by L. B. Carter
Barnacles. She’d forgotten to shut the window after finishing her essay the previous night, or rather, in the early hours. The sound of waves crashing against the nearby cliffs in the still morning, and the fog horn moaning out a warning to the boats ghosting through the pre-sun haze slithered through the gap.
Rena stood and quickly tiptoed across the freezing floor. Wearing only an over-sized lobster-festival T-shirt she’d inherited from Grandpa upon moving in, a cool wind danced across her bare thighs, lifting goosebumps. The breeze cut off when she slammed the window shut, maybe a bit harder than was wise given the way the old panes rattled.
Pulling up the blinds from their half-mast position exposed Grandpa’s back-yard, with a small patch of grass and a tilting shed. She’d insisted on this room when she moved in. It was farthest from the ocean, so she was greeted by the little spires of dark green pines thrusting through the cotton blanket hovering over the ground. The clouds above were equally thick and heavy, a dull grey that matched her mood.
Keeping the window shut helped remove triggering sounds, but the nightmare still tormented her a few times a week, and that was if she didn’t yield to the pull and spend time at the pier. Fighting it was exhausting. While Rena lived there, her memories—nightmares—would never abate.
Her wrist stung as her habit dutifully kicked in and pinged the elastic band. She’d replaced it just last night. It left a sharp tingle that kept her mind clear. The last one had snapped while she was reading Moby Dick the day before—hence the frustrating trip to the pier.
A bright jagged streak connected the distant overhead clouds with the fog below only seconds before a rumble shook the panes of the window.
Storms were getting more frequent these days. It was a response to the change in climate, scientists said. Karma, Rena believed.
What had she done to deserve her fate?
Rena hurried toward the bathroom, the floor creaking, purposely bypassing the mirror over her dresser. She hadn’t really looked in one since the bathroom at the hospital after the accident. Also part of the PTSD, They said. It was easier to feel invisible when she could forget the green hair–like the swim team sported from too much chlorine–that had hung limp like curtains that bracketed overlarge multicolored eyes dominating a pale heart-shaped face. The irises were dark green on the inside and swirled outward like a whirlpool into the lightest turquoise, and her narrow lips had been a pale almost silvery pink... like the drowning man.
Rena didn’t remember what her parents looked like (refusing to believe her nightmares), so who knew what she’d inherited from genetics or whether the pale color of her lips had just been a function of her weakened state at the time. They might be blue now for all she knew. Why not, considering the rest of Rena’s freakishness?
She’d awoken in the hospital, confused, alone, with no recollection of her past. The quickening beep of the heart monitor had sent a nurse running in with a sedative.
Next time she awoke, a doctor, policeman and social worker had, in inappropriately serene tones, explained that a commuter had called authorities on a Monday morning about a broken guardrail on a bridge. Policemen had discovered her on the side of the inlet when they came to investigate. The car and her parents were recovered later by divers; fish and decay had removed the features necessary to identify them, the policeman had told her hesitantly.
Rena winced at the memory of that revelation.
Without remembering what kind of parents they had been either, she hadn’t been able to mourn their loss properly, which added to her survivor’s guilt. The hollow feeling she still harbored was more of an innate loneliness, not knowing where she belonged, what her life had been like before, if there had been anyone else she’d left behind.
All she had was a necklace—a locket. She pulled on her shirt and untucked the little silver globe, gripping it tight. It was simple, hanging on a delicate chain. Empty. Had it contained something now decorating the inside of a fish’s belly? No matter how much she’d tried osmosis, the heirloom hadn’t helped Rena remember the family she liked to imagine had gifted it to her.
When it became clear the amnesia wasn’t fleeting, the social worker was back, telling her about a Grandpa. Not a blood relative – she was still Jane Doe – but an older local foster parent who insisted on the title. They didn’t want to move her far, in case any family ever did show up to find her and her parents. The immediate warmth Grandpa’s smile had conveyed when the bland-suited social worker had escorted him into her recovery room and the ease with which he accepted her flaws made her feel comfortable with him; he was the closest thing she had to family.
A louder throat clearing of thunder nudged Rena to drop the toothbrush she was still circling unnecessarily over her clean teeth. She had to get going before the storm hit the shore.
Getting soaked in her nightmares was one thing, but sitting in damp clothes was not something she wanted on the first day of her last semester of high school.
◆◆◆
The storm caught up to Rena just as she emerged from the dense forest and turned onto the gravel lining the main road. Within seconds, the previously thick, saturated air turned cold, windy, and heavy drops smacked into her face at an angle. Somehow, with the zipper pulled up to her chin, the rain still found ways to slide under Rena’s jacket collar. Not that it mattered. “Waterproof” apparently couldn’t handle the increasing voracity of the hurricanes making it up the coast. Rena crossed her arms and tucked her chin. Minutes later, chunks of her hair stuck to her cheeks and she gave a little sigh but kept trudging.
The soft purr of a well-tuned engine pricked her ears in the gap between rolling growls of the storm. The neighbors would never complain if Grandpa drove that instead of the more vocal old Subaru he coughed awake early every morning. Rena’s night terrors muted that alarm clock, thankfully.
The purr grew louder behind her and Rena quickly side-stepped, moving further from the road.
Not fast enough.
The car sped by, the bass of some tuneless music thumping in her chest, over-exaggerated guffaws giving her only a second to realize who was behind the wheel before the car made a minor swerve to hit the puddle between them. A wall of dirty water smacked into her side.
Rena gasped more at the shock than the added layer of chill which quickly ran down her jeans and infiltrated her shoes. Her head shook like a dog and she glared at the red brake lights that were already at the turnoff down the road.
They’d been going too fast for her to catch the license plate, but she knew who it was, just as she knew they were just going to continue to make her life miserable today.
For a moment, Rena paused on the empty roadside, pitifully water-logged. The teachers with their sympathetic expressions would let her skip. She could turn around now and spend the day in warm, dry pajamas escaping into the world of one of Kayna’s “must-see” movies. She spun on a heel and schlepped a bit faster back the way she’d come. Rena had only gone a few steps further when a diesel rumble joined the thunder.
A red truck trundled up the road toward her, following the path of the Satanic Sedan; another student. She didn’t recognize the vehicle but took a hasty step into the grass ditch anyway. The right side of her pants where her phone nestled was still vaguely dry and she didn’t want to have to ask Grandpa for a new one. The truck steered gradually closer, pulling off the road just short of her, and she panicked slightly as it squealed to stop right next to her.
This was how people got abducted.
The passenger window dropped a few inches in short lurches that indicated manual control. “Hey.” The voice was deep but young and shouted over the hush of raindrops hitting leaves behind her. “Need a ride?”
The rain streaks on the window prevented Rena from seeing into the cab, but the sentence didn’t sound malicious. Rena hesitated. “You are going to the high school, right?” Now he sounded as unsure as she was. If he had to ask that, then he didn’t recognize her, either. Innocent until prov
en guilty.
She looked longingly into the trees towards home, blinking drips off her lashes. Rena had bothered to stay up all night writing that Moby Dick essay. She might as well turn it in.
Fine.
If the guy was a foe and turned out to be a Moby Dick, she could just slap it on top of her already super day.
The door heaved open in jerks and groans, and the springs of the cracked leather bench protested as Rena clambered in. She overcompensated its resistivity, pulling the door shut with a bang. She found the crank and rolled the window shut too, muting the sound into an ambient pitter-patter on the windshield. Still averting her gaze, Rena pulled the seatbelt around and clicked it in.
A thread-bare and bleach-spotted navy blue towel appeared under her nose. Rena blinked at it.
“It’s clean. Not full of small pox, I promise,” her chauffeur prodded, wryly.
Chin still dipped, Rena took it gingerly, then buried her wet face in it, surprised to find it smelling fresh and faintly of lavender. A gentle tug on her scalp caused her head to jerk up sharply.
The sight of the driver had her jolting back against the door with a loud gasp, her hair wrenching from between his outstretched fingertips.
Deja vu.
Stunned, her gaze darted over the familiar mussed brown hair. The faint scruff on his square jaw was new, but the indented chin and sharp jaw it dusted were not. Pink lips were turned down in a slight frown below the Dr Seuss Who-type nose with which she was most acquainted. Finally her eyes landed on his, the deep, deep ocean blue of them darker under his lowered brows. A similar hue tinged the inside corner of each eye.
Rena hadn’t anticipated seeing her punching bag again so soon... Ever really. She’d hoped. And she definitely hadn’t expected to see so much damage from her punch. The bruising was vivid. Ouch.
He caught her reaction and smiled wryly, one brow raising under his hair, but didn’t say anything. “Sorry.” He dropped the hand that had grabbed at her hair. “It’s such a unique color.”
Her own brows rose. Unique. That was like when people said they found something interesting. Unfortunately for him, her mood, like the rain, wasn’t going to let up anytime soon. She waved a hand impatiently at the road in front of them, flinging drops of water across the ancient faux-wood dash.
“Right. Sorry. Again.” He turned forward and put the truck in gear, and they trundled down the road. Rena tried to keep her gaze forward, yet in her periphery she couldn’t help but inspect Mr. Hero, Round Two.
One hand draped over the wide steering wheel, while the other adjusted the heat. His forearms were exposed beneath pushed-up sleeves. The black thermal shirt skimmed the top of his light blue jeans, which looked soft and worn, thin enough to show the slight clenches of his quadriceps muscle as he moved his foot from the gas pedal to the brake for a turn. His nose didn’t look broken from the side, at least. The bridge sloped smoothly upward toward his brows without any kinks–
He was looking at her.
Rena cut her eyes forward, switching mid-thought to checking out the interior of the truck, which seemed to match the towel: worn but clean. There was no rubbish on the floor mats, the dash was polished but scratched and dented, hinting at many past stories. In fact, that’s what Rena had read in his blue eyes: a jaded seen-it-all type of weariness, yet the confidence and energy to keep pushing on.
He cleared his throat. “I’m Norton by the way—Nor. And you are?”
She flicked her eyes over to him and then back to the front as they made another turn. He really didn’t know? He’d find out who she was soon enough. The gossip mill of the school was sure to enlighten the new guy, the popular crew latching quickly onto fresh meat. Especially with a yuppy name like Norton. They’d be thrilled to bring him up to speed quickly on who it was acceptable to associate with and who to avoid.
“So… You walk to school, huh?” Nor tried to engage Rena again.
She looked out the passenger window, watching the intermittent flash of green behind the steady diagonal streams of water racing across the glass.
“Okay. Silence it is.” He sounded a bit put out and she actually felt guilty.
Thankfully, Nor left her in peace until the truck coasted into a spot far from the school entrance. She was already wet, and he was observant enough to pick up on the unspoken rule that the first few rows were socially reserved for the popular kids’ fancy, black, luxury sedans with their shiny grills haughtily grinning their dominance. The rain only made them look more polished in stark contrast to her listless, brown-tinted outfit.
Killing the engine, Rena’s chauffeur sat back, his eyes following the brightly colored raincoats scrambling for the school. A slight frown tugged at the corners of his mouth as he watched, and a heavy sigh heaved his chest before he peered over at his passenger.
She was staring again.
Rena quickly covered her embarrassment by handing him the towel. His fingers grazed hers as he took it, muttering a thanks. She snatched her hand back from the contact, turning to escape the awkwardness filling the cab.
Nor grabbed Rena’s arm as she reached for her bag.
Rena froze, her other hand clutching the door handle. His warm fingers fully encircled her wrist, like a manacle. Breathe. Her free hand rose to clutch her necklace, the elastic band hidden beneath his grip.
“Wait,” he said. “Do you need a ride home, too?”
Heck no. What she needed was to get away and never see Nor again. For real this time.
Rena inhaled and exhaled through her nose, acutely aware of his grip. She shook her head in response, refusing to turn around, and wrenched her wrist free. Bag hefted on one shoulder, she slid out of a small gap in the door splashing straight into a puddle.
Of course. Nor’s towel had only dried the surface anyway.
“Thanks for the company,” floated after Rena as she took off. She didn’t know this Nor well enough to be sure it was sarcasm.
◆◆◆
The halls were sardine-packed with shuffling students mindlessly herding after each other as though on unseen train tracks. Rena had to forcibly shoulder her way through a group of burly football players before wedging up between the throng and her locker. Normally she’d toss the books she needed in her bag, but its dampness forced her to hang it on the hook and heave the fresh notebooks in her arms.
“Sirena!” a bright voice chirped behind her, and a head of dark curls appeared. Kayna wrenched on her hand, which was seemingly caught between the football pack and the following goth group. She gave an almighty heave and her blue-nailed hand finally pulled free, a bigger hand wrapped around it. The letterman’s jacket that followed confirmed that Kayna had already tethered herself to her boyfriend, Liam.
Kayna twirled back around, nearly smothering Rena as her hair fanned out. “What a mumble jumble today!” She shoved a few ringlets from her chocolate eyes, blinking mascara’d lashes to dislodge wayward strands. Kayna’s upbeat trill and the upward curve to her little Kewpie mouth contradicted the whine. Rena knew better anyway; her friend loved people, and they loved her. She was a social butterfly—Rena’s opposite. Kayna’s skin—the color of the coffee omnipresent in her other hand—was almost glowing over the excitement of being surrounded by people again.
“And they’re all fecking wet,” Liam’s low voice grumbled. His Irish lilt always got stronger when he was upset. He was one of the European climate refugees who’d moved to the US several years ago with his parents and baby sister when the rising sea level shifted populations inland, crowding his small country. That uprooting was probably a factor in his dislike of crowds, in opposition to his girlfriend. Liam’s brow was pulled low over his green eyes.
Kayna turned at his tone and smoothed a finger over the scar cut from the corner of his right eye down his cheek. It was a reward from taking a skate blade to the face when a particularly aggressive opponent sent a few of his teammates (and not the puck) into the goal Liam was defending, knocking off his mask. It had b
een Rena’s first time spectating a sports event.
And last.
“So are you, silly.”
Liam’s disgruntled expression relaxed. He chuckled, proving Kayna knew exactly how to soothe him, and clasped her hand, moving it from his face to kiss the tips of her fingers. “Your hair seems to be drying,” he commented, springing a curl with his other hand.
“Humidity humph.” She pouted dramatically. Kayna was quite the actor. Also a refugee, escaping the impossible heat and hurricanes in the south, she was used to far more saturated air than this. “So, are you excited for anatomy?”
Rena realized the sarcastic question was directed at her. They’d already analyzed schedules when they were mailed out a week ago. Liam wasn’t in any of Rena’s classes and Kayna only in the one, which only marginally helped counter Rena’s dread.
Anatomy meant dissections. Kayna didn’t share Rena’s squeamishness when it came to blood—something they’d found out following Liam to the hospital the night he’d gotten his scar—and got a huge kick out of how Rena had passed out. What Kayna didn’t realize was that it was mostly that medical things reminded Rena of her own traumatic time in the hospital.
The warning bell rang and Liam gave Kayna a kiss on the cheek before joining the herd migrating towards math. Kayna looped an arm through Rena’s, making it look sickly pale in contrast, and they joined the slow-moving queue heading in the direction of the science wing.
“So what did you do this weekend?” Kayna asked over the squeak of wet sneakers on tile. “Liam took me to the beach for a few last rays of sun before the autumn crisp takes all that glorious warmth from me. I was forced to bring The Rugrats, who just terrorized the seagulls, of course.” Her friend continued to chatter about her baby brothers, unaffected by Rena’s silence. Kayna loved to talk and Rena was obviously a great listener. It made them a perfect pair.
They turned a corner to see several bodies scattered throughout the short hallway waiting for their classroom door to be unlocked. The sharp scent of formaldehyde got stronger as they approached, making Rena nervous.
