Just get through it, Becca,” she said. “Talk to the chief, tell him what he needs to know, go home, and sleep.” What a plan, she thought, finally entering the police building. After walking inside, she went up to the front desk. “Hi, I’m Rebecca Morgan. I think Chief Bradshaw put a BOLO out on me or something…”
The woman stared at her blankly.
“I’m turning myself in.”
“What’s your name?”
“Rebecca. Rebecca Morgan.”
“Give me a moment.” The woman’s keyboard clacked as she pounded her fingers against the keys. A long silence ensued that Rebecca first found awkward but later just considered annoying. You’d think someone with a BOLO would be more of a find. “Okay… And your name was Rebecca Morgan?”
“Yes, is he here?” She resisted tapping her foot against the tile under her boots, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t feeling like it.
“Cool. The chief will be out to see you in a minute. You can go take a seat.” She gestured to the small area of fabric navy chairs in the corner of the lobby.
Pivoting, Rebecca went over and plopped herself down in one of the seats, crossing her arms and slouching as she did so. To give her eyes a little rest, she rested her head back and closed them. She didn’t know what was hurting her head more—the nightmares from Monica’s and Chad’s deaths or this BOLO. Faruq had to know she didn’t do it. And even if he hadn’t before, she’d given him more than enough information to prove her innocence.
“Rebecca, perfect. You’re here.”
“What?” She opened her eyes to Faruq. “Oh, it’s you. I mean, what did you expect me to do when you put a BOLO out on me?”
“Let’s talk in my office,” he said. Nodding, Faruq began leading Rebecca back to his office.
Rebecca followed, though she could feel her feet dragging some. She rubbed a hand down her face as she yawned.
“Rough night, huh?” he asked, making polite conversation. Rebecca had to give the guy kudos for compartmentalizing things so well. Of course, considering all the drugs he was on in high school, he was definitely not one to judge (too much) her life decisions.
When they got to the office, instead of sitting behind his desk, Faruq took the chair on the right on the other side of it and slid the one beside him out to her.
“Okay,” she muttered as she sat. “So, I heard you put a BOLO out on me. Why?”
“I wanted to return something.” Faruq stood to reach behind his desk and pulled out Rebecca’s Ruger. “It didn’t match with the ballistics we found,” he explained, handing it back to her.
Rebecca’s fingers curled around her Ruger, letting it weigh her hand down. She felt relieved, but she didn’t exactly know why since she had already known she was innocent from the start. Though she hadn’t really been seeing things and had been sober up until yesterday, she was still just glad her story matched up with reality.
“—cca, is something wrong?”
“What? No, sorry. I got distracted. What were you saying?”
“I was asking where you were last night. No offense, but you look kind of rough.”
“I was by the boardwalk. Someone was chasing me.”
“No, I meant what bar. You look hungover. Did you drive yourself?”
“My mom did, no. why?”
“Just curious,” he said. “Anyway, Rebecca, that was pretty much it. I’ll make sure to get all of the paperwork taken care of. You’re still an official suspect, but we don’t have anything on you at this time, so you’re free to go. You should take a nap or something, and maybe stay home after daylight so I don’t have to find you again.”
“I don’t plan to be found anytime soon anyway. I also don’t plan to be here much longer, once all of this is over.”
“Remember you’re still a suspect.”
“I didn’t forget in a matter of seconds.” Rebecca didn’t mean to come off as so clippy to him, but it also felt good to decompress a little, let out some of the anger she was feeling. She was mad about a lot of things right now: being called in by the police in the first place with a BOLO, getting caught up in two murder cases, falling off the wagon yet again. All of these were, of course, accompanied by this killer headache and Monica’s ghost. She was ready to go.
“Oh, and can you thank your mom for the birthday card and basket? It came yesterday, to my surprise, a couple weeks late but still kind of her to do.”
“Got it,” Rebecca said, holding back an eye roll at her mother’s gesture. She wondered if that was why Faruq was being so somewhat polite about everything. She stood. “Well, I’m going to go.”
“Of course.” Faruq stood with her a
nd pushed the chairs in. “You know, Rebecca, being a detective and all, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were clever enough to bring a second Ruger. If I find out you did or were in anyway involved in the foul play here, I’ll nail your ass to the wall.”
“You sure know a lot about nailing asses. Don’t you? I mean, that is what you do at that gay bar Feathers a town over. Isn’t it?” Rebecca blurted. The bar was a little far-reaching, but even she hadn’t been gone long enough for there to be more around, especially in such a conservative town. Her comment gave her a brief burst of confidence, but she quickly deflated when she saw Faruq’s face. She couldn’t tell if his eyes held sadness or anger, just that she’d really put her foot in her mouth this time.
“Wow.” His jaw tightened in cadence with his fists. Faruq took a step back with a long, deep breath. “You’ve just made it personal.”
“Faruq, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just… This whole case has got me messed up, and I’m hung over. It’s just—”
“Just go, Rebecca,” he insisted. She should’ve gone while she was ahead. No, I can fix this. “Go like you were doing before.”
“No, I’m sorry. I just… Are you even looking for the person who killed Chad? I gave you guys a description of them, and they’re the one who’s doing all of this. They killed Chad, and they were after me last night, and…” As she realized Faruq was no longer listening, she trailed off and started out of the door, defeated.
“It was probably the DTs,” she heard Faruq mutter as she left. The DTs.
“You epically fucked that up,” she told herself, slinking back out of his office and the police department building. She wrapped around the building and got into the car with her mother.
“How’d it go?” she asked.
“It didn’t match up with ballistics, but I have to stay in town since I’m still a suspect.” Rebecca pressed her head against the window as she had on the way there. Curling into herself, she also turned her body as far away from her mother as she could, hoping to give the impression that she wasn’t in the mood to talk.
