House of Stone

by T. K. Thorne

  Becca and Daniel scamper into the structure. “Look how big!” Daniel says, craning his neck at the faux gray boulders. Drawn forward, I find myself in the center, pondering on the millennia of mysteries clinging to the mother structure in Britain. Tracey joins me, a silent presence, perhaps thinking the same.

  Without warning, my vision clouds. A familiar rush of golden energy fills me. Color leaches from the scene before us, leaving only an out-of-focus, rippling gray shadow-world. In the sudden gloom, moonlight transforms the boulders into white teeth, rooted deep into the ground. Additional stones appear, some superimposed on the ones before me, a few others appearing beside them, some toppled over. Fog shifts among the solemn stones. My breath stops as time freezes. I have no control. I cannot move.

  Before me, people in white robes materialize. They stand before the innermost stones, the oldest blue stones. I sense unseen energies crackling about us. In the circle’s center, a young girl with red curls kneels, her head bowed. A woman, her features hidden by a cowl, steps forward holding something before her with both hands. She has moved between the girl and my position, and I can only see that she leans forward toward the kneeling girl, a delicate chain dangling from her hands.

  The people and blue stones disappear as color floods the world, day replacing night. Sunlight dapples the clearing. In an echo of the girl’s pose, I fall to my knees, my bones hollow.

  I’m not certain if I lose consciousness or not, but slowly I become aware of Jason and Tracey on either side, holding me by my arms, worry in their clamoring voices. They help me stand. I feel Jason’s touch as a muted electric shock. My head is throbbing.

  “Are you alright?” Tracey asks. “Do you want me to carry you?”

  “I’m okay,” I say, brushing away his hand. “I can walk. I just got a little dizzy.”

  “It’s not that long since you got out of the hospital,” he says with a frown. “Or maybe too much sun.”

  “I’m fine, Lohan.”

  “You’re stubborn,” he says.

  “I’ve noticed the same thing about her,” Jason says. “Let’s get back into the air-conditioned van. I’ll round up Daniel and Becca.”

  Tracey insists on walking me back to the van.

  I try to make sense of what happened. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen any vision that was not the past or future of the place itself. Is this spot tied somehow to the real Stonehenge, thousands of miles away? Was it ancient past or present there or a future? It felt important, a key to some mystery, but I have no idea what I just saw or why I saw it.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Back in the Iron Fist, I’m ensconced in a comfortable deck chair. Tracey sits beside me. Becca stands along the railing, sandwiched between Jason and Daniel. They both are back at their posts with fishing poles trailing over the stern’s edge. The wind picks up as we glide back into the bay, pass through a narrow bend into yet another wide bay, and head south. Houses cluster along both sides of the shore, their docks extending out toward us like fingers.

  “We are not far from the Gulf,” Jason says. He points to a long strip of land. “That’s Ono Island, last bit of civilization before the open water.”

  Jason’s cell phone rings, and he excuses himself into the cabin.

  I turn to Tracey. On my second Bloody Mary, I’m feeling recovered from my dizzy spell and puzzling vision. I’m also feeling magnanimous. “Thank you for coming, Lohan.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed it,” he says. “It’s not every day I get to see a Tyrannosaurus Rex and Stonehenge.” He cocks his head, “But are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Okay-er now,” I say, lifting my glass.

  “Who is this guy?” he asks, nodding at Jason’s retreating back.

  “I . . . met him in a bookstore, and he’s decided he can’t live without me.”

  “Very pretty,” Becca comments, her face happily turned into the wind.

  Tracey waves to encompass the deck. “Maybe not a bad deal.”

  My face tightens. “I’m not interested in ‘a deal.’”

  “Really?” The question is a challenge.

  “What makes you think that?” I hiss under my breath, not wanting Becca to hear.

  “Why did you come, Rose?”

  I cut my gaze toward Becca. “You know why.”

  He keeps his gaze steady on me. “Yeah, you told me she wanted to ride in a boat.”

  “And?”

  “And there are plenty of boats down here. You could have rented one for the day.”

  I open my mouth for a retort, but can’t think of one. My earlobes and cheeks tingle with a flush that has nothing to do with the bright sun or the drink. Why didn’t I do that?

  “I didn’t . . . think of it.”

  Daniel leaves Becca’s side to take a swallow of lemonade from his glass. Then he puts a small hand on my bare leg, peering up at me from under the hat I made him wear, and tugs at his life jacket. I have as much of a clue about being a mother as I do being a “best friend,” a skill Becca had taken upon herself to teach me, but I’m not totally stupid. Life jackets are required on both Becca and Daniel at all times.

  “You want a cookie or something?” I ask him.

  He shakes his head. It’s obvious, even to me, that he has something to say.

  “What?” I ask. “Do you have to go potty?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. What do you want to tell me?”

  “I like it here,” he says.

  “You do?” I’m glad for a distraction from the tumble of thoughts that Tracey’s observation has dislodged. “You like the water?”

  “I like it here.” He emphasizes the last word.

  “What do you like about it?” Tracey asks.

  “Nobody stares at me,” Daniel says.

  Tracey and I lock gazes. Something thickens in my throat.

  Becca turns, searching for Daniel. She doesn’t like him being more than a few feet away. I blink back tears. Must be the Bloody Mary. I don’t cry.

  “I think I need to powder my nose,” I say, rising a bit unsteadily. How much vodka did Angola put in those things? Impossible to tell with all the spices.

  Jason steps back out onto the deck, as I stand. He reaches out instinctively to steady me. “You okay?”

  I stare at his fingers on my arm. It’s weird not to feel that spark at his touch, but strangely my body doesn’t seem to have completely gotten the message that we are unplugged. The feeling makes me think of Paul. I miss him. Not just as a lover, but as a friend. He was always there for me. Even though I broke it off, it’s hard to remember that he’s dead.

  I bite my lip. I’m better off without relationships and commitments. Jason Blackwell is barking up the wrong tree.

  Another voice intervenes. Aren’t I being hard on him? It’s not his fault his uncle tried to kill me. I don’t believe in the sins of the fathers weighing on the son’s back, or in this case the sins of the House. Maybe I should cut Jason a little slack.

  Or maybe it’s the Bloody Mary talking in my ear.

  I give him a smile and an “I’m fine” and make my way down the steps into the cabin. The closest facilities are in the master bedroom, and I have to pass the red satin-covered bed. No doubt Jason has had plenty of women on that bed. Still, it would be pleasant to lie there at night and let the rock of the boat lull me to sleep. Maybe with someone’s arms around me?

  Stop it. I clamp down on my imagination—not hard to do, since I find I’m suddenly nauseous. I sit on the bed.

  Angola appears in the hallway. His raven eyes assess me. “If you feel sick, you are better off on the deck.”

  I swallow. “Really?”

  “We are out into the Gulf. Waves. Better on deck.”

  I nod. As soon as Angola disappears, I leave my heavy purse on the bed and stagger into
the bathroom, where I offer back at least one of the Bloody Marys to the toilet god. Lesson learned about drinking on a boat.

  When I emerge, there is no doubt we have transitioned to the sea. A vast, clean skyline has replaced the view of Ono Island, which now lies behind us. Indigo waves chop against the hull. Jason stands beside Becca, pointing out a shape in the water. I can’t hear what he is saying, but “shape” automatically translates into “shark” in my mind. Too many late night reruns of Jaws.

  Tracey sits between the two “fishermen” and me. Angola was right. Being on the deck settles my wayward stomach, even though we are rocking.

  Lawrence engages the engine and we move forward slowly, dragging the fishing lines behind us. I have no idea what kind of fish Jason has set Becca and Daniel after, but the poles are anchored in holders. There’s no danger of a catch ripping the pole out of their hands or pulling them over.

  Becca’s pole suddenly bends, and she squeals.

  “You got a fish!” Daniel cries. Before anyone can react, he is climbing the railing and reaching for her line. “I’ll help.”

  A strong wave hits the Fist’s side. The deck tilts and Daniel teeters. Everything slows down and happens at once. With a cry, Daniel loses his balance, disappearing over the railing.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  As Daniel topples over the side of the boat, Becca screams hysterically and scrambles onto the railing after him. Jason grabs her, shouting over his shoulder, “Man overboard!”

  Tracey vaults from his chair and over the railing in one swift move. Without thinking, I scramble around the chairs and tables on the deck and climb over the rail after him. As I fall, I realize the Fist has widened the gap between where I will land and where Daniel went in. Then the chill water swallows me. April is not enough time to warm up the sea even in the Gulf. Stunned and disoriented, it takes a moment to figure out where “up” is.

  I break the surface only to have a wave slap me under. Shit. Salt stings my nose and sinuses. Where is Daniel? Adrenaline courses through me. Am I going to drown? Can’t do that. If I drown, I can’t help Daniel. Where is he?

  My next break to the surface is in a trough. I tread water, unable to see Daniel or Tracey, but I follow the fading wake of the boat, swimming hard. Somehow the sky has turned a bloated gray. Weather happens fast down here.

  Coughing, I stop and tread water again and try to think. Panic is not going to help. Tracey moved fast. He would closer to Daniel. The wind has picked up, sending spray into my eyes. I suck in a huge breath, trying to make myself more buoyant, and ride the next wave. It lifts me, and I get a quick glimpse of Daniel several yards away clinging to Tracey’s head. Daniel must be terrified.

  I abandon attempts to swim on top of the churning waves and dive underneath them, fear driving me forward. Below me, a dark shape glides by. It has a dorsal fin. My heart can’t beat any harder, but nausea threatens again. I swallow hard to keep it down, but bile is sour in my mouth.

  Twice more I have to bob up and locate them, relieved to see Lohan still with Daniel. I’m not in bad shape. Or at least I wasn’t until the Ordeal. I used to swim regularly at the YMCA pool, but this is not a swimming pool. My limbs feel like they can barely move against the strong current. I’m a puny, laughable piece of flotsam against the sea’s casual might.

  Fortunately, the next rise to the surface brings me only a few feet away.

  “Daniel,” I sputter and swim to him. “Are you okay?”

  He nods, but his eyes are wide and frightened, his long lashes clumped in wet spikes. That’s when it hits me. Wildly, I look around. There’s no sign of Lohan.

  “Where’s Tracey? Where’s Mr. Lohan?”

  Daniel’s face contorts and he points down. Down.

  I grasp the trailing end of strap on his life jacket and take a breath, looking under the surface. Nothing. The blotted sun only penetrates a few feet. Then the water world fades quickly into darkness. If I dive, I might lose Daniel, but the life jacket is keeping him afloat, and Tracey is down there somewhere. I have to find him. One more breath above water, then I release the strap and dive, assuming he went straight down. He’s a big man, heavy. I have no idea how deep the water is here. Darkness swirls. My chest hurts.

  Nothing.

  I have to go up again and catch a breath. Daniel’s eyes are wide, but his life jacket is keeping him up, bobbing on the waves. I dive again, deeper.

  Something moves out the corner of my eye. Something big. I turn to face it, lungs aching, afraid it will be a torpedo shape with lots of teeth.

  It’s a man, pulling hard for the surface. His eyes are bulging. I reach for him, grasping his thick hair. He is unbelievably heavy, but he’s kicking and pushing water with cupped hands, and I’m doing the same. Above us, the surface looks far away. Too far away. Bubbles escape from my mouth, an unstoppable trickle. I have to breathe. I want to stop, to drift downward and rest.

  Don’t stop.

  Those are words from my Marine Master Sergeant father, running beside me when I was trying to get in shape to make the high school track team. I was tired. I wanted to collapse in a heap and give it all up, but he was in my ear. “Keep going, Rose. Find more to give. Dig. One foot and the other. Find it inside you. Pull it up!”

  Pull it up. Dig. Kick. Kick!

  My head breaks the surface. I suck blessed air. Tracey emerges beside me, gasping. I grab for Daniel’s vest. A wave takes me up. I reach for Tracey.

  He shakes his head, treading water desperately. “No. I’ll pull you . . . both under.”

  “Lohan!”

  “No,” he sputters, moving away from us. His head dips below.

  Daniel is crying.

  Damn it. I swim forward and reach down, grasping a handful of Tracey’s thick hair again. I try to keep us both up, but he is so damn heavy.

  Something splashes beside me. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. A simple round white ring, the innocuous adornment of every boat and swimming pool. I glance up and see Angola leaning over the rail.

  With one hand, I grab the ring and haul upward with other that still grips Tracey. Both ring and I go under, but I’m kicking for all I’m worth. Tracey is kicking. Tracey is up again. Both my stretched arms cramp in pain.

  “The ring!” I gasp.

  Tracey reaches for it, and when he has it, I release it. It goes under with his weight, but his head stays above the water. On the deck, Angola pulls the lifesaver ring buoy. The life jacket supports Daniel and me.

  Above us looms the Iron Fist.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Back at the dock, Jason insists we stay aboard while he sends his crew out to purchase dry clothes at The Wharf, where “on sale” means only twice as much as I can afford. While we wait, Tracey and Daniel use the bathroom in one of the yacht’s guest rooms, and I take a hot shower in the elaborate master bathroom, washing seawater from my hair and skin and trying to get it out of my mind. It isn’t the first time I’ve come close to dying, but experience doesn’t really help. I take my time in the hot water.

  When I step out of the bathroom, wrapped in a plush red towel, my new clothes are lying on the ruby satin bedspread. They fit. Even the pair of deck shoes. Someone has a good eye. Angola?

  A knock on the door.

  “Wait a sec.” I hastily don the clothes and open the door, not wanting to be near the bed if Jason comes in.

  Tracey’s bulk fills the doorway. “Hi,” he says. “You okay?”

  “I wish everyone would stop asking that.”

  “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For almost drowning you.”

  “You almost drowned yourself.”

  “I know. That’s what I mean. I didn’t think. When I saw Daniel go over, I just—”

  “If you hadn’t, Daniel would have been all alone. A wav
e could have taken him under, anything could have happened.”

  I’m thinking about sharks again and shudder.

  “It was my fault,” I say. “I shouldn’t have let him stand close to the edge. I shouldn’t have had that second Bloody—”

  “You don’t understand,” he interrupts. “I don’t . . . swim well.”

  “Lohan, that makes you a stupid hero, but you’re still a hero, so stop talking about it.”

  “I’m not a hero. I almost drowned you, and Daniel was fine with the vest on.”

  “Now who’s being stubborn?”

  “I—”

  Jason is in the doorway and Tracey snaps his mouth closed.

  “Everything fit?” Jason asks.

  “Yes, thanks,” I say.

  “That was very considerate,” Tracey says. “Can you send a bill?” He extends his hand with a wet business card. “I think you can read it.”

  Jason refuses the card. “Absolutely not. I take responsibility, and the clothes are the least I can do.”

  “Well . . . thanks.” Tracey says, clearly uncomfortable with the arrangement, but not sure how to change it, I imagine, without insulting our host.

  I observe Becca carefully on the way home, worried the trauma of the day’s events might have affected her. Jason grabbed her to keep her from jumping off the ship after Daniel, but otherwise, I never saw him touch her. She was in my sight the entire time we were on land, except for the few seconds of my dizzy spell during the strange vision at Bama Henge, and Jason was nearer to me than her.

  Becca seems the same as when we left, maybe even a bit better. She comments on various things she sees out the window, but she clings to Daniel even tighter. He doesn’t seem to mind. By the time we get to Alice’s, Daniel is bursting to tell his mother about his adventure.

  This is a conversation I’m not eager to have.

  When we arrive, Nora is sitting on the couch, watching TV, one of Alice’s cats curled beside her. Another one drapes the back of the couch. Nora confines her smoking to the backyard, but I can smell it on her clothes.