The Chilling Tide

by T M Bashford

  It’s late when we return with the horses, and Arnold is leaning against the car having a smoke. He lifts a hand in greeting, then stubs out the cigarette in the dust.

  Squashed up together in the back, Shae’s head on my shoulder, Arnold expertly darts through dark, winding country lanes. I think of my father and the last time I left the station and when we hit the motorway, I find myself silently saying Bye, Dad. His cowboy hat is in my lap and I grip it to me.

  Beside me is a report Dave gave me. Following the declaration my father’s death was an accident, Gavin Myers had instigated an investigation and got homicide involved, mainly to cover some sort of insurance and legal issues associated with someone as wealthy and high profile as Anthony Vega dying in a freak accident. I’m keen to read it but refuse to pop the bubble of intimacy around me and Shae.

  Shae

  After Arnold drops us home and Drew and I traipse through the front door, Jamison is there to greet us. Drew apologizes for our late return, explaining how it was the perfect day for horse riding, and then he tells Jamison to go to bed. Boomer comes to say hello and nuzzles my legs, then curls into me when I lean down and draw him in.

  “I’m afraid I have something urgent to discuss with you, sir,” Jamison says. “Perhaps after your shower, we could talk?”

  “Sure. I’ll take Shae upstairs first.”

  Disappointment surprises me—I had hoped Drew might sleep with me tonight. I need to press my naked body against him and have him inside me. Today’s intimacy cracked the walls around my heart, and I must ensure they don’t get rebuilt. I want to stay open to him and to a future with him, but I’m used to my defences rebuilding themselves to protect myself. I’m used to chickening out. George was right—I’m afraid of love.

  Even though I’m capable of climbing the stairs without help, Drew holds my hand and takes me up. My belly collywobbles.

  I gasp as a flash of light surprises me. When I make out the shape of a sloping banister, I stop. Across the hall the electric lights are hazy suns behind thick gray clouds.

  “You okay, Shae?” Drew asks, his words laced with concern.

  “I can… see something.”

  “What? What can you see?”

  “It’s shadowy… but shapes of things, especially the lights.”

  “Shae, this is brilliant. What a great day. It’s all going to be okay.”

  The stairs appear flat and blurry, but I step up them, gazing around me. “The lights are like lightbulbs in a blizzard.” I walk toward my room and once inside, tug open the French doors. Drew is behind me. “There are outlines of masts sticking up. There aren’t any details but it’s like viewing things in the mist.” I twist to Drew and for the first time in three months, I can make out the shape of him. Soon, I’ll be able to get lost in his eyes again.

  Drew

  I go into the kitchen to meet up with Jamison, the report detailing my father’s death in my hand. I’m not patient enough to wait until morning to read it. Jamison’s not going to have good news as he would never ask me to discuss anything at this time of night unless it was urgent—the evening is spoilt anyway.

  Jamison’s expression is grim as he passes me a beer.

  “What’s happened? Lucas? It’s Brett, isn’t it?”

  “Sorry to interrupt your relaxation time, but I felt it pertinent to inform you as soon as possible. We’ve had another note. This morning. I notified the police and they’ve already been here. They’ve added extra security. As have I.”

  I grip my jaw. My chest constricts. “What did it say?”

  “It read, ‘It’s my turn’. Same cut out newsprint letters. But this time, the note was splattered with droplets of blood—cat’s blood, I’m told. And this time it was posted from down the road.”

  “They can’t confirm if it’s Brett or not?”

  “No. In addition, Lucas is back in the frame.”

  What does the note mean? “What if it’s not Brett or Lucas at all?” I snatch up the beer bottle and drag on it, then pick up the envelope Dave had given me at the ranch. My finger slides under the seal to open it. “This is the report detailing my father’s accident. Gavin investigated it after the police decided there was no crime involved.”

  Sitting on the bar stool, I read and swig at my beer. Jamison tidies and fiddles in the fridge, finding ways to give me my privacy. “The ruling is accidental death,” I say, “after the horse got spooked and refused the jump—which we knew already.” I read on and my eyes stall over the words sea glass. I recall waiting in the Range Rover after the accident, overhearing some of the guys talking. They discussed how some shiny blue and green stones were left in front of the hedge Dad jumped and how they likely startled the horse, a horse who had previously stalled at the glint of sunshine off puddles in the road. “Jamison! It turns out the stones which spooked Dad’s horse weren’t stones at all. They were sea glass. Jesus. Oh, jeez. Jesus, no.”

  Jamison drops the cup he’s drying—it shatters across the kitchen.

  “George said the only thing missing after Brett knocked him out with a lamp was the sea glass Shae had collected for a windchime he was making. They had no value. Brett didn’t even take the cash in George’s wallet.” An electrical storm blows through my head and I’m up, pacing the room.

  “You believe Brett planted the sea glass to spook the horse?” Jamison’s expression is wide-eyed, his skin gray. “Why would he want to harm your father? He’s been nothing but good to Brett his whole life. The kidnapping incident—”

  The truth is like a freak wave bowling me over. “He hadn’t wanted to kill my father.” Everything starts fitting together. “He hospitalized George, manipulated Shae, lied to me, threatening me with bloodied notes, threatening Shae’s mother. Brett’s a loose cannon. He’s capable of anything. He needed me out of the way. Brett intended to kill me... so he could have Shae.”

  The letter flutters to the floor and I race out of the kitchen. “Call the cops, Jamison.” I take the stairs three at a time, remembering the blue and green gems on Shae’s beside table. I hadn’t realized they were sea glass, having never seen any sea glass before, but now I’m sure they are. Brett has a key to this house. Has he come inside? How did he get through security?

  Forgetting to knock, I burst into Shae’s bedroom. She’s not there.

  The net curtains billow at the open French doors. I rush onto the balcony, but it’s empty.

  “Shae? Shae?” I race toward the bathroom door as she opens it.

  “What’s wrong?” She looks alarmed and she’s staring right at me, rather than through me or past me. Relief that she’s there relaxes my stance and I take in how amazing it is that her sight is returning. My shouting has wiped the smile from her face though, and I realize I can’t reveal my suspicions. Not yet. Not until I’m sure.

  “Nothing. I couldn’t find you.” I wander to her bedside table and pick up the handful of sea glass. I should give them to the police. “Listen, you must shut the French doors at night. For security.”

  “I guess. But I like the sound of the yachts and the sensation of the breeze and soon, I’ll stargaze through them when I lie in bed.”

  “But close them when you go to sleep, okay?” I lock them. “For me. I want you to be safe.”

  I’m shaking when she steps toward me and puts her hand on the breastbone above my frantic heart. She places a soft kiss on my lips. “You could stay with me and keep me safe tonight.”

  I stir and harden, but there’s a knock on the door. I almost say, “Not now, Jamison,” but remember I asked him to contact the police. I sigh against Shae’s lips and move to let him in.

  “Sir. I have an urgent phone call for you. You should take it in the study.”

  I turn to Shae. “Sorry. This never happens. But I won’t be long.”

  Watching her fight to hide her disappointment tugs at me. When I wrench myself from her to go to the study, it physically hurts.

  By the time I’m finished on the phone wi
th one police officer, then a detective, then the pilot for the private jet, Shae has dozed off with the lights on. In her bedroom, I check the French doors are locked and flick off the lamps. If I slipped into bed beside her, we would make love all night. But I have a plane to catch. Having to pull myself away from her for the second time causes my stomach to ball up.

  There isn’t even time for a shower, and I head downstairs again.

  “Sir. I took the liberty of packing you some food. I overheard Shae’s family could be in danger. How long will you stay in Townsville?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve talked the detective into using me as bait because Brett’s eluded them so far.”

  “Brett is in Townsville?”

  “The police picked up that he’s used his credit card there a few times.”

  “Which perhaps means the bloodied note isn’t from him, unless he has an accomplice.”

  “He could’ve posted it, then flown up north. This time, they found a partial print on the note, Jamison. They went to his parents’ house to take prints from his belongings. It’s him, Jamison. Brett is doing this.”

  “I’m… shocked. I can’t believe it.”

  “The detective doesn’t like how Brett appeared to know about Shae’s mom not being well when he last phoned. They’re worried he’s stalking Shae’s family. Then there’s the blood-spattered note, added to my suspicions around the sea glass which caused Dad’s accident—a fact I just shared with them. If this is all true, Jamison, Brett might be… a killer.”

  “And you’re leaving for Townsville to lure someone who’s attempted to kill you once already.” Jamison’s gaze locks with mine. His mouth is a thin, tense line.

  “I have to do this. He needs to be caught. The earlier I get there, the sooner I can bait him before he does something stupid.”

  “What shall I tell Miss Love?”

  “Tell her I was called to Melbourne on business. We mustn’t scare her. She won’t mind my telling you, but she’s getting some vision back—not 20-20 yet, but it’s coming, Jamison. Take care of her while I go sort this Brett situation out. When I return, we can have a double celebration.”

  I’m flawed by the fact that Brett had tried to kill me, or at the very least, cause an extremely serious accident. He killed my father instead. Every time I think about it, my hands ball.

  “I don’t like this,” Jamison says. “You’re putting your life in extreme danger.”

  “There’ll be undercover policemen around me. I don’t have a choice.”

  I ignore Jamison’s concerned expression and text Brett the message the detective advised me to send.

  Brett. I’m in Townsville. Let’s sort this out once and for all. Meet me at Romeo Café at eight.

  Shae

  The next morning, Jamison tells me that Drew had to go on business to Melbourne for a day or two. Jamison seems upset though, and he’s quieter than usual. That, coupled with the fact that I overhear a telephone conversation regarding a delay because someone didn’t arrive at the meeting point, makes me wonder what’s really going on. I conclude Lucas is up to something with his claim on Drew’s inheritance.

  Drew hadn’t mentioned Lucas’s threat much. He probably didn’t want to burden me. I decide not to let it worry me, because I’d love Drew even if he was a pauper and that’s not going to happen anyway.

  Each day my eyesight improves. It means I’m more impatient to see Drew. On the third day he’s away, I take a sneak peek at his bedroom. It’s huge and masculine with its black, gray, and white color scheme, and the giant box bed. My insides heave sinfully at the thought of sleeping with Drew here.

  I wander farther into his room and inspect the view. Boomer follows me and sniffs the air. He seems unsettled. Maybe he misses Drew. They’re firm friends. Boomer must sense the wanna-be-vet in Drew. There are several security men dressed in navy and light blue uniforms on the grounds. I wasn’t aware of them until my vision returned. They had certainly remained discreet but seeing them unnerves me. They resemble policemen and I wonder if they watch me while I swim or sunbathe. I had hesitated over shutting the French doors last night as per Drew’s request, but I decided there’s enough security around the property for it to be safe to leave the second-floor door open. Drew’s acting over-protective.

  It’s liberating to finally see the clothes I wear each day. I decide on a bikini and yellow sundress today. It reflects my happy mood and even though I don’t usually wear dresses, it’s a shame not to give it an airing when Jamison went to so much trouble choosing outfits for me.

  On my way to breakfast, I find myself still counting paces. Except, now I can witness the cold marble floor change to a thick carpet, then to a plush rug. I see the big grandfather clock which tocks and the mantle clock which ticks and the chandelier that clinks in the wind in the White Room. And when I went to visit Sassy yesterday, the sight of her unhooked my heart from its place in my chest and it seemed to gape wide open like a swinging gate. I had stroked her hull, ripples of hope fluttering through me.

  I pick up the newspaper that’s routinely laid on the dining room table, but the words are black squiggles on the page. Not quite there, then.

  I text Drew, having adjusted the size of the font on my phone.

  Seeing blurry color today. Still can’t read.

  His response comes a few minutes later.

  Wish I was there to celebrate. You should go sailing with Colbie to pass the time. We need to celebrate your birthday, too.

  It’s hard to believe I’ll be twenty-five in a few days. I recall this time last year, spending my birthday alone on Sassy Jam, half mad with loneliness, half dead with exhaustion, running from the police, but worst of all, Drew hadn’t awoken my heart yet.

  “Let’s go sailing, Boomer,” I say, thrilling at his beautiful face and large brown eyes before he turns in the direction of the jetty.

  Colbie comes over to sail with me the next day. She’s astounded I’ve solo-sailed without 20/20 vision, although my colors are getting sharper and apart from reading, my sight is nearly normal.

  Jamison packs us a picnic and we spend a couple of hours on Sassy, then anchor off Manly Beach for lunch. We use the dinghy and carry the cooler bag and towels over to the shore. She tells me about her latest conquest.

  “He resembles Leo DiCaprio—except taller. Boy, can he friggin’ kiss!” The slightly blurry image of her swigs on her water.

  “Apparently you and Finn hooked up?”

  “Nice brother you have there. Good hands.”

  “Stop, please. I don’t want to know.”

  “How are you and Drew?” My gaze scatters out to sea and I take in the contrasting blues of the ocean against a lighter shade of sky then the green contours of the land. But it’s like looking through a fine mist.

  “We’re fine. Really good.” At least, we were until he left rather abruptly.

  “If you could have heard the way he talked about you—I can only dream of a guy who’s that crazy about me.”

  I don’t mention how I’ve decided to try to adapt to his way of life, even if I’m not sure I can yet. “I’m going for a dip to cool off, you?”

  “Sure.” She finishes pouring champagne into a plastic wine flute and passes it to me. “We can take our drinks.”

  We wander into the water, still cold this time of year, and gasp and scream as we race to be the first to submerge. Once in, Colbie necks her drink. “To stay warm.”

  I copy her, but it doesn’t reach even a smidge of the numbness in every limb. We dash out of the small waves, diving onto our towels to capture the sunshine on our skin.

  It’s when I’m propped on my elbows, sipping a water and absently gazing at the scenery, that I recognize him. He’s let his beard grow, so he looks older, but it’s definitely Brett. He’s at the beach bar ahead of us, and he has the gall to return my stare.

  I pull my T-shirt on over my bikini top, but I don’t take my eyes off him. “I think Brett’s following me. How could he
know we were here—”

  “Where is he?” Colbie asks and sits upright. “What does he look like? I’ve only ever heard about the bastard. Is he the hunk of dark hotness over there?”

  Realizing we’ve spotted him, Brett turns away.

  “He won’t know I’ve regained my vision enough to bust him watching me.” That’s why he was openly staring.

  I stand, furious, and stride through the sand toward the bar.

  He glances at me sideways.

  “Brett. What the hell are you doing here? Are you following me?”

  His face melts into a wide smile. “Shae. Fancy seeing you—”

  “Don’t try to sweet-talk me. You were staring at me a moment ago.”

  Colbie comes up behind me.

  “Your sight has returned, then,” he states. “You ought to give the papers that hot morsel of news. I’m sure the world will be happy for you. May I buy you both a drink to celebrate?”

  “Why are you here?” I demand.

  “Can’t a man have a drink at a bar?” He reaches past me and Colbie accepts his handshake. “I’m Brett. And you are a whole heaping pot of gorgeousness.” Brett scans over Colbie’s swimmer’s body, her orange G-string not leaving much to the imagination.

  “Eyes off, boy. I love a bad boy, but even you’re a little too bad for me. Come, Shae, let’s go.” She takes my wrist and tugs.

  “Wait.” Brett clasps my other wrist. “Have a drink with me? For old time’s sake.”

  I point with my chin at the beer in front of him. “You’re drinking again?”

  “Sometimes, but not to excess. You’d be proud.”

  I pull away but Brett’s grip tightens. The wind flogs my hair behind me, and he lets me go and captures it instead, rolling it around his fist so I’m bound to him. “It’s as long as the day I first met you,” he says.

  I try to jerk free, but he tugs me back. “Let my hair go,” I demand.

  “You’re not acting very friendly.”