Micaden’s Madness

by Mason, V. F.

  “Kaden told me you decided to write a book,” he says, and I close my laptop, giving up on writing more, because I know when Peter gets tired from long drives, he chats a lot to keep himself awake. “Yes.”

  He nods approvingly, turning off the radio, probably so he’ll hear me better. “Always good to have a new profession.”

  A giggle slips past my lips as I take a sip of my water. “I don’t plan to publish it. The images just keep on popping into my head, so I want to write it and get it over with.”

  “Oh.” A beat, and then, “Why are you frustrated?”

  “It just seems like they’re teenagers in love, you know? And love at first sight. Like such things exist. And can you believe I named her after me? Like, it’s so weird, but no other name fits her, so I just gave her mine.”

  Because I’m looking at him, it doesn’t escape my notice how he pales a little and his knuckles tighten on the steering wheel before he clears his throat. “I see. And why come here to write it?” The way he asks his question, with a hint of panic lacing his tone, indicates to me that somehow he already knows the answer to that question.

  And the answer scares him.

  “Their story is here, and I’ve never been here, so… it just seemed right.”

  “Of course,” he says, and then clears his throat again. I frown at this rather odd reaction and wonder if I missed some memo. Why is it so awful to write the story on an island?

  A story that will probably end up the tale of two teenagers in love experiencing a summer fling.

  He half turns to me, catching my stare. “Just be careful, miss. Some things need to stay buried.”

  What the freaking…? “Peter, what are you—” From the corner of my eye, I catch an unbelievable sight and shout, “Stop!” The tires screech against the concrete, and he stops abruptly. Only the seatbelt saves me from hitting my forehead on the front seat.

  “Miss, what are you…?” His voice is a blur though. I quickly get out of the car and rush to the beach, ignoring the sand flying under my ballerina flats and the wind hitting my face. My white summer dress whips around me, probably giving a view to a few onlookers.

  But I don’t care about any of it as my whole attention zeroes in on the volleyball net exactly like in my written scene.

  How is it possible?

  Just how?

  “Oh my God,” I murmur, and I come closer when a different scene flashes in my mind.

  “This bet is ridiculous,” Olivia whines as she wraps her sweater around her waist. “They’ll beat our asses, and we will have to cook breakfast every day.” My brows lifts at her words, so she raises her hand, and says, “Okay, okay. You will have to do that. But seriously, Em. What the hell were you thinking by agreeing to this?”

  “It wasn’t me who argued with Donovan, which ended with us in this situation.” My best friend has a very selective memory it seems.

  “Whatever. If we lose, you owe me one.”

  “You already live in my house and eat my food. I think we are even either way.” She laughs and then hugs me closer, giving me a loud kiss on the cheek. “That’s why we are best friends forever.”

  “Present tense,” I whisper, removing the strands of hair from my face as the scene creates chaos in me. I write in past tense. Why did it play in present?

  Why does it sometimes feel like I’m reliving a memory instead of a story my imagination created?

  Shaking my head, I decide to dwell on it later and research writing processes for different authors. Surely I’m not alone in this, and everything has an explanation.

  The waves crashing over the rocks snap me out of my stupor and my eyes widen, drinking in the sight of the magnificent ocean.

  The power of nature, which can’t be denied. The glistening blue water almost calls for me to enter it, and without thinking, I slip off my ballerinas and dart to the ocean, digging my toes in the sand as unfamiliar excitement builds inside me.

  I don’t even stop to think about the fact that I’m afraid of water or how even small pools always scared me, and with Kaden’s assurance that I can’t swim, I was never tempted to try it.

  Seagulls cheer loudly, and the light breeze touches my cheek as salty yet fresh air penetrates my nostrils, all while the sun shining brightly envelops me in a magical atmosphere where everything seems peaceful and wonderful.

  I don’t need perfect sight to admire all that.

  The minute I step on the edge, the water tickles my toes and I wiggle them, welcoming the sensation, and without thinking, I step knee-deep into it.

  Ocean.

  My best friend. “I missed you so much,” I whisper, lifting up water in my palms and splashing it away. “No one can listen to or understand me the way you do.” The minute the words are out of my mouth, something inside me switches, and I gasp in shock.

  Reality sinks in really fast and panic rushes over me, my actions finally settling in my hazy brain.

  I’m in the ocean! Calling it my best friend, when it’s my greatest fear!

  I spin around but cry out in pain when my feet scratch against a large, sharp rock and at the same time huge waves crash over me, sucking me in while I choke on water as it pulls me away from safety and deeper into the ocean.

  I try to get out, moving my hands in different directions, but it’s useless. I was knee-deep just a minute ago, so how can I be floating in the water already?

  My lungs burn. I can’t reach the top of the water to inhale a breath, and my white dress only pulls me deeper, or so it seems in my panic-hazed brain. Suddenly, I feel strong hands wrap around me and pull me up.

  Surprisingly, my feet move freely as if remembering the action. “Swim, damn it,” the voice orders, and I do, with his help.

  A little bit more, and I’m sitting on the shore, coughing out water and breathing as much air as possible, then opening and closing my eyes, hoping for the pain in there to dissolve. “Don’t enter the ocean with a storm coming if you don’t know how to swim,” the same voice speaks, and goose bumps break out on my skin, because the voice and tone nips at my memory, trying to drag up some kind of information but failing.

  The only thing that lingers is that his voice is familiar yet strange, all the same.

  Slowly turning my head, I notice the man standing a few feet away from me. Due to the sun blocking my view of him, I can only make out wide shoulders, shoulder-length hair, and a beard, while his muscled chest glistens in the light from droplets of water covering it.

  He could easily be a Viking, as nothing but a warrior comes to mind when I look at him. The sense of power surrounding him is hard to miss, even with my eyesight.

  “Thank you,” I finally say, my cheeks flushing. I probably look like a fool to him, ogling him like that.

  “Emerald.” I freeze when my name slips past his lips, and pain sinks into my head, as if someone knocked it with a hammer. Palming my head, I wince, shaking it from side to side, hating the constant headaches that won’t go away no matter how much medication I take.

  One of my doctors once said I should always evaluate when they happen to find a pattern. And I did, discovering they hit me the hardest in summer during my studies, when I painted, or recently when I started writing the book.

  But why does my name on the tongue of this stranger evoke such emotion in me?

  Licking my dry lips, I ask, “How do you know my name?” My heart beats rapidly inside my chest awaiting his reply, almost desperately and needy, as if it’ll be the key of some sort to me.

  To everything.

  Instead of speaking up, he comes closer and then kneels in front of me, his fingers catching my chin, and for a moment, it feels like he applies more pressure on my skin than he should. “Do you really want to know?” he murmurs, and I sigh almost in relief, even though I know my behavior makes no sense at all.

  But I’ll study my reactions later. I throw away any common sense and just focus on his reply.

  Micaden

  Emerald…
a beautiful name that destroyed my life.

  Chapter Four

  From the pages of the book…

  Something cold pressed to my head, and surprisingly, it brought relief to the aching pain. I shifted my head, snapped my eyes open, and the familiar smell of hospital entered my nostrils.

  Why the hell was I here?

  “Hey,” someone called softly, and a hand gently touched my cheek. “You’re awake.” My eyes adjusted to the bright light blinding me at first. The same guy from the beach sat in front of me at the corner of the bed.

  He was real, not a figment of my imagination after all? “Does it hurt?” he asked, and all I could do was nod, which brought more pain and caused me to wince. He frowned and then pressed on the button to my right, and it wasn’t long before a man in blue scrubs appeared.

  “Yes?”

  He turned his head toward the man, but he didn't stop touching me. “She’s awake. She’s in pain I think.”

  The doctor, I assumed, came closer, checked my vitals and then eyes with small light. His fingers pressed on my wrist to feel my pulse. “Good thing she’s awake, and of course she’ll feel pain. We’ll give her a bit of medication and then she can go. You should wake her every few hours to check on her and give her this.” He picked up some pills from the bedside table and gave it to Brochan.

  The doctor gave me a smile and winked. “Quite the day you had at the beach, huh, Emerald?”

  “How do you know my name?” What the hell was going on here? “Could you please explain to me what happened and why I’m in the hospital? I don’t remember much after throwing up.”

  Yeah, I made an awesome impression on the Scandinavian god sitting next to me.

  The doctor glanced back at the stranger and then proceeded to explain. “You were on the beach and a boomerang hit your head. You sustained a slight concussion and fainted. There’s a bump on the back of your head, but besides that you should be fine.” He scanned the paper in his hand, and then added, “Your friend Olivia was kind enough to provide your ID.” I had to blink to process all this information at once, but then his last words were like cold water on my shoulders.

  “You contacted my grandma?” I asked, horrified, and they both frowned.

  Just as the doctor opened his mouth to reply, someone pulled back the curtain fiercely, and Nona stood there, fuming furiously with her eyes narrowed. Her action also allowed me to notice several young guys nervously looking at the scene. Olivia stood with them, holding my backpack and secretly peeking at one of the guys.

  Even with my concussion, it was hard not to notice their abs, so I couldn't really blame her.

  “Which one of you hurt my Em?” Nona demanded, and I grimaced. She was in one of her moods where reasoning wouldn't help much. One of the reasons I didn't want her to know about all this.

  The redheaded guy stepped toward her and opened his mouth to clearly confess it was him, if his pale expression was anything to go by, when a husky voice spoke loudly and clearly for anyone in this hectic place to hear. “Me.”

  Wait, what?

  “No—” I started, but his big, warm hand covered mine and squeezed softly. His gaze held mine, and I could almost drown in the beauty of his blue eyes with long, brown lashes. It had to be considered a crime for guys to have such long lashes, when girls couldn't even achieve such an effect with mascara.

  Nona huffed in distaste, pushed him away from me, and sat in his place while she scanned my body for damage. “How are you, kiddo?”

  Sending her a half smile, I trapped her hand between my shoulder and neck. “A bit dizzy and it hurts, but the doctor said I should be fine soon.” Lying to my nona was out of the question.

  She focused her attention on Brochan. “What’s your name, young man?”

  “Brochan, ma’am.”

  I repeated his name in my mind and it surprised me how much pleasure it brought me. I’d never heard such a name before.

  “What are you going to do about it?” She motioned with her hand at me as my eyes widened in fear.

  Oh, no. “I don’t think he needs to—” But of course he wouldn't let me finish. Why did people keep interrupting me, for God’s sake?

  “I’d like to take care of her and then take her out for a movie, as compensation for this.”

  I shook my head, because the last thing I needed was some kind of pity from the hot guy.

  Nona replied like I wasn’t even present in the room. “Sounds good to me. How old are you?” Why was this question even relevant?

  “Twenty-one, ma’am.” She wiggled her index finger at him. “My granddaughter here is seventeen. No funky stuff.” Covering my face with my hands, I groaned in embarrassment, to several chuckles from his friends. Why would this dude even consider such stuff? He was so out of my league it wasn't even funny.

  “Sure,” he replied, but there was something in his voice, pulling my gaze once again to him as his eyes studied me with an unreadable expression. But that sigh alone had the power to send warmth through my entire body.

  What had I gotten myself into?

  Island, United States

  July 2019

  Emerald

  “Your driver is shouting your name.” I blink at his comment, and he shifts my chin to the side so I have no choice but to turn. Peter is rushing across the beach, sand flying in different directions as he holds onto his driver’s hat with one hand. Only then does his panicked voice register in my ears. “Miss Emerald!”

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this scared, or red for that matter, in my entire life.

  He stops abruptly next to me, splashing water on us a bit, and I wince when he removes his jacket and covers my shoulders, while a slight tremor rushes through me. “What were you thinking, running to the beach like that?” He chastises me a little and even pats the top of my head. “You’ll give me a heart attack at this rate.”

  My mouth spreads in a small smile, because he always says that if I do something out of the norm. “Your wife would kill me. I’m afraid of her.”

  He chuckles, adjusting his hat. “That’s true. My missus is serious when it comes to—” He frowns, apparently only now noticing the stranger standing next to us, and extends his hand. “Peter Wilson.”

  The stranger looks at his hand, then at the man, smirks, and walks off without even a backward glance.

  “Wait!” I shout after him and get up, burrowing into the jacket deeper so no one can see my freaking lingerie under the soaked dress.

  The man freezes with his back still to me and I hurry, too afraid he’ll leave before I have the chance to show my gratitude. “Thank you for saving my life. I don’t know how to swim. I would have died if it weren’t for you.”

  At these words, he spins around, the wind blowing his hair. He scans me from head to toe, but I can’t study his expression, as he’s too far away. “The human mind is an interesting thing. Sometimes it believes the lies society feeds us.”

  My brows furrow and I open my mouth to comment, but he resumes his walk, and with each step, he disappears toward the horizon, leaving me standing confused and lost.

  Why would he say such a thing to me?

  Micaden

  Love and pain.

  Powerful emotions that have the ability to erase everything from your mind.

  Even yourself.

  Chapter Five

  From the pages of the book…

  Rock song played on my headphones while I lay in bed, gazing at my ceiling and humming to the tune.

  The door slamming against my wall snapped me out of nirvana, and I sent Olivia an annoyed glance.

  Her mouth opened and she kept saying something, but I couldn't hear a thing over the music blaring in my ears.

  Heaven.

  Her eyes narrowed as she exhaled heavily. Then she jumped on the bed, removed my headphones, and finally her loud, screechy voice penetrated my ears. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing? Listening to music
.”

  “It’s five o’clock!” she screamed again, and I shrugged.

  “So?” She was acting all kinds of crazy. “Babe, are you high?” I got away in time to prevent her picking up a pillow and smacking me in the face with it. “Hey, I’m recovering from a concussion here.”

  Olivia smirked. “Yeah, right. It’s been eight days. You’re fine.”

  I walked toward the window and opened it up to let in fresh air, or maybe just to distract myself from the conversation at hand.

  “Em,” Olivia snapped, and I rolled my eyes.

  “What? What’s so important about the timing?”

  “You have a date tonight.”

  Excuse me? “What date?”

  “With Brochan. You know, the hot hunk who carried you in his arms to the hospital. That Brochan.”

  Oh, we had a very different definition of the word date then. “I’m not going.”

  Her jaw almost hit the bed. “Are you nuts?”

  “Just drop it.”

  “He invited you—”

  Were we back at it? I thought we’d covered all the explanations yesterday.

  “He didn’t. He had to do it, because Nona was up his ass for him to properly apologize. The last thing I need is some pity evening out.” Really, why didn’t anyone understand why all this shit didn't work for me? I tried to spare him humiliation and an uncomfortable encounter. Brochan wasn't the one who hurt me, so it wasn't fair for him to suffer from it.

  “Come on, who cares? You’ll spend some time with him.” She clasped her hands together and sighed dreamily.

  “I care. So I’m not going.” Ignoring my words, she jumped from the bed, opened up my closet, and ran her fingers over every hanger while inspecting my clothes.

  Shouting “Yes!” she took out my navy strapless dress that reached my knees and kept my body cooler during the heat. Grabbing brown sandals and a small purse, she spun around and threw it all on the bedside chair. “Em, change now.” She waved nervously. “He can’t see you like this.”