Find Me (Immersed Book 1)

by Francesca Riley

  Skye’s eyes took a minute to adjust. She’d been completely unaware of the short trip. She hadn’t even noticed the village, lost in replaying the moments in the channel with her dreamed rescuer. This must be the new digs, the holiday apartments, she realised.

  They each took a bag and Morgan led the way beneath sparse artificial lighting to a door marked ‘Do not use in case of fire’.

  “So cryptic, don’t you think?” Morgan pointed at it as she pushed the swing door open, revealing an elevator.

  “Totally,” Skye agreed. “Do they mean “Do not use in case there is a fire, or…”

  “Or do not use if there is a fire,” Morgan finished. “Really, they should say “Do not use if there is a fire if that’s what they mean.” The elevator doors opened and they stepped inside, Morgan pressing button ten.

  “Couldn’t agree more,” Skye grinned. She’d missed this. The horror of the channel began to fade.

  Soon they stepped out into a corridor that ran the length of the apartment building. “Welcome to The Tower-zz,” Morgan emphasised. At each end of the corridor, large windows admitted late afternoon light. Stopping outside the last door they heard the murmur of a voice behind it. Morgan hesitated, biting her lip. “I thought Mum was still at work. She’s going to flip out if she sees you like this.”

  The implication was hard to miss. Ellie’s spectre hung over them for a second. Then it was gone as Morgan’s stealth-mode kicked in. “Okay, you go straight for the bathroom – first door on your left – and I’ll run interference. While you’re in there, I’ll break it to Mum. Dampen the blast, so to speak.”

  They both giggled like they were twelve years old, trying to sneak out rather than in.

  “Which bag has your clothes?” Morgan murmured. “You take that one, I’ll take the other. Ready?” She opened the door and Skye followed her in, veering off through the first door on her left. She had a fleeting impression of cream and taupe, and light spilling through glass before closing the bathroom door behind her.

  Dropping her bag, Skye leaned back against the door, listening to the murmur of voices as she took in the bathroom. It looked like a design magazine spread: tiny white wall tiles, grey slate floor and trim, and gleaming chrome.

  Her reflection regarded her from a mirror worthy of a grand hotel lobby. She grimaced at the half-drowned rat. Her usually unruly hair hung in bedraggled hanks, its silver blond now dull like wet sand. Her face looked ashen apart from a pink spot high on each cheek, the light smattering of freckles standing out. But her eyes…she stared at them. Apart from being large they usually had nothing to recommend them as an interesting feature. Their colour hovered indeterminately somewhere around blue. Now they shone like over-bright sapphires with an expression she couldn’t place.

  Staring at herself, something nagged at her. Something was missing.

  Behind the door voices escalated, one in both pitch and volume and then proximity. Skye smiled: Rowena. She jumped as the handle under her hip turned. Standing away from the door just in time, she was smothered in a patchouli-scented hug.

  “Skye! What have they been doing to you?”

  “Rowena, you’ll get wet,” Skye protested, aware of Rowena’s chef’s whites.

  “I don’t care about wet, I care about safe. And that’s what you are, thank all that’s Holy.” She held Skye at arm’s length, scrutinising her. Her pinched expression softened in relief. “It’s been too long since we saw your lovely face. And to think we almost didn’t. Do you know if everyone else is all right?” she looked at Morgan.

  “Pretty sure, although...” Morgan stopped.

  Skye’s eyes widened. “The lady who was on the Pixie, Lisa – did they find her? I got her daughter to the surface, but I didn’t see Lisa...” She felt sick.

  Morgan and Rowena stared at Skye.

  “You got someone to the surface?” Morgan clarified.

  “Um, yeah...?” She saw them exchange a look she couldn’t read, and then they beamed on her with more pride than seemed warranted.

  “Well, wadya know, a hero in our midst,” Morgan crowed, gleeful.

  At first glance Rowena and Morgan were difficult to place as mother and daughter, until you saw the determined chins and the green eyes – those they shared. Rowena was a freckled English Rose with auburn curls, a petite livewire of energy mixed with motherly concern that enveloped Skye whenever she was near. Morgan by comparison was statuesque, a force of nature in her own right but so serenely self-contained it didn’t radiate the way Rowena’s energy did. Olive skinned and black haired, Morgan apparently took after her father, absent practically since her birth. His main role in their lives was that of a cautionary tale.

  Rowena crushed Skye to her again. She began to genuinely struggle for breath.

  “Mum, you’ll hug her to death. Let her breathe!” Morgan prodded.

  Rowena released her. “Now don’t catch your death with a chill. Get straight out of those wet things and under hot water. You have a change of clothes? Good. I’ll start dinner, something warming.”

  “No way Mum,” Morgan contradicted, “you just finished work. Relax, we’ll handle dinner.” Then both she and Rowena cast doubtful looks at Skye.

  “Hey! What?!” Skye protested. “I’m not that bad. I can help…open a tin or something…” her voice died away into a grumble, cheeks pink as the others laughed. Her lame culinary skills were no secret.

  “Take your time, Skye, we’ll sort out dinner,” Rowena said.

  “And yes,” Morgan added, before closing the door “The mum and kid that were on the Pixie with you are both safe and well. The surf rescue guys got filled in on people found when we were looking for you.”

  Lisa was safe. Emma was safe. Skye forced her thoughts away from the channel. Through the door the Lauders were still audible, arguing the toss about dinner. She smiled, feeling lighter. She’d really missed this.

  Peeling off her wet clothes, she dropped them into the laundry hamper. It wasn’t until she was dressed again that what was missing finally registered.

  4. First Recall

  Skye clutched at her bare neck. Dragging her clothes back out of the hamper she shook each item vigorously, feeling every inch of them before finally acknowledging with a sinking kind of sorrow that her mother’s necklace was lost. She hadn’t even told her dad she’d found it in his drawer. She hadn’t wanted to think about that. And now, rolling somewhere in the channel, probably buried in silt, her precious link with her mother had gone.

  When she finally emerged from the steamy bathroom, Rowena steered her to a seat on the low square-cut sofa. “Dining tables are for guests,” she smiled, bringing her a laden plate.

  Skye was warmed by the message: she was family. “How’d you resolve the dinner battle?” she asked. “This looks great!”

  “Room service...” Morgan and Rowena said at the same time, and laughed.

  “So, how did all...this come about?” Skye gestured at the elegant room.

  Rowena shrugged wryly. “Basically, our café’s landlord happened. When Jump’s lease was up, he doubled the rent. It was impossible. We had to walk away.”

  “You’ve closed? That sucks!”

  “It totally does,” Morgan frowned. “That whole row of shops is going to be a disgusting high-rise like this one. Justifying the name, The Tower-zz. It’s a standalone right now.”

  “Nice,” Skye muttered. The village had appeared unchanged on previous visits.

  “You might not recognise the place now. It’s years since you’ve been back.”

  “Three,” Skye interjected.

  “That’s still years. There’s a restaurant here in the building, but the owner wanted catered room service too, and offered Mum the job. At first she said no – lady has her principles. But lady also has to eat, and feed yours truly, plus we lived at the café so we were kind of homeless... So when the landlord offered us this place with the job, it was pretty much a no-brainer.”

  “Hold it.
When you say ‘landlord’…”

  “Yep, actual café landlord. Ironic, huh?”

  “That’s pretty ironic,” Skye agreed.

  After they’d eaten, the plates were rinsed, stacked on the trolley and pushed into the corridor. “Room service is awesome,” Morgan sighed. “This side of it anyway. We didn’t have to rinse those dishes, but – you know, we know what it’s like on the other side. So, want the grand tour?”

  Standing, Skye noticed the phone on the kitchen bar. Her mobile phone – probably swimming the channel! “Actually, I should call Dad and let him know I’m okay.”

  Rowena looked contrite, “Of course, Skye. I should have thought of that myself.”

  He answered almost on the first ring. “Skye?”

  Her heart sank. He sounded upset. “Hi, Dad.”

  “Skye, I’ve been calling your mobile. Did you turn it off?”

  “Oh – I…lost it. Somewhere between here and there. Sorry.”

  “How did that happen? Dropped it over the side of the ferry I suppose.” Skye tensed but he didn’t pause for an answer. “Well, as long as you’re safe. Just had me worried, you know? Thought I’d lost you...” He tried to laugh but his tone was too intense for the attempted humour to ring true. But he wasn’t yelling about coming to get her. He mustn’t have heard about the incident.

  “I tried to get you there at that damn hotel or whatever it is – I couldn’t work out how to locate the Lauders’ room. Give me the number there so I can reach you if I have to.”

  “It’s all private apartments, I think. You can just direct dial,” she recited the Lauders’ old number which they’d managed to keep. It was easier than him hunting for it in his ancient address book. She heard pencil scratching on paper, such a familiar sound that a swell of homesickness surprised her.

  “The girls okay?” he interrupted her thoughts. “Bet they were glad to see you.”

  “Uh, yeah. Happy reunions all round.” Not counting the disastrous arrival, anyway. Catching the familiar clink of glass on crystal, she stiffened. His relentless pattern: writing about the sea – the subject that kept his pain raw – then drinking to dull the pain. It made her feel claustrophobic.

  He cleared his throat. “I might be going away, research trip. I know you’ve stayed on your own plenty, but I feel better knowing you’re somewhere safe.”

  Skye bit her lip. So safe she nearly drowned before she even got here. Should she tell him? She glanced at Morgan and Rowena, watching anxiously. It made her decision easier.

  “Yep, safe as houses. Have a good trip if you go, Dad. I hope you find...whatever it is you’re looking for...” There was an awkward silence.

  “Well, talk to you soon” he finally said, already sounding distant. “Say ‘hi’ to the girls for me.”

  “Sure, Dad.” Skye hung up, once again feeling guilty and relieved. Relieved to be away from it all, relieved he didn’t know how she felt, and guilty for both.

  Rowena looked slightly shamefaced. “How is Daniel? We should really have told him about the accident,” she said, hugging Skye. “I feel just terrible.” Her smile contradicted her.

  “Yeah, terrible,” Morgan agreed cheerfully. “Let’s hope he doesn’t hear about it. He’ll think we can’t take care of you.”

  “Actually,” Skye said, “he might be going away himself. Research. You know.” Sadness for him and his isolating focus stabbed at her. Looking up she caught something similar in Rowena’s face, like pity, or sorrow.

  Morgan nudged her. “Follow me, Ms Sebastian. Tour is underway.”

  The apartment seemed to be half lounge, an L shape across the front and the side opposite where Skye had entered, the front mostly glass. The open plan kitchen was a gleaming match for the bathroom. Two bedrooms were at the back. Rowena’s with ensuite, off a small hallway next to the entrance, and Morgan’s off the lounge behind the kitchen.

  It was far removed from their usual style of eclectic clutter. She nodded, aware of Morgan’s expectant gaze. “Yeah. It’s different. Seems pretty great,” she said.

  “Took a bit of getting used to, I admit. I miss my room behind the café. And the café.” Morgan looked sombre. Skye could guess why. But Morgan shrugged lightly, moving back to the lounge. Skye noticed a stereo and paused next to it.

  “Put something on,” Morgan suggested. Skye ran a finger down their CD stack and slid a disc into place. Soft indie music pulsed through the apartment. Then, unable to put this moment off any longer, she walked apprehensively towards the windows overlooking the Bay. As if approaching an old friend, since become a stranger.

  The sunset outside was muted by the lighted apartment reflected on the glass. Skye’s pensive face looked back at her, more present than the view.

  “Try this,” Rowena called, snapping off the lights.

  The colours of the Bay sprang up, vivid, as if she’d stepped through the glass. The day was ending in a blaze that painted the sky in flames and cast shadows the colour of bruises. It was beautiful, familiar; so close. Still her Bay. Goosebumps danced across her skin. Her blood tingled. She stepped outside through the open balcony doors, and drew in deep breaths of dusk scented with ocean and with food from village cafés. The balcony rail was slightly warm to her touch. The sea breeze ruffled her hair. “I could get used to this,” she murmured.

  “Definitely a perk of the job,” Rowena leaned against the door frame and lifted her face to the last touch of light.

  “Fairly good argument for disgusting high rises,” Morgan agreed, joining them.

  Skye exhaled with pleasure. It was hard to disagree right now. The wide beach curved between high hills that descended steeply to rock ledges each side of the Bay, like the possessive arms of some Sea God.

  Looking down, she saw the old stone wall bordering Marine Parade. It had been mandatory to eat ice cream sitting there. From it, sand the colour of toffee ran to the low tide, where dappled sand pools reflected the riotous colour above. Further out in the centre of the beach was the small island, Lithus Rock, accessible by foot at low tide.

  The apartment phone rang. Rowena went in to answer it.

  With a molten flare, the sun sank from sight, colours fading to pink and violet. Twilight flooded the sky, and the Bay melted into shadow like a secret.

  “Morgan?” They both turned at the odd tone in Rowena’s voice. Morgan glanced at Skye, and went inside. Unease trickled coldly through Skye and she turned back to the Bay. She didn’t want to know what it was about.

  Gripping the cooling rail, she watched the water deepen to indigo against the luminous sky. The channel and Fallsmouth were hidden by the hills. She felt as if her freakish dip there earlier today had happened in a different place, a different time. This is what she’d come for. That was just a glitch, a one-off. She would forget it completely.

  She turned to see Morgan in the doorway, her face a mask in the shadows. Rowena was a dim figure at her shoulder.

  “It’ll be okay. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Morgan’s tone belied her words.

  “What’ll be fine?” Skye made herself ask.

  “One of the guys off the Pixie is still missing. They’ve called off the search for the night. But I’m sure he’ll be okay. He’ll turn up...fine.”

  “Harvey,” Skye breathed, recalling the IRB turning back, circling floating debris.

  “Come away inside now girls,” Rowena said, drawing them both with her. She turned on a lamp. “Something hot to drink, I think,” she drew curtains across the windows, shutting out the night and the Bay.

  Skye spun, tumbled by roaring water that swallowed her up, like it had swallowed her mother, vanished from her into the dark sea. She screamed and the ocean filled her mouth, sinking her with its weight. In the churning chaos she felt hands seize her, pushing and pulling at her. Blinking through the stinging gloom she made out a blurred figure, an angel, drawing her close. She flailed, thrashing against him, but his hold was unbreakable. She wept tears she couldn’t feel in the shif
ting water as he implacably raced her up.

  Skye struggled upright, disoriented. Her skin was clammy and her heart thudded. She blinked through the dark. She was in bed in an unfamiliar room. Then she remembered. She was here. Bascath Bay, Bannimor, her first night back.

  Lying back, she tried to relax. Just another nightmare. It made sense after the channel incident. But once again, it wasn’t quite the same. She hadn’t been fighting her strange rescuer to get away, but to stay. What was wrong with her? Did she want to drown?

  Trying to think of something else, she pictured home. Dad in the silent bungalow, a crystal tumbler next to him. She rolled onto her side, away from the wrench of worry for him. Maybe his research trip would bring him answers, whatever the questions were.

  Bascath Bay. Life here had been perfect. Then broken. Her father’s much younger brother Uncle Mike had lived with them back then, like a big brother to her. After her mother died, he’d gone to live with relatives in New Zealand. Skye had seen his departure as abandonment, but now that she was older, she understood. Why stay around misery if you could avoid it? At least he visited sometimes, his high energy and adopted kiwi twang like a breath of fresh air.

  The luminous digits of the bedside clock read four thirty-eight am. She peered across the room to where Morgan slept, a shadowy hump, her soft breathing little more than a whisper. No nightmares for Morgan.

  The evening filtered back, and dread sank through Skye as she remembered. Harvey. That could so easily have been her instead of him, drawn below to tumble in the currents. She hoped they would find him, that the tides would carry him to safety. Maybe he was already safe and warm at home? She hoped so. She didn’t want to think about the alternative.

  But she couldn’t help it. Once more she was plunging into the cold deep of the channel, feeling it pull her down, filling her mouth with bitterness. So like her nightmares.

  The memory of Emma’s wee body slipping into shadow sent an inexplicable surge of terror through her. She gulped a breath, savouring the warm dry air, pressing her hands to the crisp sheets. Emma was safe. And she was safe. The luck of it – her drowning dream, helping her to find up, to be seen and saved.