I was certain that any second the owner of the yacht would come charging from inside or that a security guard would seize me from behind. My mission to save my sister would be over before it even began.
Fortunately, no such things happened. In fact, all I heard was the falling rain. It acted as the only invitation I needed to reach my hand through the hole to release the lock. Without any hesitation, I pulled the door to the left then stepped inside.
The musty smell that greeted me was a positive sign. Still, I didn’t dare turn on the lights. I had a game plan in mind. As fast as possible, I stepped through the room navigating blindly in the dark around a couch and chairs. Glancing to my right, my mind registered the outline of the kitchen then went into overdrive at the sight of the red numbers blinking from the microwave.
Nearly seven o’clock.
If London was anything like home, the sun would be rising soon.
Cursing myself for taking the time to break into the yacht, I pressed forward into a hallway. I quickened my pace as I walked forward with my right hand on the wall. As soon as my fingertips brushed against a wooden door, I dropped my hand to try the handle. The door silently pushed open.
I knew I had to hurry and risked flicking on the light now that I was deeper into the boat. The brightness stung my pupils as they adjusted to the overhead light. Then I saw what I came for: a closet with the door slightly a jarred. I ripped the door open the remainder of the way and threw my hands into the hanging clothes. I pushed one polo shirt then another aside until I came across a dress.
I yanked it from the hanger and threw it over my body. It concealed the majority of my bodysuit. The dress still allowed for my arms and legs to be slightly exposed but I figured it was better than nothing. I wasn’t about to waste any more time rifling through this stranger’s wardrobe. Before turning to leave, my eyes caught a small tote bag on an upper shelf. Grabbing it, I shoved my flippers inside.
Mission accomplished. Now people wouldn’t stop and stare at the girl in a “wet suit” carrying flippers. They’d only gawk at the girl wearing a lightweight dress in frigid temperatures.
In a matter of seconds, I fled back toward the sliding glass door. The light from the bedroom helped to illuminate my path through the living room saving me precious seconds.
As I stepped back into the pouring rain, I couldn’t help one last moment of self-reflection. My free hand rubbed over my face as I drifted back in time. Never once in school had I suffered through detention. I rarely found myself in trouble. It just wasn’t my thing.
In a twenty-four hour period my rap sheet consisted of murder, breaking and entering, and burglary.
I really hoped the ends justified the means.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Racing away from the yacht helped to clear my head…
Lindsey. I just had to get to Lindsey
… momentarily.
Problem was, at the end of the dock, the red dot on the security cameras taunted me. My deviances would be all caught on tape. Shattering glass and all. Thankfully I wouldn’t be in London long… or at least that was the plan.
I left the feeling of remorse and the glaring red dot behind.
And fortunately, finding the way to the train was easier than expected. A sign at the harbor’s entrance pointed in the direction of the Imperial Wharf Rail Station.
I remembered it being close, but the fact the station was a block or two away overjoyed me, another layer of guilt left behind. After cutting across the street, I ran up the sidewalk, stopping at the base of the stairs that led to the train platform.
Here, I saw a map printed on the wall. I threw myself at it to locate Hampton Court Palace. More specifically, Bushy Park where Arethusa was on display. Thanks to my good sense of direction, I spotted it with ease. Dragging my finger down, Hampton Court was the nearest station. From there, I ran my finger along the map to find the best route.
I cursed when I saw I’d need to transfer trains. As I shook my head and drummed my fingers against my dress, my eyes frantically darted over the map to find an easier route.
A moment later, the sound of the approaching train broke my concentration. I had no choice. Grabbing my bag, I took the stairs two at a time and sprinted across the empty landing toward the train.
Slipping through the door, I grabbed the first seat I saw and slumped as low as I possibly could. I prayed that no one would ask me for a ticket. I didn’t have any money and I kicked myself for not looking for any while on the yacht.
I fingered the olive tree leaf around my neck each second of the two-station trip toward Clapham Junction. As the train slowed to a stop, an older man in a trench coat shuffled past. Literally on his coattails, I followed him down the aisle then onto the covered platform.
The first leg of my trip took all of four minutes. Unfortunately, the schedule on the platform informed me the next southwest train toward Hampton Court wouldn’t be arriving for another eighteen minutes. That was seventeen minutes and fifty-nine seconds more than I was willing to spare, especially after I picked up a newspaper in an attempt to distract myself from the second hand on the clock across the platform.
Right at the top of the front page the forecast for the day taunted me. The fact that it was going to rain sporadically and reach a high of one degree Celsius didn’t worry me. The thought of a chilly thirty-three degrees made me want to shiver in my thin layer of clothes, but nope, didn’t worry me.
It was the fact that the paper said the sunrise would occur at seven fifty-six. That was what sent a chill throughout my bones. The ransom note had said: Arethusa Fountain. Daybreak.
And that damn second hand just crept passed the twelve, indicating another minute passed. It was now ten after seven.
My mind quickly did the math. Sixteen more minutes here. Twenty-nine minutes on the train. That put me at seven fifty-five. One minute before the sun would make its debut. Problem was, the train station was half a mile from the fountain. Those feelings of “road rage” boiled again inside. I’d never make it in time.
“Aren’t you cold?” I heard from behind me.
Ugh.
Last thing I wanted was to make small talk. But to make my parents proud, I smiled meekly toward the older lady bundled in her down coat, scarf, and dripping umbrella. “Oh, I’m okay.”
“You should have more clothing. It’s rather parky. It’s early yet as well.”
I nodded. Turning away, I stared into the tracks and tried to pick out individual drops in the slowing rain.
“Does your mum know you are here?”
Gritting my teeth, I reminded myself that I was not a brat. “Yes,” I lied. “Just meeting my sister.”
She looked at me over her wire-rimmed glasses, examining my outfit, my soaking hair, and bare feet. She clearly did not find any truth in my words. Frankly, I wanted to tell her to bugger off. There was some British slang for her.
After she scrutinized my overall disheveled appearance, she made a noise that can only be described as a “hmpth” and walked further down the platform.
Good riddance, I responded, in silence.
I spared another glance at the clock: thirteen more minutes. I spent the remainder of the time shifting my weight from one foot to the other and staring at the sign across the tracks.
Welcome to Clapham Station. Britain’s busiest railway station.
Not today. Since it was New Year’s Day there weren’t many people out and about, especially at this early hour. Which meant, fewer chances of people giving me sideways glances. Still, my tally had reached double digits in the last few minutes of my wait.
There was also a negative aspect about today’s date. Although there was no need to remind myself of the repercussions of what that meant…
The blow of a horn and the rumbling of the approaching train saved me from yet another guilt trip. It skidded to a stop just a few feet to my left. With my head lowered, I hurried on and found a seat halfway up the train car.
Natural
ly, the old lady took the seat across from me, making sure to stare at me a smidge longer than was socially acceptable as she sat.
Before I knew it, we were on our way.
T minus twenty-nine minutes until I got off.
Thirty minutes to daybreak.
I couldn’t let my mind go there.
Instead, it drifted toward my parents. My heart went out to them. First I was taken and then a stranger showed up at their door dropping this bombshell that I wasn’t quite human. Now Lindsey was gone too. I wondered if another encantado had already knocked on their door to try to ease their fears. When I got home…
If I ever got home
… I’d make it up to them. I just didn’t know how yet.
The thought of home made me feel nostalgic. Yesterday, it’d dawned on me that it was New Year’s Eve, but, again, for a different reason. It was the first time I hadn’t called my parents after the ball dropped. Every year I went to the outskirts of wherever I celebrated to escape the noise and shout into the phone “Happy New Year’s!”
Not this year. And what would next year bring? Would Adrian and I be together? Would he ever meet my parents?
I couldn’t imagine saying, “Mom, Dad… this is my boyfriend, Adrian. A merman. The Prince of Tritonis.”
Shaking my head, I tried to get a grip on my thoughts but they went straight back to Adrian. When I first met him, he was this fun-loving, playful boy.
Well, I guess he still had those same jovial qualities, but there was more to him now. He seemed… older, more sure of himself. His newfound maturity impressed me. It came down to the fact that we both gained a lot of life experience in the past few days. And there was also his willingness to help me get to Lindsey. That part spoke volumes.
Now he raced back to the others to pick up the pieces. I hoped they were able to find another sprite that could breathe the water within Elfin Lake.
There had to be other fae besides the ones trapped inside. As far as I knew, the Fae of Gwynedd could come and go as they pleased. Although from what Adrian told me, they didn’t tend to venture into the “human world” very often, leaving saltwater sprites with virtually no access to them.
But when it came down to it, I had faith in my friends. I had to, or else I was sure I’d fall apart. They’d find a way to open the trapdoor…
The opening of the train door brought me back to reality. One of the rail workers emerged from a connecting train car, sending my mind into overdrive on how I’d talk my way out of my ticket-less situation.
I was mugged.
I had planned to pay with credit card, while fully knowing they only took cash.
I lost my ticket.
I thought you could ride free on holidays.
I, um, would pay after I got off.
That last one was a rather poor defense. The best one, in my opinion, was a mugging. Perhaps that could account for my haggard appearance as well.
The starchiness of the ticket collectors uniform and his tight upper lip didn’t give me much confidence. He barely said two words to people before he ripped the ticket out of their hands.
I kept an eye on him as he worked, my attention switching to the window with every jerky movement he made.
One woman attempted to ask how many more stations there were before her stop. The attendant whipped his stoic face in her direction before answering, “One or two more.”
It was a response that did not bode well with the old lady I met on the platform. Before I knew it, she opened her mouth to berate him on his etiquette and how he was supposed to be providing a service.
That really set Mr. Personality off.
He marched right up to her aisle and gave her a piece of his mind. Apparently his job description did not include that of a tour guide.
Personally, I thought he was acting ridiculous, but this wasn’t the focus of my concentration. No, the wheels turned in my brain just like one of those scenarios where a light bulb appeared above my head.
In slow motion, I slivered toward the aisle. The ticket collector was never the wiser with his undivided attention on the old lady. By the grace of God, this left his back to me. Safely out of view, I quietly slipped behind him and into a row of seats where he’d already collected the tickets. I casually placed my bag next to me and leaned my head against the window, as if I’d been sitting there all along.
As I sat there unmoving, afraid to attract any attention, I reveled at the fact that something had finally gone right.
Could this mean the tides had turned?
I didn’t want to jinx it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The horn of the train once again signaled the approach of the station. I was already at the door; there wasn’t a second to lose. The sun wasn’t going to wait to rise. In fact, I cursed under my breath as a dusting of pink spread across the horizon.
To make matters worse… the door wasn’t opening. I had my palm pressed flat against the cold metal, my fingers tapping, my breath clouding the miniscule window, willing it to slide to the right. A few people had lined up behind me, eyeing me suspiciously at my hurried behavior.
“Push the button,” a young girl instructed.
Right. I slammed my hand against the button and dashed forward through the growing gap. Once out on the platform I skidded to a stop. I knew I had to head toward the river but wasn’t certain which direction to take my next step.
Whirling around, I spotted the same girl. The intensity of my face startled her. “The River Thames. Which way?”
The poor girl had two reactions: her brow wrinkled and she hesitantly pointed to the north.
“Thanks.”
I was officially the insane American girl.
My bare feet slammed against the cool pavement. One slapping sound after another as I sprinted toward the bridge.
Just half a mile to go. Four minutes. Five minutes, tops.
Upon reaching the bridge, I bent to rest my hands on my knees and peered off to the right. I had a clear line of vision to the east straight down the river… where the sun didn’t just peek out anymore. It was officially daybreak. My heart sunk at the sight, but my legs kicked back into action.
I ignored the sting in my lungs from the cold air as I pushed myself harder and harder. Right as I leapt from the bridge back onto the sidewalk, I jumped again—this time through a row of trees into the grass.
Instantly, my knees buckled in the wetness and I slid to my stomach, smacking my chin hard against the ground. My teeth rattled as my body made contact.
Remembering moments ago how I felt the tides had turned now seemed like a tease. Still, I shoved my flippers back into my bag and scrambled to my feet, determined to get to the fountain. My next steps led me across the field, not bothering to stop as I trampled through a garden.
Straight ahead I saw the Hampton Court Palace in all its glory. Last year when I was here I stood in front of it in awe. It created a picturesque panoramic view. Just a year later, I didn’t even give it a second glance. Instead, I left the slick grass behind and merged once again with the sidewalk. In a matter of seconds, the final turn leading to the fountain was just a few steps away.
The sudden busyness of the street set a fresh wave of panic throughout my body. Fear that I was too late pulsed in my head. Between each passing car, the fountain stood off in the distance, mocking me. The light from the rising sun between the clouds danced across the golden statue of Arethusa.
Unable to wait any longer, I launched myself into the street. The honking of horns and screeching of tires barely registered as I darted toward Chestnut Avenue.
Here, there was no sidewalk. I ran down the left lane as if I were a car. Two football field lengths separated me from the water surrounding the fountain. My eyes remained glued to Arethusa as adrenaline coursed through my veins.
The road split to the right and left at the mouth of the water, creating a circle. Here, I took in the surroundings as my legs struggled to keep up. Behind the fountain a walkw
ay extended upwards to yet another garden. But it wasn’t the landscaped yard or the clouds blocking the sun that caught my attention. A fresh wave of worry took hold of my heart at the scene just steps away.
I didn’t see anyone else there. I didn’t see Lindsey.
I reminded myself that I needed to stay positive. I repeated the thought on autopilot even as I threw myself into the pool surrounding the fountain.
The water splashed up, soaking my clothes once more. I didn’t care. With enlarged strides I raced toward Arethusa, my heels kicking outward with each step to clear the surface of the water. Once at the base of the fountain, I trudged around the perimeter of it while trying to catch my breath.
There was still no sign of my sister.
My heart ached, an actual throbbing sensation, as I completed a full circle around the fountain. I just stood there… back where I started… unmoving. A few cars passed, the sounds of the engines and tires barely registering in my mind. The fountain had been turned off for the winter months, leaving the water motionless until it’d one day be drained. Without my movement, the water made no sound, slowly stilling until it rested around my knees.
I turned in place a full revolution, once again disturbing the stagnant water. Tears blurred my eyes as I scoured the area. At some point, I moved my hand to my face, but I somehow overlooked the movement until I felt my cold palm against my eyes, then my forehead. It felt foreign, disconnected. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to save her.
The grief I felt zapped all my energy from my body. In response, I sunk into the water in one fluid motion, letting it envelop me.
It was odd, but it gave me a sense of calm as if it recharged me from the inside out. Before I knew it, my hand slapped against the water, sending a ripple toward the base of the statue.
I wouldn’t give up. I couldn’t.
At a crawl, I reached toward the fountain, climbing onto the first tier. There, I brushed the head of a frog statue and stepped onto the next tier. Determined, I took long strides to scale the last three tiers until Arethusa stood right above me. She appeared serene, yet heartbroken. On the lower tiers, statues of people reached toward her, looking as if they were desperate for her help. I was now one of them.
Kin (Annabelle's Story Part Two) Page 10
