Declan – one of the friendliest Enchanters created, according to Emily’s handwriting. He was a firefighter in a former life, always helping others, always caring. I can almost see Reed’s smile in Declan’s dark face and his lime green eyes.
And then Nicholas – the bassist heartthrob with the inability to love. The heart pinned onto his shirt is detachable, so unrequited and aching. I imagine Emily’s Enchanter booth after dark when the little dolls come to life and Zombie Asylum would take the stage. All of the little Enchanter girls would go crazy screaming for Nicholas.
The five dolls look up at me from their line across the bay window. This time, I smile at massacre-man Pickett. He’s not so scary now. He’s full of loyalty and love and a little bit of Gonzalez. He’d be my A.J. if I were a doll on Emily’s shelf.
I carry them to the bed, move the candle from the shelf on the wall, and line them up accordingly – Nicholas farthest from my reach, symbolic of the isolated surfer. I place Caspian the pirate next to him, the biggest obstacle I’ve yet to overcome to reach the surfer. Then Bones, because Alston is still unreadable, followed by Declan, because Reed is still cautious with what he says. Pickett remains closest to me. For me, he’s the easiest to get past, and honestly, he’s the one I’d most want on my side. Enchanted Emily was right – they were made for me. I fall back onto the bed and watch Solomon twirl until my eyes are too tired to focus.
My eyes should be heavy, like sunken treasure being held to the ocean floor. But I’m wide awake and ingesting the vanilla frappe Reed picked up at the bakery this morning for me, against Vin’s orders to stay indoors. Water slams against the skylight above the stairs. It’s last night all over again. But this time we can see the damage.
Sand coats the morning air, swirling through the rain in a blurry haze and landing wherever the wind sees fit. Waves hover over the ocean and crash against the shore like the ocean gods are throwing punches. The west coast is angry this morning, and it’ll take out anyone who dares to interrupt its tantrum. The only ones stupid enough to try interrupting it would be surfers.
Vin slams his cell phone against the couch. “No answer,” he says. “I’m not waiting any longer.”
He stands up and walks toward the sliding door leading out to the swimming pool. He leans against it, watching the rain meet the glass and slide away. There’s no way he can see what’s happening among the waves from here.
“We can’t go out there,” Reed says. He joins Vin by the door, most likely assessing the damage before the inevitable journey outside.
I pull my legs up into the chair with me and watch them watch the weather outside. Colby wouldn’t be dumb enough to go out in this kind of storm. At least I hope he wouldn’t be. But if he has that desire to conquer the waves, to be the best, to surf the ultimate surf...he just might.
A.J. bounds down the stairs like he’s hung over. His hair sticks out at odd angles, but he looks like that most days anyway. “Any word?” he asks while fighting a yawn.
Reed looks back and shakes his head, but Vin doesn’t move. He’s still watching the wind and rain.
“We’re going to go look for him,” Vin says to the patio door more than to A.J.
A.J. leans over the armrest of my chair and grabs my frappe, takes a sip, and hands it back. “When do we head out? I’ll wake Alston,” A.J. volunteers before either guy can answer his first question.
A.J. is up the stairs much more quickly than he came down. Reed runs through the kitchen and out to the garage to crank up his Jeep while Vin attempts another unanswered phone call. He paces back and forth alongside the couch, willing Colby to answer and cursing his name when he doesn’t. I jump up from the chair and awkwardly try to keep step with Vin…but at a short distance.
My heart thumps, and I feel it in my throat. Linzi’s eyes meet mine for half a second as she rushes down the stairs with A.J. and Alston. She reminds me of a soap opera star. Her hair falls lightly over her shoulders, and she doesn’t have black smears of mascara under her eyelashes. My hair, however, smells salty from the beach, and there’s no way I can tame the curls. I just hope the remnants of yesterday’s makeup remain where they are because there’s no time to touch up. This would be a hell of a time to finally see Colby again.
“We’ll head down the beach,” Alston says. “We’ll check The Strip if you guys will take the cove.”
Vin nods and looks back at me. “We’ll be back shortly,” he says.
“No,” I say. “I’m not just going to sit here while you guys are out plowing through that mess. If you go, I’m going too.”
Reed’s arms wrap around me from behind, like it’s his turn to hold me back against Vin just like I did with him and Alston that night at the party.
“Don’t argue with her, Vin,” he says. “We’ll just stand here all day fighting about it. Just let her come with us.”
“Fine,” Vin says. “And you can explain her presence when we find him.” He barges through the kitchen and lets the screen door slam behind him.
Vin sits in the middle of the backseat with an elbow on the shoulder of each front seat. At least I get to ride shotgun during Operation Find The Missing Surfer.
Vin nods to the radio. “Tune in to the surf station,” he says.
Reed punches the FWD button with his finger a few times, and the green numbers jump until he stops at 105.3. Sixties surf music plays faintly in the background, but the weatherman’s voice is in the forefront. I imagine some terrible surf world announcement that Colby Taylor’s body has been washed up in the cove followed by information regarding his memorial service. I can’t even feel that twinge of happiness that I may see him again for the fear of his being dead…again.
“A mass of jellyfish have washed up on the shores of Horn Island, north of the beach at Crescent Cove,” the voice says through the speakers. “Authorities are warning all residents and tourists to stay off the beaches until further notice. As previously stated, the waves and currents caused by these storms have made the waters unsafe for swimming and surfing, so please stay inside.”
“Seriously?” Vin asks. “He’s worried about the fucking jellyfish?”
Reed looks up at Vin through the rearview mirror and pulls out of the garage. We drive in the opposite direction of The Strip, down toward the high dollar condos and beach houses. Reed didn’t bother to put the top up on his Jeep, and I wish he had. Flying sand stings my skin, and the rain drizzles over us. Hopefully A.J. was right about the sexy swamp creature look.
Vin pulls himself up against the rail above his head. Rainwater seeps through his shirt, and I flinch when I imagine how much that sand has to sting when you’re a standing target. I guess it doesn’t faze him since he has the better view of what’s ahead of us.
The rustic beach house comes into view, its weathered shutters rattling against the house from the wind, and I know we’re close. That’s where we were the night I watched blue lights spin around the perimeter of the surfer’s beach house while east coasters swam in his west coast water. But Reed’s secret shortcut through the sand is nonexistent thanks to an orange barricade and ‘Do Not Enter’ sign. He stops the Jeep in front of them, right next to the beach house from the party. The hazy air hides any view of Colby’s house down the shoreline.
My cell interrupts the moment. It’s A.J.
“Fucking helicopters! A lot of them!” he screams through my earpiece. “Tell Reed and Vin! Tell them! Now!” His words all run together in a frightened breath.
“Helicopters,” I say, looking up at Vin. “A.J. said to tell you there are helicopters.”
Vin falls to the backseat and runs his hands through his wet hair. “Damn it,” he mutters. He reaches over the seat and I hand him my cell phone. He looks hopeless and far less intimidating with his spiky hair now falling flat. He seems younger, more vulnerable, and I seriously want to crawl over the seat and hug him and tell him it’s going to be okay.
“Where are you?...From Horn Island?...Yeah, they’ll be here
soon...At least it’s not sirens.”
He hands my phone back to me, and I wipe the sand off the screen. I slide my phone into Reed’s glove compartment to avoid more damage.
“What about sirens?” I ask Vin.
He leans in between me and Reed. “We don’t like helicopters – at least not in packs – but A.J. takes them a lot better than he takes sirens. The helicopters usually aren’t looking for him, but there’s a good chance the sirens are.”
Vin hesitates for a moment, like he’s trying to talk himself out of whatever he’s about to say, but he says it anyway. “Why’d A.J. call you?”
Reed answers before I can. “Seriously? Haley is A.J.’s new best friend.”
There’s that look again, the ‘I shouldn’t say this but I will’ look.
“Good,” Vin says. “It’s about time someone treated A.J. like a real person.”
Reed interrupts what could have been an emotional breakthrough with a slew of questions – where the choppers are, why they’re out, if A.J. found Colby – and my head spins around his words.
“We’ve gotta go...now,” Vin orders Reed. “They’re headed this way, and if there’s a search party out, there’ll be blue lights soon enough. We have to move fast.”
Reed motions toward the barricades in front of the Jeep. “Do you want me to get out and move those?” Sarcasm doesn’t flow well from Reed’s mouth. He’s too nice to pull it off.
“Hell no,” Vin says. “Plow through the damn things.”
I actually have to fight a smile. Jerkoff-mechanic-Vin is back.
Reed throws the gear into reverse and slams back, slinging wet sand up around his tires. “Hang on!” he yells.
The Jeep lunges forward, slicing the wooden orange-painted barricade in half. The ‘Do Not Enter’ sign falls to the sand, and we plow over it, just like Vin ordered.
The Jeep jolts forward through the wet sand, leaving tread marks along the shoreline. The waves drift over them, filling them with sand and sea water, hiding all forensic evidence that we drove along the beach. The wind picks up, and the once-drizzling rain is now an open cloud drenching the three of us and the inside of the Jeep.
Reed slings his wet bangs out of his eyes. He parks the Jeep near the water down a small hill from Colby’s house. I follow him and Vin as they run toward the back patio. Reed veers to the left and shouts that the truck is gone. Vin peers through the windows, then points below him.
“He left Dexter,” he says. The dog hurries over to Reed as he rounds the corner, leaving the mangled pink Frisbee at Vin’s feet.
“He never leaves Dexter,” Reed says. He drops down and pets the dog, running his hands through the wet fur.
Dexter jumps up, wagging his tail and spinning around like he hasn’t had human contact in ages. My thoughts smash together in a montage of moments – the party, the beach, the Frisbee, the jet skis – and all that time that I just assumed Dexter belonged to Alston.
“He’s not here,” Vin confirms again. “And A.J. said there’s no sign of him on the beach. No one is out in this mess.”
“Someone is,” I say. “The helicopters aren’t joy riding.”
I want to kick myself for speaking up. I want to stay right here on Colby’s back patio watching the rain flood his swimming pool while the wind and sand pierce my skin. I’ll never learn the secrets of the trade if I never see him again. I could wait right here with Dexter and fight the storm off with that hot pink Frisbee.
The air pops in the distance. Small black dots move across the sky and dip down toward the ocean. Helicopters.
“He’s going to be okay,” I say, nodding with as much confidence as I can. I’m probably not very convincing, though.
Vin runs his hand through his wet hair. “He better be,” he says.
“He’s not dead.” My voice sinks to a whisper.
Vin shakes his head. “I could really give a damn less if he’s dead or alive. It’s not him I’m worried about.” His phone rings in his pocket before he elaborates.
“Damn it,” he says. “What do you want?” he asks into the phone. He stands silently for about five seconds before he speaks again. “Topher, I don’t have time for this. I can’t talk right now.”
He ends the call before Topher can pull a West Coast Hooligan attitude with him. Maybe Topher needed a mechanic or something since today isn’t the day for surfing. Mechanic work obviously falls second to keeping Colby’s secrets.
Vin whistles for Dexter to follow. I want to ask Vin who or what he’s worried about. We’re chasing Colby all over Crescent Cove, yet Vin doesn’t give a damn if he’s alive or dead? He’s more complicated than the typical con artist should be.
The dog jumps into the backseat next to Vin, bringing more sand and rain onto Reed’s seats. Gritty sand invades my flip flops, and I reclaim the passenger seat. I don’t think I could talk Reed and Vin into letting me stay here even if I begged and pleaded. Reed’s tires spin in the wet sand, and we retrace our tracks down the beach toward the old beach house. I glance back to look for a vehicle or person, but the beach house is quiet and lifeless.
Sirens blare and grow louder as they move toward us. Reed speeds through the broken barricade, but an army of blue lights blocks our path. He parks along the roadside, and Vin jumps out of the Jeep.
“Hey Pittman,” he shouts out. “Who are you looking for?”
A younger deputy meets Vin halfway between the Jeep and police cars. Vin talks with his hands from a distance, but we can’t hear anything being said.
“That’s the cop who always locks A.J. up,” Reed tells me. “He doesn’t like Vin much either, but he can’t arrest Vin for being a hard ass. A.J., well, he brings it on himself.”
“Where do you think Colby is?” I have to ask before Vin gets back. I don’t think he plans on engaging in a lengthy conversation with the cop.
“Surfing,” Reed says. He’s certain of it. “He probably went down past the cove where the big cliffs are. The waves are insane coming off those rocks, especially in this weather. Or he went down to the lower area of Horn Island, but I doubt that since Topher didn’t mention him to Vin.”
Vin walks back to the Jeep with good news. “They were looking for some kids who were fishing this morning. Boat turned up on the shore, but they bolted to a friend’s house to get out of the rain. Just got the call when I was talking to him. Search party is off,” he says.
But we still haven’t found the surfer. And the water still isn’t safe. Worst of all, he’s out there catching waves in this mess.
The Strip is empty when we arrive to meet up with A.J., Alston, and Linzi. Vin skims the vacant beach and crashing waves, still hoping to see the surf star emerge from the waves and wash up on the shore. Alston’s car sits alone outside of the closed Drenaline Surf. Must be nice to have a vehicle with a top. A.J. pops out of the backseat and runs toward us in the mist from the rain. He’s probably been in misery, even if he was dry.
“Have you talked to him?” A.J. calls out.
Vin shakes his head. “I’m calling him again now,” he says. He pulls his cell phone up to his ear. We wait. And the cursing begins.
“Where the hell have you been?” Vin shouts.
I so wish I could hear both sides of this phone call!
Vin jumps over the side of the Jeep and paces the sand-covered sidewalk. “Are you fucking crazy?...Yeah, it’s a huge deal... Don’t you ever do something that stupid again...Fuck you.”
He ends the call and looks directly toward me. “You better get out while you can, got it?” Then he flings his phone into Reed’s Jeep.
“I’ll get it later, Strick,” he calls out. He starts down the sidewalk and the drizzling rain picks up. No one goes after him, but I think the rain will do him some good.
CHAPTER 13
Topher stretches out on his orange beach towel and pops a sugar cube into his mouth. Seven hours ago, this very sand swirled through the air and created a tornado of salt water and beach particles. You�
��d never know by the looks of the sandcastles, surfers, and the scorching sun. I glance behind me for A.J. He left a few minutes ago to get bottled water and left me with the Hooligan. Apparently Topher has to surf in the cove due to the jellyfish clean up in Horn Island.
“Taylor’s crazy, you know,” Topher says in between chews. “Going out in that storm to surf. He’s going to die for real doing that.”
He knows more than he lets on. Why else would he have called Vin this morning? I’m beginning to doubt that he needed a mechanic. Still, I don’t press for any juicy tidbits. He’s not telling me anything I don’t already know. He tugs at the loose strands of his swimming trunks and readjusts his sunglasses before popping up as quickly as he would on a surfboard in the water. Miles waves at us from a distance, dragging two surfboards and leaving his mark through the sand. He looks less than thrilled to be here.
“Will you be the keeper of my cubes?” Topher asks. He looks back down at me and shakes his bag of sugar cubes.
A.J. snatches the bag from over my head. “Go on, surf star wannabe,” he says to Topher.
That’s all it takes for Topher to jet off toward the water to meet Miles. A.J. drops down to the sand, stretches out on Topher’s towel, and hands me a thick roll of blue tickets, like the ones you get at high school basketball games.
“Vin wants you to sell these,” he says. He twists the lid off of his water bottle.
I spin the tickets around and wonder how in the hell I’ll be able to sell one thousand tickets before this weekend’s surf competition. The guys were talking about it last night, how Drenaline Surf is a sponsor. I’m pretty sure Vin is hoping I’ll be back in North Carolina before then. He’s probably protective of his dead best friend’s old store, even if I still don’t understand the hostility he has toward Colby. But there’s one thing I’m more curious about.
“Vin? He actually wants my help?” I question. I can’t imagine him trusting me with anything Colby-related.
Chasing Forever Down (Drenaline Surf Series) Page 11
