I stumbled forward and reached out blindly. My hands struck damp stone: cold, solid rock—a high stone wall. I shuddered as chills shot through me, straight to the bone. Could it be the same stone wall I’d seen when I had my vision in Gram’s kitchen?
“Mom?” I whispered. “Mom? Are you there?”
I missed her. Just calling out to her split me in two.
A desperation rose in me, years of yearning, with the thought of seeing her again. It grew like a swarm as each painful, empty day I had existed without her came back to me in a flood. Flattened by its weight, I tried to push the ache off like every other day, but in this unnatural place it was even harder than normal.
Weakened from the crush of missing her, I leaned against the wall, pressing my cheek to it for support. Then, through the thick mist, I saw it—the ominous figure racing toward me.
I sprinted away on a bolt of adrenaline, keeping the wall on my right as I searched for a place to hide. The wall continued without end, like a sick nightmare, offering no shelter, no end to turn around. I was exposed. Like a defeated victim, I looked back toward my attacker in surrender.
The dark gray mist held no shape at first, and I caught my breath in the borrowed moment. Then my mind exploded with the war cry of a banshee. A mangled screech, like crushing metal and scratched chalkboards mixed with pure death, rose into one ringing, terrifying sound.
I flattened my back against the wall, trying to become part of it, to disappear into the mist before I was caught. My eyes darted upward, searching for safety and, through the dark fog that surrounded me, I could see an expanse of white sky drawing me upward. Was it “the light?” Was I supposed to head toward the light?
I blinked at its calm sanctuary, unable to resist its lure, and my muscles began to relax. My eyebrows rose up in slow motion as I focused on it—no, not on the light. On my ceiling. It was the ceiling of my flat, on Bohermore.
My hands, still on the stone wall, or so I thought, gripped the stonework of my fireplace. The stone wall vanished. The return from my awake dream went from slow-mo to face punch as the sound of my own voice hit me with its freakish, high-pitched scream.
“Who are you? What do you want!”
My voice echoed in the empty flat.
Then that troubling feeling seeped through me, the one you get in a horror movie when the slasher is creeping up and the ominous music is mounting. I wasn’t alone. Someone was near, just out of my view, watching me, stalking me.
My blood pressure plummeted, making me light-headed, causing the room to swirl. The jolting return of my heart’s steady beat brought me back, shocking me like a defibrillator, and I wondered how long it had actually been stopped.
My head reeled back as my life force surged through my veins and in a violent jerk I proceeded to vomit all over my new turf briquettes.
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Continue the Pirate Queen Series:
Book One, BOHERMORE
Book Two, INISH CLARE
Book Three, BALLYCROY
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Rockfleet (The Pirate Queen Book 0) Page 18
