Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology

by Colleen Gleason

  Alex took another deep breath. With one hand he squeezed the back of the chair, and with the other he slowly dialed the phone. Nicolas Deschanel answered on the first ring.

  “Good news! Ana is just fine. She was a little shaken up from the storm, so she’s been staying with the boys. They’re taking good care of her, ya know, so alls’ well.” Alex hoped he sounded as convincing as he was trying to come across.

  Silence and then finally a long sigh. “Thank… god.” Another sigh, and then a short laugh. “I know it probably seemed like I was overreacting, but I was worried, with it being her first winter and all…” he rambled on some more, but Alex only heard bits and pieces because the realization Nicolas believed his lie filled him with nervous excitement.

  “Aw, don’t fret. It’s natural to worry about yer loved ones and she is lucky to have someone care so much. I’m sure once she is back home, she will give ya a call and tell ya all about it. Heck, I’m sure she’d call from their house, but long distance is so expensive these days…” As soon as it was out of his mouth, Alex regretted it. Long distance is free you idgit!

  A long pause from Nicolas Deschanel’s end. “Sure, sure, well I appreciate your help Mr. Whitman, and if you happen to talk to them again, tell her she can call collect.” Damn. Well, at least he didn’t call me out for lying. “Okay?”

  “Of course, I sure will, Mr. Deschanel. Now take care.”

  “Yes… you too.”

  “Do be sure to call if I can be of anymore assistance.” Please stop talking, Alex chastised himself.

  Once he was off the line, Alex sunk into the sofa and closed his eyes. He hadn’t lied about calling the boys. He started calling them the morning after the storm started, long before Nicolas Deschanel had reached out asking him for help. Unlike Nicolas, Alex realized that even a day without communication with Ana was worrisome. He didn’t need nearly a week to trigger a call to action. He knew she needed him.

  When the brothers didn’t answer his calls, Alex thought, Well let’s try the Auslanders, who lived on the other side of Ana, further around the bend. Much to his surprise, they did answer.

  “Oh, Mrs. Auslander, so sorry to bother ya,” he said. “Yer phone lines are fine then, yea?”

  “Oh yea, they haven’t gone down at all. Lucky year, Mr. Whitman. It’s only the roads right now,” she said.

  Phones were fine there, which meant they should be fine at Ana’s and at the St. Andrews place. Yet, neither were answering. “Say, Gertrude, ya haven’t heard or seen anything from the new girl have ya? I was just wantin’ to check in with her and make sure she’s faring okay.”

  When Gertrude responded, she lowered her voice, and it sounded like she was covering the phone with her hand. “See, I was hoping she had come to stay with you for the storm. The lights in her house have been off for days, and no one has turned them on at all. I know, I was watchin’.”

  Ana Deschanel was not the first person to struggle in a Maine storm, nor would she be the last. But he knew that getting her family involved would only worry them unnecessarily. The island was closed, and until it was open, there would be nothing they could do for Ana.

  But now that Alex knew for sure she was missing, his mind resumed churning. If he was waiting for the road to clear, he could be waiting awhile. Enough thinking, he told himself. Inaction is doin’ nothin’ for that girl, and it may already be too late.

  It was time for Alex to get involved.

  * * *

  22- NICOLAS

  Bullshit. Nicolas could smell it, but what he didn’t know was exactly what his senses were detecting.

  Ana had mentioned these boys before. The younger brother she hadn’t met yet (Had been avoiding, Nicolas thought). But Jonathan St. Andrews... Nicolas knew she didn’t like him. Their interactions had been very unpleasant, enough that she had taken the time to talk about the man’s rudeness at length with Nicolas.

  So now he was supposed to accept she was hanging out, drinking hot cider, and playing Yahtzee with them? Something about that was not sitting right. Then there had been a marked changed in Alex’s tone. On the first call, he sounded annoyed. On the second, he was overly eager to help. Nicolas felt pretty certain Alex wasn’t being forthcoming, but what he could not understand, no matter how much he racked his brain, was why.

  He considered a Deliverance-style situation. Obviously they had to eat during the winter. Then he imagined a sex-slave ring where she was sold to some Ukrainians. She was thirty, but still had her looks, and she could easily still pass for twenty-two in the right light. It wasn’t that far-fetched.

  Even at his most imaginative, though, Nicolas had a hard time believing they were keeping her as a food source or a means of income. But if not those scenarios, then what?

  Nicolas made some phone calls. First he checked into flights, and although some were cancelled, they expected to have more operational the following week into Portland, and sooner into Boston. He then checked the Coast Guard, and they recommended he call the Casco Bay Ferry service. The man there told him even if he could get a flight into the area, getting to the island was a no-go for a while. Sometimes, he said, when the winters were wicked harsh, the ferries might not run at all. He told Nicolas there were some private services, but they were even less likely to run in bad weather.

  Nicolas was stuck with information he was fairly certain to be inaccurate, and no means of going there to check for himself. No, he did not like this situation at all, and was beyond the point of denying how much it was bothering him.

  His options: Sit back and let the helplessness consume him… or find a way to get on to that island and help Ana?

  * * *

  23- JONATHAN

  Ana was still unconscious a week after they found her. Jon didn’t have the experience to know when she might wake up, or what kept her from doing so. All he could do was continue to ensure she had fluids, nutrients, and regular monitoring.

  Although Jon had seen patients at his father’s practice independently—usually when Andrew was out of town or tending to an emergency—this was by far the most complex and serious case he had managed himself. If it weren’t for his father’s training, Ana might have died. Equally, if his father hadn’t been a medical cowboy with all his contraband equipment, Jon wouldn’t have had the needed resources.

  Finn kept a vigilant watch. He still slept by her side, and spent most of the day either by her bedside or checking in on her. He had an old copy of Walden Pond he read to her off and on. It was one of Finn’s favorite reads. Jon always found it funny his proletarian, fisherman brother loved reading Thoreau, but he never teased him about it.

  Jonathan knew there was no real medical evidence that talking or reading to an unconscious patient helped in any significant way. It was usually prescribed for the families, not the patients. But when Jon suggested it, Finn leapt at the idea. He was looking for anything that might make him feel useful.

  The storm had worsened, continuing a few days after they found her. Finn predicted it would last a night, but it had lasted three, with no wane in intensity over its course. They were now buried in two feet of snow, with the roads closed for the foreseeable future. Summer Island was virtually shut down... and shut off from the rest of the world.

  When Jon saw the number of the overseer come up on his phone display, he felt a sinking feeling deep within him. He knew why Alex Whitman was calling, and he also knew Alex didn’t like him one bit. Alex was one of the few people on the island who did not accept Jon for who he was, and anytime they passed in town, he could see Alex taking his measure. He was pretty certain Alex figured him for a closet serial killer or some other sort of psychopath, and Jon did not possess the skills, or the desire, to set the record straight.

  The funny thing was, Jon thought the same thing about Alex. While Finn laughed it off, claiming Alex was simply goofy, Jon could never shake the suspicion that Alex knew more about his parents’ murders than he let on. Most of the islanders felt sympathy for t
he man who had, as a boy, watched his parents be slaughtered, miraculously escaping. To Jon, Alex often bore the shifty, dishonest look of someone hiding something significant.

  But while Jon had never gossiped about Alex, he was not certain Alex had done him the same courtesy. There were others on the island who would take their animals to Jon’s office and keep an eye on him the entire time, their face betraying their real feelings. What did they think, that he had become a vet for some sick and twisted purpose?

  People fear what they don’t understand, Finn had said once. You’re not an open book, so they can’t read you. And if they can’t read you, they fill in the blanks with their own ideas. Human nature is distrustful.

  It’s really none of their business who I am, Jon said.

  Since when have people on this island cared what is, and is not, their business?

  So yes, there were a handful of people on the island who assumed the worst about Jon. If there were more, they were better about hiding their feelings. The overly suspicious handful included Jon’s neighbors two houses down: Gertrude and Hans Auslander.

  The Auslanders were second generation Germans, both born on the island. The rumor around town was that they were also cousins... as in, their parents were first cousins. They had no children, and were both nearing seventy. Nosy, assumptive, they both were extremely prolific within the gossip circles. Many of the island’s rumors started with the couple. In the case of Jon, he was almost positive Gertrude was responsible for ninety percent or more of the slander about him. While she was quite pleasant to his face, Jon knew what a malicious piece of work she was.

  When Alex Whitman called the first time, Jon didn’t answer because he was indisposed. Then, Gertrude the Gossip called less than an hour later, and he knew something was up. When Alex called a second time, Jon’s avoidance of the call was deliberate, and that was when the sinking feeling started to set in.

  It was pointless to tell Finn. He’d laugh and tell Jon he was being paranoid. His brother, who in one breath could be understanding about the distrustful nature of people, in another would tell Jon off for being too distrustful himself. Not distrustful... realistic.

  Then, on the third and final night of the big storm, the phone lines did finally go down. Jon did not feel nearly as relieved as he might have expected. Although he would not have to agonize over the calls from Alex and the Auslanders, Jon and Finn’s only tie to the outside world had been abruptly severed. By the end of the week—with Ana still unconscious—Jon found himself wishing he had reached out for help when he had the chance.

  There was also the matter of Ana’s head injury. It was not only healing well, it was almost completely gone. Jon’s first reaction was to look at the other side of her head, to see if he was mistaken on the wound location. But no, it was there, in the correct place. But... healed. It had the pinkish look of a forming scar.

  He asked Finn for a second opinion.

  “Look at the cut on her head. Tell me what you see.” Jon had nodded toward her, with his arms crossed.

  “What am I looking for, exactly?” Finn gave him a quizzical look.

  “Her wound! Describe it.”

  Finn had eyed him oddly, and Jon could almost read his little brother’s thoughts. He thinks I’ve gone off the deep end. That I haven’t had enough sleep.

  “Ooookay,” Finn said and leaned over her. “Am I supposed to tell you the colors... or compare it to a shape... or?”

  “Just tell me how it looks compared to when we brought her here!” Jon snapped.

  “Oh! It looks great,” Finn praised and smiled at him. “You did good Jon, it’s almost like the gash was never there.”

  “Thanks,” Jon replied, and dismissed him. Almost like the gash was never there. Yes, that was the problem. Lacerations did not heal that fast. With a cut as deep as hers, they should be changing the bandages for a few more weeks. Even in ideal conditions, the healing she had displayed over a week should take a year, at least.

  He had no medical explanation, and no one to call, or ask. When he checked the old medical books in the library, there were examples of people healing quickly, but not at freakish rates like this. If she was miraculously regenerating this fast, why was she not awake?

  The color in her face had returned. She was even a bit flushed, and appeared to be napping when you looked at her. If only everyone could be this quiet around him!

  Jon often found himself wandering to the study, where Mr. Jenkins and Cocoa were convalescing. Both had healed well, but with the roads closed, they remained under Jon’s care. Angus, their old Saint Bernard, was Finn’s dog, but these two furry patients—much like any of the animals Jon brought home to watch over—felt like an extension of Jon himself. He curled up on the carpet next to Mr. Jenkins and let his head come to a light rest on the dog’s chest, listening for the soothing sounds of a regular heartbeat. The dog gave a light, relaxed shudder, as all animals did when they detected Jon’s comforting presence.

  The easy part for Jon came in saving their lives. The challenge was in returning them to their owners, and saying goodbye.

  Except, Cocoa’s owner was here, Jon realized. Surprised he hadn’t thought of it sooner, he lifted the brown tabby and carried her gently into the room where Ana was resting. As soon as Jon set her down on the bed, Cocoa instantly nuzzled under Ana’s hand, purring, looking for affection.

  Finn looked at him with an expression Jon read as shock mixed with happiness.

  Later that evening, Finn came to him and said he needed to try and recover some of the catch he’d stored.

  “Impossible,” Jon countered. “There is two feet of snow outside. Our snow thrower can’t handle that. Hell, neither could our small plow. We’re going to have to wait.”

  “No,” Finn responded. “Difficult is all. We are going to need the lobster because we won’t have enough food for two of us, let alone three.”

  “All right,” Jon conceded, heading for his jacket. “You’re the expert.”

  “No. Only one of us can work on it. Someone needs to stay with Ana.”

  Great, Jon thought. I do so love laboring in the cold. “Where’s the key to the plow then?”

  Finn shook his head as he maneuvered into his winter gear. “It’s quicker if I do it, because I know exactly where to plow, and what to do. Your delicate lady fingers won’t last as long anyway,” he quipped.

  “Then who is going to stay with Ana?” Jon asked, ignoring the jab.

  “You, obviously,” Finn said, and then was out the door, the screen banging behind him, before Jon could say anything else.

  * * *

  24- ANA

  Cold snow... warm hands... ice against her face, warmth consuming her body… throbbing in her temple, the amplification of her heartbeat with every breath... pulsing... it was if her head was literally going to explode...

  “… I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately…”

  ... not her thoughts, or her words... someone else’s...

  “… to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary...”

  “Does it help her?”

  “Yes, it helps her.” Lying.

  Later. “The storm is over.”

  Later still. “A week. It has been a week.”

  “I can’t…”

  Images of black and grey cells blooming into pink and white, healing, multiplying. Yes, sleep Ana. Heal.

  Soft fur against her arm… a gentle purr. Warm cotton... warm breath on her neck... hands twined in hands. Familiarity. Warmth. Confusion. Safety.

  Deeper, deeper. Sleep. Heal.

  * * *

  25- FINNEGAN

  When was the last time Finn used the word love?

  He loved conquering the sea. He loved the little island where he
had been born and raised. He loved the taste of coffee from Tim Horton’s. He loved a lobster roll (when he was the one making it). He loved his brother Jon. Had loved both of their parents. When had he last said it, though?

  Yesterday. To her. Well, kind of. To her sleeping body, he had said it, with no response other than the same light breathing he’d heard for a week. Was he a fool? He had feelings for a girl who wasn’t even awake.

  Being in love was unappealing to Finn, on many levels. He had his life all figured out. His days were his own. He chose his commitments. He did not have to compromise. He never had to think about whether or not his decisions would affect others, or make promises to change who he was. Jon had no expectations of him whatsoever. His dog, Angus, only required Finn to feed him twice a day, and give him the occasional dose of affection. Finn had a low-maintenance lifestyle, filled with the few things he cared about, and that was how he liked it.

  Angus. That had been a defining moment for Finn, when Angus warmed up to Ana. Angus was the nicest dog in the world… to Finn and Jon. To everyone else, he was Cujo’s bigger, uglier cousin. He would bark at everyone when he was taken for walks, pee on someone’s foot if they lingered too long to talk, and growl like a wild predator if someone came to the door. In reality, Angus was the gentlest dog on the whole island, and everyone knew it, except Angus, who thought everyone was actually terrified of him.

  After the first night, Finn went down to get something to eat and when he came back, Angus had wiggled his oversized body under the covers and was cuddling with her. Cuddling! His head rested on her chest, and his eyes dared Finn to move him.

  Angus ultimately did relent in giving Finn his spot back, opting to curl up at the foot of the bed, on the floor, guarding. Each time Ana stirred, which was often, his ears would perk up hopefully. Angus continued his patient vigil despite nothing ever happening.