by M. J. Hearle
‘You feeling okay, Miss Adams? Any bones broken?’
His abrupt arrival broke the unsettling trance she’d slipped into. Feeling dizzy and a little breathless, Winter managed to reply, ‘I don’t think so.’
She glanced once more at the stranger, almost too wary to make eye contact again, and suddenly realised she was lying cradled in his arms. The embarrassment at this forced intimacy caused her to sit up much too quickly. Purple fireworks exploded in her vision, threatening to send her back to the darkness. What had happened? Her mind worked sluggishly, trying to connect the dots that had led her to this point.
She could remember squeezing her eyes shut, waiting for the awful impact of the beam, but that was where her memory stopped. How did she come to be lying here in the clearing? Had she been hit on the head and suffered some kind of brain damage? Winter raised a hand to her head. Surely she must have split open her skull or at least bruised it. But there was no pain when she tentatively pressed the skin and, better yet, no blood when she inspected her fingers.
‘Easy there, you’ve had a fall,’ Mr Denning said, his grey bushy eyebrows twitching with concern.
‘Let me help you,’ the stranger said, and Winter couldn’t help but sneak another glimpse of his magical eyes. They were so green to be almost luminous; no wonder she’d been entranced by them. Winter had never seen anyone with eyes like that. He gently hooked a hand beneath her elbow and helped her to her feet. Dead leaves crunched beneath her as she shifted her weight.
‘Thanks.’ Winter smiled shyly at him, willing her cheeks not to blush.
Both men were now watching her closely, as if worried she might collapse at any moment.
Oh God, the church!
Winter looked past Mr Denning at Pilgrim’s Lament, which looked even more misshapen than it had before. A large section of the roof was missing, and the entrance was clogged with broken timber. The panicked flight from the church came rushing back to her with startling clarity.
‘You sure you’re okay? Don’t need no ambulance or nothing?’ Mr Denning asked her.
Winter shook her head slowly. ‘I’m fine.’ She should have been lying beneath that pile of rubble!
He jerked a thumb towards the church. ‘What happened in there?’
‘I don’t know, Mr Denning. One minute I was taking pictures; the next . . . the roof was coming down.’ She felt guilty for lying, but lacked the courage to own up to the truth. It was her fault! If Winter hadn’t been so clumsy, none of this would have happened.
As he surveyed the damage, Mr Denning absently rubbed the back of his neck with his handkerchief. ‘Just took some pictures, huh? Didn’t drive a bulldozer in through the front door or nothing?’
At the mention of her pictures, Winter began to search the ground around her for the Nikon.
‘Where’s my camera?’
‘I have it,’ the stranger answered quietly. Her heart sank as he held up what was left of the camera by its torn strap. A shard of glass fell from the lens to the ground. The body had been crushed, the back gaped open like a wound. She would rather have broken a bone or two if it meant saving the Nikon. Bones healed, cameras didn’t. It had been a gift from her father. She gingerly took it from the stranger’s grasp and turned it over in her hands.
‘I’m sorry,’ the stranger said compassionately, as though he had some sense of how much the camera meant to her.
Mr Denning inspected the ruined camera over her shoulder. ‘Could be worse. Least you got out in one piece. Old Pilgrim’s Lament might’ve taken a chunk outta you if this young fella hadn’t been here.’ He frowned at the stranger. ‘What’s your name again, son?’
‘Blake. Blake Duchamp.’
‘Well, Blake, seems Miss Adams here owes you a big thankyou.’
Winter smiled at Blake apologetically. ‘Absolutely. Thank you. I’m Winter.’
She felt her face redden as it always did when she introduced herself. However, this time it was less to do with her self-consciousness about having such an unconventional name, and more to do with the touch of Blake’s hand as he shook hers.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Winter.’
Mr Denning tilted his head towards Blake. ‘What were you doing down here anyway, Blake? I didn’t see you up at the Heritage Centre.’
Winter watched Blake, curious about this point. His face remained unreadable as he calmly answered, ‘Hiking.’
One of Mr Denning’s eyebrows jumped up. ‘Hiking?’
Blake nodded, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to be wandering around these mountain woods in a grey suit and dress shoes. Mr Denning looked as if he might say something else, but shrugged instead and turned back to face the church.
He sighed deeply. ‘What a mess. Gonna be a devil to clean up.’ After a moment’s thought, he turned back to Winter and asked hopefully, ‘Miss Adams, don’t suppose I could get you to sign those insurance forms now, could I?’
Chapter 5
By the time Winter left the Heritage Centre, the afternoon light had taken on a much darker quality. While she’d been inside filling out all the liability forms Mr Denning could find, the storm clouds had stolen across the sky, turning it the colour of slate. A low rumble of thunder sounded as she crossed the parking lot to Jessie, her scooter. If she didn’t get home soon she was going to get wet.
Just before she reached Jessie, a voice startled her.
‘Can I give you a lift?’
Winter turned to see Blake standing beside a rusty pick-up truck on the other side of the parking lot. A little surprised that he was still here, she smiled bashfully and shook her head.
‘It’s fine. I have my scooter.’
He nodded towards the truck. ‘I could put it on the back. Looks like it’s going to rain.’
Winter hesitated a moment before shaking her head again. ‘Thanks anyway.’
The reason for this refusal was twofold. One: she was deeply embarrassed about taking Blake’s picture like some demented paparazzi, and two: he frightened her. No, that wasn’t quite true. Blake didn’t frighten her in the sense that he was dangerous, but the rush of feelings she’d experienced looking into his eyes did make her uncomfortable. Something about this stranger had wrested away any emotional control Winter possessed, and for a few brief seconds she’d felt outside herself. Distant. Lost.
What scared her most about that feeling was how part of her actually enjoyed losing control. As she stood looking at Blake across the parking lot, Winter felt a ghost of that dizzying sensation. Good sense told her that anything that provoked such a strong reaction was probably bad for her and should be avoided. Even if the stirrings in her heart argued the contrary.
Still aware of Blake’s gaze, Winter strapped on her helmet and slid onto the scooter. Why had he made the offer, anyway? If Winter caught some creep taking photos of her, she doubted she’d care whether they got home safely or not. Evidently Blake was not only gorgeous but kind as well. And Winter had refused an opportunity to spend more time with him. Yep, she could add that to the list of smart decisions she’d made today, right under walking blithely into what was obviously a deathtrap.
Winter keyed the ignition, cringing at the ragged ticking sound deep within Jessie’s engine. Her poor old scooter was nearing the end of its lifespan. Last week, while waiting at a set of traffic lights, Jessie had started shuddering and vibrating in the most alarming way before eventually falling still. After the scooter failed to start again, Winter had been forced to push it the rest of the way home. Once in the driveway, Jessie’s engine had sprung back to life, reminding Winter of a trick she used to pull on her father when she was a child. Pretending to be asleep, she would allow him to carry her from the car to the bedroom – only to open her eyes and giggle mischievously as he tucked her in.
For a few nervous seconds, Winter thought she might actually have to take Blake up on his offer, but on the sixth turn the engine started whirring. She steered Jessie towards the parking lo
t exit, feeling self-conscious about the plumes of oily black smoke belching from the scooter’s exhaust. When Blake turned to watch her pass, she threw him a wave. He returned it without smiling, and continued to stare at her in that intense way. He was a strange one, that was for sure. Strange and beautiful.
Winter wondered if she’d ever see him again. Even in a small town like Hagan’s Bluff the likelihood of their paths crossing for a second time was slim. Besides, in her experience opportunity rarely knocked twice, especially after getting the door slammed in its face the first time. Yep – she’d blown it. Missed out on her one and only chance at getting to know the mysterious Blake. He was nothing now but an anecdote, an exciting story for her to tell Jasmine at school tomorrow. She’d probably leave out the part about refusing his offer of a lift home, though. Jasmine would never forgive her for being such a coward.
Considering the sort of day she was having, Winter wasn’t surprised that it started raining minutes after she left the parking lot. She’d only just turned onto Archimedes Drive and was heading down the mountain towards town when the initial fat drops fell. At first it was only sprinkling and she was able to ride without too much difficulty, but after a few minutes the shower strengthened in force. Not for the first time, she wondered why helmets weren’t equipped with wipers. She slowed Jessie to a crawl and that was when the dreaded shuddering vibration began.
‘C’mon, Jessie!’ Winter urged, gripping the handlebars, but the whir of Jessie’s engine had already regressed to a series of alarming pops and splutters. Despite Winter’s desperate pleading, the scooter soon fell silent. With only gravity to keep her in motion, Winter coasted on the downhill slope for another few metres before pulling over to the side of the road. What a perfect ending to a perfect afternoon.
Sitting on the side of the road, Winter watched the storm rage upon Hagan’s Bluff. From her vantage point on the mountain, she could see most of the town far below, spreading out from the base of the mountain. All those people down there were enjoying the last of the weekend while she was stuck halfway up a mountain, getting wetter and colder by the minute.
The Bluff looked a little like a toy village; the Lackey River threading through it could have been a trickle of spilled silver paint. Winter’s gaze followed the snaking path of the river past the streets and houses to the coastline, where it emptied into the ocean. The bluffs, from which the town received its name, rose up on either side of the river mouth, the furthest one sporting a bright column of white: the lighthouse on Whistler’s Peak. Beyond the lighthouse, the ocean was a wide dark blue band. Thick sheets of rain blew in over the water, while lightning flashed in the churning clouds mirrored above. If she weren’t soaking wet and freezing, the vista would have struck Winter as beautifully dramatic.
She was just about to see if Jessie had finished sulking when the sound of an approaching engine drew her attention back up the winding road towards the Heritage Centre. Seconds later, headlights lanced through the rain as a pick-up truck came around the corner. Winter straightened on her saddle as the truck rolled to a stop near where she was parked. The driver leaned across to wind down the passenger-side window.
‘Hop in,’ Blake said, pushing open the passenger door.
Chapter 6
While Blake was strapping Jessie down on the back of his truck, Winter nervously began to second-guess her decision. She should have called Lucy to come and pick her up. They could have left the scooter here on the mountain and called a tow truck to collect it. It was an expensive option, but at least it wouldn’t have resulted in Winter sitting here feeling anxious.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the rear tray locking into place, followed by Blake’s shoes crunching on the gravel outside. Winter licked her dry lips as he opened the door and slid in next to her. Even though the rain had flattened his black wavy hair to his scalp, he still looked as if he could have stepped fresh from the pages of a magazine. Winter doubted she could say the same for herself. Her red hair hung in wet strands by the sides of her face, and her coat and blue T-shirt were soaked. At least she hadn’t bothered to put any mascara on this morning; otherwise, she would certainly have serious panda eyes and look even more frightful.
‘Are you cold?’ Blake asked, his gaze dropping to the goosebumps on her arms.
‘No, I’m fi —’ she began, but he was already taking off his jacket. Their eyes met briefly as he wrapped it around her shoulders. Looking into his emerald eyes, Winter felt a jolt, almost like a surge of electricity, that made her entire body tingle. She glanced down, both confused and deeply embarrassed about such a strong physical reaction from some innocent eye contact.
‘Thanks,’ she murmured, ordering herself to get a grip. Blake was just a man. A beautiful man, but no one to get so incredibly worked up over. But even as she tried this line of reasoning, Winter couldn’t follow through with it. Wrapped in Blake’s jacket, in the luxurious warmth of his body heat, Winter knew it was a lie.
‘Where to?’ Blake asked, starting the engine.
For a moment, Winter’s mind went blank as she tried to remember how to get to her house. Perhaps she had hit her head in the church? She was finding it hard to think clearly. Eventually the directions surfaced through her muddled thoughts.
‘Just head down the mountain, and take a left at the main road.’
Blake nodded and swung the truck back onto the lane. They drove in silence as Winter stared through the rain-streaked window at Hagan’s Bluff, trying to think of something to say. The silence stretched on, becoming uncomfortable, as her eyes restlessly scanned the misty landscape below.
‘So why “Winter”?’ Blake said, breaking the hush. ‘A name like that has gotta have a story behind it.’
Winter cringed. Countless childhood taunts had left their mark. ‘Not much of one. My mum was a big blues fan. You’ve probably never heard of Johnny Winter.’
‘Of course I have.’ Blake’s quick response astonished her. ‘He covered BB King’s “Be Careful with a Fool” in the sixties, right?’
‘I can’t believe you know that!’
He shrugged. ‘I’ve got a memory for music. And little else,’ he added, his lips twitching in a faint smile. It was only a slight crack in his curtain of reserve, but Winter was encouraged. Anything was better than that awkward silence.
‘Well, if my mum had had a boy, she would have named him Johnny. She had a girl, so . . .’
‘Winter,’ Blake finished for her.
She sighed. ‘Not the easiest name to survive the playground with. Most people just call me Win.’
‘I like Winter,’ Blake said, and, for maybe the first time, so did Winter. ‘Can I ask you a question?’
‘Sure.’ She was feeling a lot better. Seeing Blake smile had gone a long way to easing the tension she was feeling. Plus, he didn’t think her name was silly.
‘Why were you spying on me?’
Winter’s stomach tightened into a knot.
‘I wasn’t —’ she began.
‘What was with the camera?’ Blake wore no trace of his earlier smile.
Too flustered to come up with a plausible excuse, Winter could only reply truthfully. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was up there taking pictures for a stupid school newspaper thing. And then I saw you and . . . You must think I’m a freak.’ I am a freak, she thought to herself miserably.
‘Of course not,’ he said, his tone softening. ‘Don’t beat yourself up. I was just curious.’
Winter dared to believe he was telling the truth.
‘What were you doing there?’ she asked, regretting the question even as it escaped her lips. It was none of her business what Blake was doing in the graveyard! Hadn’t she intruded on his privacy enough for one day?
‘Visiting a grave,’ Blake answered shortly. Obviously he had no wish to discuss the matter further.
Worried that the mood in the car had once again grown tense, Winter racked her brain for a way to rescue the m
oment.
‘So, are you just passing through or . . . ?’ Winter was pretty sure Blake wasn’t local. Hagan’s Bluff was too small for someone who looked like him to go unnoticed. She supposed he might be here for a holiday, although it was unlikely. People came to Hagan’s Bluff for the beaches and it wouldn’t be warm enough to swim for months yet.
‘No, I just bought a place out on Holloway Road. I plan on staying here for a while.’
Winter’s eyes widened. She knew that name well, as did most of the other kids in Hagan’s Bluff. Holloway Road started at the edge of town before disappearing into the woods at the base of Owl Mountain’s southern slope. It used to be the main route to the highway but had been superseded by the bypass constructed a few years ago. Now it was a lonely road, travelled by few, and the one property that lay there was surely not for sale.
‘Not the Velasco place?’ Winter asked, unable to hide the shock in her voice.
Blake glanced over at her. ‘You’ve heard of it?’
‘Everyone’s heard of it!’ She caught his raised eyebrow. ‘It has a . . . reputation.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You know how every town has a haunted house? Well, ours is the Velasco place. The story goes that old man Velasco was a church minister in the thirties. He had a wife and three daughters. This was during the Depression, so food was pretty scarce. There were a lot of hungry people around. One Sunday Velasco’s wife and daughters didn’t come to church. When they didn’t turn up the next week either, people started asking questions. A month later, when they still hadn’t turned up, somebody called the police. They found Velasco’s wife and daughters cooling in the basement. Well, part of them, anyway. I guess the hunger became too much for old Velasco to handle, so he improvised. They found him swinging from the rafters in the attic, having hanged himself rather than face the consequences. On Halloween the local kids dare one another to go up and ring the bell. You have to ring it three times or risk being called chicken.’ Winter paused, and added, ‘I only ever made it to two.’
