Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology

by Colleen Gleason

  That was the last time he tried to connect with someone. It was lonelier this way, but it was so exhausting seeking acceptance, and the reward too small to matter.

  Where was Ana in her acceptance of herself? Still holding on to hope that maybe she would grow out of it? Instead of feeling disdain for her, he actually felt a deep kinship, for the first time since meeting her.

  His hand brushed hers, letting it come to a temporary rest. When she woke, they could never be friends, never seek to understand each other. Things would go back to the way they were. But for now, in this moment, he could console her with a touch that said: I understand. Me too.

  And then Ana Deschanel opened her damn eyes.

  For several, awful moments, they stared at each other. Her eyes were wide with panic, and they seemed to almost tremble in their sockets. There were no sounds in the house. He could no longer hear the soft hum of the heater, or even his own heartbeat, which he could definitely feel. He sensed her fear and confusion coming at him in intense waves, and it overwhelmed him. Which one of them dared break the silence?

  “You,” she said finally, her voice unsteady and strained.

  * * *

  32- FINNEGAN

  Finn shivered violently, the cold penetrating him to his core. for the crackling heat of the fireplace had never been so acute.

  He knew cold; he’d been raised in it. Learned all the tricks for staying warm. How to be aware of your pulse at all times. Methods to protect your body from frostbite. To wear layers, but make sure you never sweat inside your warm clothes. Ways to insulate your extremities. He knew all of these skills, but being a cautious islander—in a town that was often cut off from the world during storms—he had mostly avoided situations where he would be forced to use this knowledge. He logically knew how to build a house, but if someone put a hammer in his hand and wood at his feet, he couldn’t be confident there’d be a functional house in the end.

  Taking the snowcat out was foolish, but it was also their only viable choice if they intended to avoid going hungry. Even if the island’s roads opened, the lone grocery store would be sold out quickly. It was a near certainty that the ferries would not resume with another storm imminent. Mayor Cairne had been trying to get the city of Portland to be more flexible for years—other islands did not suffer the same transportation blackouts, because they were larger and had a louder voice in the matter—but he had never been able to get beyond initial discussions. With a population of only 204, Summer Island was no one’s priority.

  Asking others for help was out of the question, too. Other than the Auslanders, there were not any neighbors nearby, and even had there been, they were likely rationing their own resources. The first storm had been stronger than anyone predicted, and this was why they had created the town food storage building in the first place.

  And the Auslanders... Jon thought Finn was an idiot, or at least blind. Finn knew the reasons Jon didn’t want to go see them, and Finn more than understood, he agreed. Jon’s quick jump to silence the phone anytime it rang did not go unnoticed. Had he not been the one who worked for years to protect Jon from his own, unfair reputation? He could only imagine what Alex and Gertrude were presuming was happening at the St. Andrews house. He hoped Jon had a plan. For now, all Finn could do was make this beast of a machine run long enough to get to the food storage and back. It had taken him several hours to get it running and stocked with supplies. As a result, Finn had started his trek much later than he wanted to. Darkness would be descending soon.

  The snowcat didn’t move very fast. Compounding the lack of speed was the necessity of restarting each time it died, his heart racing, fearing it had finally given up and quit for good. There were so many instruments and gadgets Finn was unfamiliar with, and half of the instructions were in some vague, Eastern European language.

  He hadn’t figured out what he was going to do when he got to the food storage, but he suspected he would need to find a warm place to rest before dawn broke. Jon’s office was only two blocks away, and Finn knew he kept a rollout bed in the back, for long nights. Or, there’s always Alex Whitman, next door, he thought, and laughed.

  The slow drive was agonizing. He passed familiar landmarks at a crawl, acknowledging each time that he could potentially walk there faster if he didn’t need a place to put food for the return trip. He first saw the ’76 station; the orange ball towering in the air with snow draped over the top, making the number look more like 16 than 76. Slowly, the Flanders Grocery parking lot came into view. Eventually he could make out the Civil War fort. It appeared even more derelict covered in snow, as if the brightness highlighted every broken beam and rotting piece of wood.

  Finn focused his mind on what he knew was coming next (City hall, the Maritime Museum, Jon’s office) so he could fool himself into feeling as if he were making progress. I only need to get past Jon’s office, and then make a right turn and I’m almost there.

  But as daylight waned, and the town streetlights flickered to life, Finn increasingly missed the warmth of his home.

  And he missed Ana. He remembered her waving, their familiar ritual, and then imagined her doing it from his porch. Maybe that was jumping too far ahead. They had done little more than have dinner together and kiss… but he never remembered a kiss like that before. Every moment from dinner continued to play through his head like scenes from a movie.

  Finn realized—even if she didn’t—that she was so much like Jon. How could he not, when he had grown up with Jon’s darkness? It wasn’t a challenge to him. It was a part of her, like it was a part of Jon. There was so much he wanted to say to her. That he knew, and understood, and it didn’t bother him. He would give her anything, any comfort, acceptance, whatever she needed.

  It was a wonder to him Jon didn’t like her more, considering how alike they were, but there were facets of Jon’s mind that would always remain a mystery to Finn.

  Finn wished his mother was still living. He knew she would see everything he saw in Ana, and appreciate those qualities he was growing to love. You never fear, my son. God has much in store for my Mighty Poseidon. That was her private nickname for Finn, when everyone else derisively called him Ahab after his horrible boating accident. He hated being called Ahab, and she knew that, so she gave him a nickname he could love. Poseidon, the great god of the sea.

  One day you will have a family of your own, she had said.

  I don’t need a family. I have you.

  There will come a day when you’ll have me only in your heart. When that day comes, God willing, you will have another’s arms to fall into.

  I just want to be on the sea, Mama.

  And you will, Finnegan, but there is more to life. Your heart is big enough for the entire sea and then some.

  He reached past his jacket, to his shirt pocket, his thick glove ungainly but still finding what he was looking for: Ana’s necklace. A small cross with emeralds in the center. She said it had been her mother’s. His hand went to his own neck, and the cross he wore always... his mother’s. This cross was the only jewelry he wore, and hers was the only piece of jewelry she had been wearing too; something else that connected them.

  Jon said she shouldn’t be wearing any jewelry while she was asleep, in case she hurt herself. Finn absentmindedly slipped it in his pocket, only remembering its presence now.

  Remember how I said one day I will live only in your heart, Poseidon? His mother lay dying before him, fading from cancer.

  I’m not ready for that day, Mama. You have to fight back, there has to be something…

  No, sweetheart. Her thin, shaking hand had found his and dropped something into it. Her cross. This is yours now, Finnegan James. You wear this and I will always be with you. Someday you will give this to your child and they will know the beauty of love and life and family, as we have.

  Finn left his hand over his mother’s cross, remembering her final words to him.“Ana,” he whispered, his breath fogging up the thick window in front of him. He smi
led, and felt warmth rush through him for the first time in hours. The trip suddenly didn’t seem so bad. “Ana.”

  * * *

  33- OZ

  Oz zipped his small suitcase, only giving a passing, distracted thought as to whether or not he had packed appropriately. It was past eleven at night. Nicolas would be by soon to pick him up, and then they would be off to Maine. He hoped their haphazard trip was more adventure, and not a rescue mission.

  Oz felt so guilty when Ana left, but after a while that guilt had dissipated and been replaced by overwhelming relief. Unfortunately, relief was supplanted once again by guilt, and the subsequent heaviness on his heart. It came and went this way, in cycles.

  He was so close to telling Nicolas the truth that day he showed up at Ophélie. Nicolas had no idea what to do with Oz’s erratic behavior, and so had predictably ignored it. But later in the bar, he had given Oz an especially meaningful look. There was no way Nicolas could know, because if he had known then he would have killed Oz. Or would he? I’m not sure he would have been angry so much as jealous or feeling left out. Maybe angry for Adrienne...

  Adrienne and the children already left for Oz’s parents’ house, where they would be staying while Oz was gone. Oz was still, after all these years, afraid to leave Adrienne alone. It was just as well they were already gone, because he was consumed with his thoughts.

  What if something did happen to Ana? It’s possible Nicolas isn’t overreacting. He is right that Ana would not be this inconsiderate... so what if she is hurt? Missing? Dead? It would be my fault...

  Of course it was his fault. He could have stopped her. Should have stopped her. She left not only because of Oz but for him, and he hadn’t even thanked her for this act of selflessness. Because all I could think about was what Adrienne would do if she found out... what it would do to her, and to me, and our family.

  As a teenager, Oz had loved Anasofiya Deschanel, but it was a love never meant to be. His love grew for her over the course of their childhood, culminating in two completely chaotic, passionate, crazy months, starting the night of their junior prom. But where Oz was bursting to show that love, Ana’s aloofness—nothing new to him, but somehow harder to accept as her boyfriend—eventually drove him to leave her. And then, when that snap decision led to regret, she had moved on with his cousin Clancy, a perceived betrayal too close to him for his ego to move past.

  Oz never considered there might be unresolved feelings or things left unsaid over the years. After the breakup, things had been awkward at first, but then she had, frustratingly, pretended like nothing ever happened so he did the same. The close friendship they cherished before their relationship never fully recovered, but they could hang out comfortably again. Things didn’t exactly go back to normal, but they went back to something close enough.

  Until that night two months ago at Full Moon Bay, in Treme. There had been a hazy thickness in the air between them that had nothing to do with the shock of seeing each other in a seedier area of town, so far from their normal hangouts. The fear and intensity—and shame? Guilt?—in her eyes that night, when their gazes locked as he walked through the door, was the most intense emotion Oz could ever recall seeing from her. The look on his face was not much different.

  “I always knew you were a stalker,” she said coolly as he slid back the old wooden chair and sat down across from her. The music was the usual muffled, static-filled jazz on cheap speakers. The bar was full and no one took any notice of Oz when he came in. This was how he liked it. One look at Ana confirmed she came here for the same anonymous experience.

  “Waiting for someone?”

  Her eyes were still wide as she followed his movement, but she managed to hide most of the emotion that had initially betrayed her. “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Which means?”

  Ana didn’t answer him. “It’s a bit past your bedtime, no?” She raised an eyebrow, and he knew she was referring to Adrienne and the kids.

  He decided not to answer her question, either. “How about I buy the first round?”

  She shrugged, acting indifferent. “If you want.”

  He bought more than the first round. They traded off for the next couple of hours, until he lost count of how many they’d consumed, and whether or not they were even on paying the tabs. He didn’t care, either, because he was so caught up in their conversation he didn’t notice the time slowly slipping away. Ana was relaxed and carefree, and he started to see the side of her that, years ago, he had accused her of not having. Her small laugh involved throwing her head back and her whole body shaking. When he would say something she found particularly amusing, she actually took to pounding her palms on the table. He enjoyed this so much that he searched his brain for any jokes or funny stories he could remember, just to see her do it. And in perfect harmony, he had laughed with her so hard that his sides hurt.

  Oz saw her once again through the eyes of his sixteen year-old self, and all the love he once had for her was suddenly very real again. It was as if the last fourteen years never happened.

  At some point, Ana watched a man walk through the door, and despite Oz’s attempts to keep her engaged in a charming story he was telling, the conversation took a more serious turn. She was not laughing anymore, her eyes fixed on the man as he walked to the bar and ordered a drink.

  “I’ve slept with him,” she said, her voice hollow, all the laughter gone. She looked around the room and nodded at another man saying, “Him too.”

  Oz did not know how he was supposed to react to that. He didn’t know whether she was bragging, stating plain facts, both, or neither. He could never tell with Anasofiya what her intentions were. He only recognized that the relaxed, playful Ana from earlier in the night was gone. Moments before, Oz had been almost dizzy with drink, but now he felt painfully sober.

  “I don’t know their names,” she continued. She scrunched her mouth up and said, “Well, I do know his.” She nodded at one of the three men. “Josh... something or other.”

  “I don’t understand,” Oz said. “Why are you telling me this?”

  Her face was impassive, but her eyes heavy and dark. “You asked me if I was meeting someone here. I was. I was waiting for another one of them,” she nodded again toward the different men she had slept with, “to show up. A new one. A different one.”

  He still didn’t grasp her meaning, but he knew she was crossing that invisible boundary in her mind, which kept her from opening up to others. He didn’t want to do anything to upset this stream of consciousness. He wanted to understand.

  “That’s why I come here,” she said. “Or Carl’s, or Voodoo Lounge, or wherever else I end up. To find someone I can take home and never speak to again.” She looked around, her gaze even and steady. “There’s too many familiar faces here now. I think I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

  Oz reached across the table and grabbed her hand without realizing it. She didn’t seem to notice, occupied with signaling the waitress her intention to close out the tab. Oz wasn’t ready to leave. He wasn’t ready to go home. He was feeling something he hadn’t felt in so long. Exhilaration? Hope? He knew the night would have to end eventually, but he wanted to delay it as long as possible.

  Oz didn’t know why they had happened upon each other in that dive bar, and he didn’t care. He didn’t care about the silly hurts of their past—it was so many years ago, really—or whatever her demons were. He wanted to be in the presence of someone who took his mind off Adrienne. Someone he’d known his whole life, and once loved. He loved his wife so very much, but it was a love that was slowly killing him. Sometimes he thought he might claw his own eyes out in frustration at how hopeless his situation was. While he could not stand living with the constant anxiety of waiting for her to run, or leave, he could not live without her, either.

  But this night, Oz wasn’t thinking of any of that.

  He watched Ana as she paid her tab, signing her name in one messy line that looked nothing like a signature. She c
losed the small black book and stood up in one move, gliding toward the door without looking at anyone. He followed her out, and when she turned to say her goodbyes, he put his hands on either side of her soft, pale face and kissed her.

  “Adri—” she began, breathlessly, but he pressed his lips against hers to stop the words. He backed her into the wooden building, feeling her at first reluctant, then willingly slipping her arms around his shoulders.

  Oz didn’t remember her flagging the cab, nor did he recall any of the details of the drive to her apartment back in the Quarter. He did catch a few suggestive comments from the cab driver, but Ana tipped him well anyway. Oz only faintly recalled the sound of the car driving off as he stumbled with Ana onto the sidewalk, twisted in a sweaty embrace.

  “I want you,” he panted, slipping these words into any momentary pauses in kissing as they fumbled up the stairs and into her apartment. “I want you...”

  She might have asked him a few times in the cab if he was sure? If this was what he wanted? But by the time they were in her home, and her bed, there were no further objections from Ana. Her experiences with strange men had left her far more commanding and skilled than he recalled from the night of their prom, the night he took her virginity. Back then, she had looked at him with wide, frightened eyes, but this time her eyes were forceful, hungry. Not even with Adrienne had he experienced such a heat and intensity. He realized, as night turned to morning, that his longing for her was so great that it would never be satisfied. Where was this Ana, years ago? Whoever she was now, he could not get enough.

  But when, late the following morning, he awoke next to her, the humid breeze sweeping through her open windows across his face, the only thing he felt was horror and regret. His heart leapt into his chest, racing. His palms were covered in sweat. She was already awake and while the look she gave him was blank, her posture was heavy. He sensed her regret mirrored his.