The Storm and the Darkness

by Sarah M. Cradit

  “I don’t think in terms of limitations,” Nicolas was saying, leaning over the table in her direction. Oh, this act. The tough, no-nonsense, rogue without a cause.

  “That’s a great philosophy to live by,” she was saying. Oz thought her head might fall off from all the nodding. She was trying to be coy, but was clearly already hooked. Why does this always work? “But Mother Nature is one hell of a force to reckon with.”

  Nicolas sat back in his chair, unperturbed. His hair hung down into his eyes in messy waves. “People are cautious. And they should be. The cost of human life is…far…too dear,” he was saying, sounding not unlike William Shatner. Oz bit his lip, studiously focused on the bread and butter, trying not to give in to laughter.

  “But,” he continued, leaning forward again, “Caution is for the masses. Caution is–how should I say this?–smart, and it should be followed. Most of the time.” She was hanging on every word. “Rules are made for wise reasons, but every rule has an exception. I know that someone will be willing to take me to Summer Island. And if good sense gets in the way, cash is always a worthy motivator.”

  She frowned. “How much cash?”

  Nicolas sat back in his chair again. His bored expression implied he was done with the conversation, but Oz knew better. This was where she was about to reeled in. “If you haven’t figured out by now that money isn’t an issue for me, then I doubt you can be of much help.”

  She looked around, then lowered her voice, leaning forward. “I just need to know some figures. I can’t exactly go to my father and ask him to turn the ferry lines back on.” She looked around, lowering her voice. Ah, so Nicolas did have a plan. The daughter of the man who runs the ferries. Slick. “But I know do know some fishing boat captains, and a couple of them…well they might be interested if the price made it worth the risk.”

  Nicolas and the young woman transitioned to full whispers after that and Oz only picked up bits and pieces. No matter. Nicolas would be filling him in soon enough. She left, returning ten minutes later, and they resumed their whispering.

  Oz looked out the window at the grey, hazy skies and he could see nothing farther out than the docks. He’d be seeing whatever was beyond soon enough. He wondered again where Ana was, what she was doing. If she was okay. He tried not to think about how she would feel upon seeing him. There was a sinking shame anytime he thought about her leaving her home and friends so she could put his filthy mind at ease; how he had let her do it. He could have called, or written, asking her to come back...he could have done many things that he didn’t do. It’s why I’m here now. It matters...it has to matter...

  “We’re in business,” Nicolas said after the girl left. “We leave tomorrow.”

  That was easy, Oz thought as they finished their breakfast.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven: Alex

  Alex heard Finn before he saw him. The snowcat rumbled from a distance before the headlights flooded Alex’s back room. He worried for a while that Finn might have gotten lost, or broken down somewhere, so he was relieved, in a sense, to finally have him arrive.

  He had time to think, and had decided what he wanted to do. Although the phones were down, Alex’s radio still worked. But contacting the sheriff was out of the question. Sheriff Horn had been a good friend of Andrew St. Andrews. The man was blindly protective of both boys, and was certainly not fond of Alex. He had no close or trusted friends on the island. He had half a mind to call the Coast Guard, but their first call would be to Horn, and then Alex would get an earful or three. Horn would want proof, and Alex had no proof other than his gut feeling.

  And ‘sides, Lexie Lou, this is yer moment to shiiine. Cain’t be letting others steal your thunder, right? They were his father’s words, but he no longer heard the whiny intonation of his father’s voice. He had hated him so much when he was alive, and he hated him still. Now when Alex heard his father speak he heard his own voice, one that was mature and in control. Are you gonna be yer mother’s little sniveling Lexie Wexie Woo, or are you going to be a maaan, Alex?

  Don’t call me that...

  But it’s your naaaaaame, isn’t it, widdew wexie wooooooo...

  Swing, crack, spurt...the shock and the horror frozen on his father’s face. All the taunting in his expression gone. The way his father’s eyes stayed wide and horrified even as the axe carved into his skull, the blood pooling so fast Alex nearly slipped in it.

  Alex’s mother–his weak mother, who was really no better than her husband at all, when it came right down to it, that weak-minded, pitiful slut–was huddled in the corner, crying. Alex nooooooo...whyyyyy...I looooovvveeeed himmm...

  It’s no wonder he loved to smash your face in, you stupid, pitiful bitch, Alex had said, swinging the axe at her this time. He missed, and half her face lay flapping as she screamed and screamed, arms flailing, slipping in her own blood and her husband’s blood. The next swing had done the trick. And when Alex was sure they were both–finally–gone, he went into his room and closed the door and the blinds, welcoming the silence with all his heart.

  But his father was right...if he wanted to help that sweet girl, he’d have to take control of the situation, just as he had before. Alex slipped into his winter wear, checked his shotgun shells once more, then slung the gun over his shoulder and headed to the food storage.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight: Finnegan

  The snowcat came to a shuddering halt. As the engine sounds sputtered and faded away, Finn was enveloped in silence.

  He could not get any closer to the small cement building that held the town food storage. It was possible to drive right up to the big steel door if you were in a car or truck, but the trees on either side of the driveway blocked Finn’s wide approach by a hundred feet. Hauling the food back to his vehicle in two feet of snow would make for an hour or so of work, even with his snowshoes.

  The stillness in the air was accompanied by an unusual darkness. Why didn’t the Farnsworths leave the light on? Finn searched through the cab of the snow cat to find the flashlight he packed. The light flickered momentarily, and then died. Shit…I should have checked for extra batteries.

  Finn peered out the front window again. He could not see the building, but the moonlight cast a shadow on the trees leading up to it, and he hoped that would be enough.

  Finn had memorized the access code to the building, but in the excitement he had forgotten it. Reaching into his inner pocket, Finn’s gloved hand fumbled for the old slip of folded paper that he had brought along with him, just in case. He pulled it out. 77877, it read. All residents of Summer Island had it written down somewhere safe. Finn had never been so glad for Jon’s neurotic organizational habits. He’d found it in the Rolodex, taped to a card labeled: Code, Food Storage.

  Finn removed his gloves and slipped his hand into his pocket again, finding Ana’s cross. He threaded the delicate chain around his neck, under his jacket, and latched it. The tiny cross clinked against the one he was already wearing.

  Finn pulled his gloves back on, took one last, long deep breath and then opened the cab door. The cold air rushed at his face, stealing the breath from him, as he sunk into snow that came to his knees. The door seemed miles away. I just have to remember why I’m here. He dropped his face and started the slow hike to the building.

  The complete stillness of the icy air had an eerie quality to it. Finn was painfully aware of how alone he was; the lack of children’s laughter, or cars moving through the downtown strip, was louder than the sounds themselves.

  Suck it up and stop being a pussy. He forged on. His steps were heavy and the snow’s resistance complicated matters, but he knew each trip back to the snowcat would get easier as the path was flattened.

  Finn heard a crunch of snow ahead of him, and stopped. Pulling his hood back a bit to widen his vision, he peered into the darkness ahead. He could see nothing at all. Probably an animal.

  The snow was starting to soak through his thick layers of clothing. He would have to move faster. The driv
e home was long and the heater was not working in the cab–another thing his father had left to rot.

  The crunching sound echoed again from ahead. This time, Finn narrowed his eyes and tried to focus harder, but the illumination of the snow against the night cast so many shadows that he could make out nothing distinct. “Hello?” He called out. There was no response. Of course not. It’s probably a deer.

  Finn continued toward the building, but his heart was racing. Then, there was the crunching sound again, but this time it was coming from his left.

  That does not sound like a deer…or a fox…he thought, as he listened carefully to the heavy crunches the footfalls made. They were coming closer, and the pace was quicker. Then, suddenly, they were right beside him, and the shadow grew into the large, tall shape of a man.

  He spun around with his hands out in front of him, and a sharp pain shot through his head as cold steel connected. Finn saw a flash of light and then felt himself falling, sinking, into the white, icy darkness.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine: Ana

  In her dream, Ana was drowning.

  She had been running, feeling the cold sweat and force of the wind beating on her. Running away from something…she didn’t know what…running, running, running.

  Suddenly, the ice water sprayed up on to her, all around her, the shock of the cold piercing her body as she continued to run…through it…into it…submerging herself.

  The release…the sweet surrender.

  Then…darkness.

  Chapter Forty: Jonathan

  Jon was avoiding going upstairs. He had not expected her to wake; not then, not with Finn gone. They had connected for one moment, and then that moment had ended, and instead they were both left again with their fear of one another.

  He occupied himself by checking on Mr. Jenkins, who no longer needed Jon’s attentive care. This doesn’t make up for the way I’m treating her, Jon thought, but the presence of the dog soothed him, like returning home after a long trip. Angus was Finn’s, and Cocoa was Ana’s. But for a little while longer, the little cocker spaniel was Jon’s, and there was no one he’d rather be around.

  Jon knew he should go upstairs and make sure Ana was okay. She was clearly unsettled. He was abandoning her. He knew it, and hated himself for it; but he stayed put, running his hands gently through Mr. Jenkins’ soft fur.

  An hour after he left her upstairs, he slipped back into the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove for some tea. Perhaps she will want some too, he thought, but summarily dismissed the idea. When the tea finished, he sat in his usual seat at the kitchen table, staring off into nothing, unsure of what he needed to do next.

  What he wanted to do was ask her about her accident some more. He wanted to understand how she had healed so quickly; if this was normal for her. Jon started to wonder if perhaps he had imagined how bad her wound was to begin with. Maybe all the blood had overwhelmed him, and made it seem worse than it was.

  No…I stitched her up. I saw it with my own eyes. It was there, and it was terrible, and now it’s nearly gone and there is no rational explanation for it.

  Jon heard the sound of thudding down the stairs behind him. “Angus, easy!” he yelled. When he heard the door open and the screen door slam shut, he cussed under his breath, realizing that Finn must have left the door cracked and now the stupid dog had gotten outside. I don’t want to deal with this right now.

  Moments later, Angus came padding into the kitchen and Jon gave him a dirty look. Then Jon froze. Angus had not come from upstairs, and Mr. Jenkins was still in the study.

  Jon leapt from his seat, dashing through the house and out the front door, not bothering with his shoes or coat. He didn’t think at all as he ran; didn’t hear the screen door slam shut behind him, didn’t feel the icicles of cold piercing him as his body smashed into the snow.

  His body felt like a thousand pounds as he thrashed through the snow, his hands shoving it aside in frustration. Jon could see the path her body had made, but could not see her. He knew they would both soon go into shock if they didn’t get back into the house, and into warm clothes.

  He followed her path, pushing the snow away wildly, focused only of finding her. After what seemed an eternity, he found her, half-asleep, crying, and shivering. He picked her up and moved back through his path in the snow and toward the house.

  When the door closed behind them, he saw Ana’s blue lips whisper something, but could not hear what it was. They were both at risk of hypothermia, both needed warmth immediately. Where was Finn to help, he cursed to himself, as he carried her up the stairs, the heat from the fireplace tickling his ice-cold back.

  Both of their pajamas were soaked through. Jon moved quickly, shedding first his own clothes, and then helping Ana with hers. She started to come to her senses, but she was not moving near as fast as she must have been when she slept-walked out the door and into the snow. He rushed away to start the shower, quickly returning to her side, holding her close as he helped her toward the shower. Jon stepped in, and then pulled her into the shower with him, yanking the curtain closed behind them as the hot water poured over their freezing bodies.

  Ana pressed her cold body up against his, shivering; her discomfort and pride forgotten entirely in her fear. Jon wrapped his arms tightly around her, sliding them up and down her back, her body, all over her, to spread the warmth of the water, to fold her into it.

  She lifted her head up to face him as the water rushed over her face, between her lips. Jon’s heart was racing as he stared into her wide, blue eyes. His mind swam with thoughts in those brief moments, but none escaped. Pushing his thoughts aside, he pressed his lips against hers, kissing her roughly.

  “Ohh,” Ana whispered, as if for the first time realizing they were both naked, their bodies already wrapped around each other for comfort. Jon forgot his own unease and lifted her swiftly into his arms, pressing her body against the shower wall as he pushed harder against her, kissing her all over, everywhere. I know you, Ana Deschanel. And you know me.

  Jon wound his hands through Ana’s wet hair, holding on tightly, afraid if he stopped to think she would disappear entirely and so would he.

  Ana wrapped her thin legs around his waist. Jon felt her hips rise, and his own movements matched hers as he entered her, the shock of his action forcing him further into the moment, and away from the reality of his deeper thoughts. They both gasped, soaked, and consumed with the moment, relinquishing to each other the control they had both held onto so dearly in the past. He thrust into her, against her, kissing her, devouring her. He was not Jon anymore. He was not the same. He was alive.

  Jon shuddered against her, and felt Ana experience the same release. The moment had passed almost as quickly as it had arrived.

  He gently set her down, and they stood in the shower, watching each other, panting and speechless. Ana’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and her eyes were wide with shock. Her wet hair framed her pale, pretty face, and he reached out with one hand to touch it. She closed her eyes and let her head fall to a rest in his hand, and with his other he pulled her close to him. They remained that way as the water rained down on them and their silent, private thoughts.

  Chapter Forty-One: Ana

  What in the hell just happened? She released a deep sigh that felt like it had been building for hours. Jon. Wrong brother, Ana.

  Jon had gingerly helped her into the bed, glancing back at her as he moved toward the door. He said nothing, but his gaze stayed on her until he switched off the light and she heard the door close.

  That night in his office, he was repulsed by her. When she awoke and he was sitting by her bedside, he was terrified of her. Even Finn hadn’t disagreed when she remarked that Jon didn’t like her. Well, she didn’t like him either. He was cold, reclusive, odd, and she felt his eyes always on her, silently judging her.

  And who does that remind you of, Ana?

  She curled up into a fetal position under the blankets. Her body was sore from sleeping, and
she found herself experiencing another familiar soreness between her legs. She couldn’t believe she had slept-walked. How many years had it been since she last terrified her father with it? She thought she was past it. She had never been a light sleepwalker, either…hers was the variety of sleepwalking that often got her in trouble, and even put her life at risk. Her neighbor once found her jogging around the block in her bra and panties at two in the morning.

  Each episode had been unique, though this was the first time one of her walks ended with rescue sex. Wrong brother, Ana.

  Wrong brother, indeed. She should go downstairs and talk to Jon about what happened, sort it out, put a label on it. But she didn’t, because she knew how she would react if Jon had tried to pin that conversation on her. And he’s just like me.

  That realization made her dislike him even more. For as guarded as she might be, she was never cruel to others. She never hurt people because of who she was. But that’s not entirely true, is it? How many times have my words or actions mistakenly hurt my father, or one of my friends? Or even Nicolas? What about the reason I’m here in Maine?

  Ana missed Nicolas so much that she felt an ache deep in her chest. She wanted to call him, but Jon told her the phones were down. It’s probably for the best. He would to listen to my fuzzy, convoluted story filled with holes and fly his ass out here to rescue me.

  Eventually Ana would have to tell him about Oz. She had no doubt that Oz was still struggling with his actions and would eventually have a meltdown, spilling the truth in all directions.

  Considering Nicolas and Oz gave her faceted mind time to decide how best to resolve the situation with Jon. It would be better not to put off the conversation with him any longer, for the awkwardness would grow and fester over time if they ignored it. She made her way downstairs carefully, using the bannister for support. Jon heard her coming, and rushed in to offer assistance, but she shook her head, determined.