Winter Wake

by Rick Hautala

  It was inside her own head.

  “No … I …” Bri managed to stammer.

  I’m going crazy!

  She wanted to believe this wasn’t happening.

  A trick of light or the reflection of the sun off the water was making Audrey’s face look so distorted.

  Swept up in a blind panic, Bri found the willpower to tear her eyes away from Audrey and look down at the ground. She stared intensely at the rough, black texture of the rocks, trying to root herself in what was real and solid. But the details of the rock surface was dancing with crazy energy. Sharp lines of light and shadow cut across her vision like razor blades. Her panic only swelled higher, stronger.

  “For crying out loud, Bri,” Audrey said, her voice nothing more than a velvety ruffle. “Cut it out. You’re scaring me. You’re acting like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Audrey’s voice had a soft, lilting tone of concern, but beneath that, like the clammy draft of wind snaking along the floor of an old house, was an undercurrent of enjoyment at Bri’s discomfort.

  “I … No, I … uh —”

  But that was all she could manage.

  The next thing she knew, a cold, embracing wetness came crashing down on her, blocking out the sunlight as it swept over her. She thought she was falling … fainting, but as the towering wave tore at her legs, she realized in a flash of panic that she had been swept off the rocks and plunged into the icy ocean water.

  In the back of her mind, she heard the warning her grandfather had given her the night before …

  ‘Specially after a storm like this … That storm’s still right off the coast … The waves’ll be pretty high — ‘specially on the headlands. Every now and then, a big one’ll come up, and if you’re too close to the edge — whoosh … You’re in.

  I’m in, Bri thought as a numbing chill of panic gripped her.

  I’m gonna die!

  She didn’t know if she called for help or simply thought it, but when she opened her mouth to scream, she swalloweda mouthful of briny water. She gagged and sputtered, trying to blow it out, but the water was all around her, stinging as it flooded into her nose, throat, and eyes.

  I’m drowning … Oh, God … Help me! … I’m drowning! her mind screamed, but at the same time she knew she wasn’t dead … not yet, anyway. She wouldn’t be able to struggle so hard if she was already dead.

  She barely felt the pain as she scraped against some submerged rocks. The water cushioned her from slamming too hard as the tide pulled her out to sea. Her arms and legs flailed wildly as she tried to resist the undertow, but like a tiny piece of driftwood, she was pulled wherever the ocean wanted to take her.

  As she struggled against the downward drag of the water, Bri’s mind registered everything in slow motion. She was surrounded by bubbly green water — numbingly cold — right up over her head. Something was tangled around her legs … something slippery and tough … like slimy hands trying to pull her under. She imagined the emerald green, barnacle-crusted hands of drowned sailors, reaching for her. A small, rational corner of her mind knew it was probably kelp or seaweed wrapped around her legs, but whatever it was, it was assisting the waves in holding her under.

  In her mind, at least, she was screaming as she strained to rise to the surface that shimmered like a fire above her head.

  If I can get a breath of air, she thought. Just a breath of air …

  It struck her as strange how time slowed down, and she had so much time to think about things. She was slowly twisting and bending with the currents, drifting as though in freefall. She remembered hearing that drowning was supposed to be a relatively painless way to die …

  Painless, yes … but what about the panic?

  She kicked as hard as she could, trying to get free herself from the tangling seaweed and get to the surface, which now looked like the end of a long, shimmering tunnel. It caught her by surprise when her efforts were rewarded, and without any sensation of moving upward, her face burst up into the air.

  With a throat-tearing roar, she swallowed air into her lungs in one huge, salty gulp before letting out a shrill scream.

  “Help! ... “

  She was shocked to see how far from the land she was.

  There wasn’t any way of knowing how long it had been since she had fallen in. It could have been a few seconds or several minutes.

  Audrey must still be around, she thought as she paddled frantically against the rushing tide.

  Why doesn’t she help me?

  “Help! ... “

  Another wave swept over her, beating her under with its surging power, but Bri’s legs were free of the kelp — or the fishy, dead hands — and she was feeling confident as she kicked up to the surface. There was still such a ferocious downward pulling on her legs; she expected to be pulled under again … maybe for good this time.

  Going down … down for the third time, her mind whispered.

  But the waves weren’t cresting this far out to sea, and the air rushing into her lungs made her feel she had a chance of surviving. If only she could catch the landward drift of a wave and let it carry her to shore without smashing her against the rocks.

  She tried to get her bearings relative to the beach and looked longingly at the distant strip of sand, wondered if she was going to have the strength to make it that far. The water was numbingly cold, and she lost all feeling in her arms and legs. She could barely move, but she knew she had to make shore … and soon … or else die.

  As she struggled to swim toward the beach, she realized something else … something that sent a dizzying spiral of fear through her. She just might make it, but then, she thought, What about Audrey? … Audrey wasn’t on the rocks!

  “Oh, my … God,” she sputtered.

  As she kicked toward land, her head kept bobbing under water; and when she surfaced, sputtering and blowing, she stared frantically all along the shore for some sign of Audrey.

  What if she got swept in, too, and drowned?

  Oh, God! No!

  Or maybe she’s gone for help.

  Between her and the shore, the waves were cresting, spewing plumes of white spray as they broke. The beach looked as if it was miles away.

  Can I make it? …Can I make it? she kept asking herself as she struggled against the undertow. The story her grandfather had told her last night about his friend who had been washed away and drowned after a storm kept playing in her mind.

  Whoosh … You’re in.

  Swept far out to sea.

  The only bright spot was, she realized, that it didn’t look as though she was going to be washed up against the rocks. The current had taken her far away from Indian Point. She would never survive a pounding against the rocks. If she drifted that way, sometime that afternoon, or maybe tomorrow, a lobsterman or someone taking a walk on the point would find her bruised and bloodless body smashed against the granite shore.

  No, she shouted in her mind. No!

  The waves tossed her about roughly, but she was getting steadily closer to shore.

  Every joint in her body ached with cold as she stroked toward the shore. Every muscle was chilled and stiff and felt dead. She must have inhaled at least a gallon of briny seawater. Her nose and the back of her throat were on fire.

  As she got closer to shore, she could literally feel the adrenaline kick into her system. She pounded the water with her hands and did powerful scissor kicks. The stretch of smooth, sandy beach was getting closer … closer …

  “Whoo —” was all she could say when a wave suddenly picked her up from behind as though it were a powerful hand, and, lifting her up, carried her toward the beach.

  I’m flying, she thought, and in an instant of panic, she believed she migh have already drowned …

  Maybe I’m already dead!

  The ocean was simply tossing her soul about on its surface as it were a leaf, floating on a pond.

  The wave continued to build, carrying her forward with a rush that threatened to tumble her o
ver. The icy water surged around her, both lifting and pulling. She thought this was never going to end … that she was going to spend eternity rolling head over heels forward until she blacked out … and never came out of the blackness.

  Then a wash of churning white foam exploded into her face.

  She was falling, and with a muscle-wrenching impact, she landed face-first on the sand. The wave crashed over her and quickly sucked back off the sand, trying to drag her back with it, but it lost its grip on her and left behind a crumpled form, facedown on the sand.

  Coughing and sputtering, Bri struggled to her feet. She spit sand and water from her mouth. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed another, even larger wave barreling toward her. She lunged forward like a football player, diving for the last yard to the goal line as the wave smashed onto the beach. Cold hands slapped the backs of her knees, but she had enough momentum to carry herself the rest of the way. With a long, warbling moan, she collapsed onto the dry sand and lay there, staring up at the sky.

  It’s a miracle … I made it … I’m alive, she thought as relief and exhaustion all but overwhelmed her.

  She wanted to get up and whoop for joy but, at the same time, she wanted to sink as deeply as she could into the comforting and relative warmth of the sand. The thin November sun shone down on her face with a steady hammering beat.

  Where’s Audrey? Bri thought, suddenly sitting up and looking around.

  What if she’s drowned?

  What if she didn’t make it?

  Tears stung her eyes, and cold panic griped her as she staggered to her feet and looked all around the beach, looking for a sign — any sign of Audrey. She tried to push aside the mental image of Audrey sinking slowly into the cold, green depths of the ocean with seaweed tangled around her legs and arms and throat as she drifted down beneath the tossing waves.

  “Audrey!” she shouted, cupping her hands to her mouth and spinning around in crazy circles. Anyone watching from the road would have thought she was drunk as she lurched this way and that, calling Audrey’s name.

  The breeze off the water soon counteracted the feeble warmth of the sun, and Bri clutched her shoulders and rubbed them vigorously. She stared at the tossing waves, wondering if, maybe, she would see Audrey’s gray sweater bob up, or her hand reaching futilely to the sky as she went down.

  Going down for the third time …

  “The rocks …” she said, her throat raw from yelling.

  She might be able to see better if she got up on the rocks, and maybe they would give her some shelter from the chilling wind as well.

  She started running across the sand, barely watching where she stepped because her eyes were fastened so intensely on the rocky point of land. But she hadn’t taken many steps before she saw —

  “Oh, my God!”

  Standing on the rise of land, silent … motionless … her arms at her sides as she stared at her with a blank, passive expression was Audrey. The wind whipped her hair like a tattered banner and ruffled her heavy sweater, but she seemed somehow not really there … That was the only way Bri could explain it. It was as if she were an illusion.

  “Audrey …?” Bri called, walking forward with a few lurching steps. The chill had invaded her muscles now and was cramping them. She had heard the term hypothermia, the life-threatening loss of body heat, and she wondered if that’s what was happening to her.

  Would she be able to get home and get warm before her body simply gave up?

  “Audrey … “ she said again, softer, almost pleading as she held up her hands. Her teeth were chattering so loudly they sent bright little pinpoints of pain through her head.

  As she got closer to Audrey, feeling immense relief that she hadn’t been swept away by the ocean, another thought occurred to her, and she drew to a dead stop.

  Why didn’t she go for help?

  She’s just standing there … doing nothing.

  Bri and Audrey stared at each other for a long time. No words passed between them, but then Audrey turned and walked away, disappearing as silently as a puff of smoke below the edge of the land.

  She was there … then she was gone … like that.

  Bri stood there, her mouth hanging open as she thought, Had she really been there?… Maybe I imagined her.

  She didn’t contemplate it for long. Chills were wracking her body. If she didn’t start for home now, her muscles were going to give out on her. She would collapse in the sand and die of exposure. Telling herself this was it — she would never trust or even try to see Audrey again — she started up the slope toward the road and home.

  II

  Bri lucked out, as far as she was concerned. When she got to the house, her parents had left a note, saying they had gone out shopping. Her grandfather was in his room, probably asleep with the TV blaring away. There was no one to question why she was dragging herself home, soaking wet, covered with sand, and shivering. In the kitchen, she sloughed off her clothes and threw them into the washing machine. Then she went upstairs and took a long, hot shower. The hot water helped relieve the aches in her muscles and joints, but even after she had slipped into a clean flannel shirt and jeans, shivers racked her body all afternoon as she sat on the couch, idly watching TV and reading.

  Her mind kept turning back to Audrey, and she wondered why she had stood there doing nothing while Bri floundered in the water.

  Why hadn’t she tried to help?

  By late afternoon, after her parents got home, the chills were much worse. After supper, she lay down on the couch and covered herself with a heavy blanket, complaining of a headache and chills. She thought her symptoms were from her dunking in the ocean, but she realized that she must have the same flu bug her father had recently had.

  Her parents considered canceling their plans to go to the movies in Portland, but Bri insisted that she would be fine. All she needed was rest.

  “I can take care of her as long as she stays downstairs on the couch,” Frank said. Turning to Bri, he added, “‘Sides, I’ve got to even up the score with a coupla games of checkers … if you’re up to it.”

  “Maybe later,” Bri said, snuggling the covers right up to her chin. The TV was on, but she barely noticed the sound as she drifted off to sleep.

  “Anyway,” Frank said to John and Julia, “you two git goin’. You need some time out. Things’re under control here.”

  So they went, driving away as the sun colored the sky with a vibrant orange.

  Frank sat for a while, silently watching Bri as she slept. Then he rolled into the kitchen and got himself a beer. He grabbed a copy of Reader’s Digest and sat in the doorway to the living room, drinking beer and reading.

  An hour or so passed, and the house was silent except for random creakings as floor joists registered the drop in air temperature. Bri started to stir, and Frank came quickly over to her and waited for her to open her eyes. When she finally did, she looked up at him with a distant, glazed expression.

  Frank smiled sympathetically as she tossed her head from side to side, groaning. Then, with a mighty effort — not as much as I needed to swim for my life though, she thought — she sat up on the couch and met her grandfather’s stare.

  “I told you, didn’t I?” he said after a lengthening stretch of silence.

  Bri’s face flushed as she wondered what he meant.

  “Well?” Frank said, leaning closer. “Didn’t I?”

  “Tell me what?” Bri asked.

  The fever raging in her body flushed her cheeks, but worse was that she knew exactly what he meant.

  “I told you to stay away from the shore after a storm,” Frank said gruffly. “I told you it was dangerous.”

  “I didn’t —”

  “Tut-tut,” he said, waving a pointed finger in front of his face. “You might not tell the truth to your folks — for whatever reason — but don’t you go lying to me, ‘kay? I know you had a bit of trouble down on the point.”

  “How … how do you know?” Bri asked. />
  Her first — and only — thought was, if her parents found out what had happened, they would insist she stay away from the point. She never wanted to see Audrey again, not after what she had done — and not done — but she didn’t want to give up her walks down there, either. That was pretty much the only pleasure she had found in Maine.

  “I suspected something happened,” Frank said. His eyes clouded over for a moment, and then he shook his head. “Now I know. You wanna fill me in?”

  Knowing she was caught, and actually wanting to unburden herself to someone, she told him what had happened … even the part about how she knew, as soon as she saw Audrey on the bluff, that she hadn’t even tried to get help. It felt good to unload, too. Just saying the words to another human being was an immense relief.

  “But how’d you know?” Bri asked once she was through. “Did someone see me and call the house?”

  Frank shook his head.

  “No. You might’ve been real careful ‘bout gettin’ your wet clothes into the washer, but you left your sneakers in the entryway, soakin’ wet and covered with sand. I didn’t realize it was as serious as it was till you told me.”

  Embarrassed, Bri looked down at her hands folded in her lap.

  Besides the fever, she could feel something else — something cold and sad and lonely twisting in her gut. Her lower lip began to tremble, and she knew she was going to start crying — damn it! As much as she tried to hold it back, she couldn’t.

  Frank dropped his magazine to the floor and quickly came over to the couch, reaching out to her. Leaning forward off the couch, it was awkward, trying to hug him in his wheelchair, but she was also grateful for his warm strength as he pulled her close and gently patted her back. The rough texture of his sweater pressed against her face, and she inhaled his musty old-man smell as tears flooded her eyes and soaked into the old wool. In one corner of her mind, she knew she would forever link that particular wet-wool smell with her grandfather and how much she loved him right then.